Priceless

How much money does it take to make you happy? For me, the answer is a hundred bucks. Now, $100 can go a long way. A few of the possibilities: it could buy quite a few used clothes for my growing-like-weeds boys. Or, it could buy two date nights away from said boys. It could also buy 25 pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream to be consumed following the date away from said boys. For me, however, $100 buys a pair of running shoes.

Buying running shoes is something that I look forward to and dread at the same time. Due to foolish exploits of the past in which I've unwittingly run on trail shoes or shoes that, because of age, belonged not on my feet but in a dumpster, I know the perils of running on inadequate shoes. I've been on runs where the stress fractures start in my legs and continue to spread until they've reached every last phalange. I'm a firm believer in quality running shoes if you want to prevent running injuries. Thus, I place great importance on regularly buying new shoes.

The frustrating part is how much a decent pair of running shoes costs: a hundred dollars for one pair, which were not even the high end model; those would have cost me another $20. It's ironic, because just this past weekend Kevin's cousin was telling me about a book that gives the account of this tribe from, I want to say, South America. The members of the tribe run 100s of miles just for the sheer thrill of it. They are not running in Asics, nor are they running in New Balance, Nike, Saucony, or any of the other top running shoes on the market. No, they run bare footed, and do so at an astonishing pace for much of their lives. As inspiring as this is, I live in modern day America and have to contend with such perils as asphalt and concrete and garbage juice and the like. In my book, wearing shoes is a must. I just wish they weren't so darned expensive.

The cost of running shoes is not the only thing I struggle with. I am fed up with the cost of life. Why does living have to be so expensive? My husband and I have been blessed with a very comfortable life in which we don't want for anything, and yet the expenses mount up. Now I'm not talking about the luxuries life has to offer: I don't own designer clothes, we don't go on fancy vacations, and neither one of us owns a sports car. I'm talking about those necessities that you are forced to buy as a member of modern society--gas, diapers, underwear, etc. I hate spending money on these things, yet it's something I am forced to do. (My husband will not have anything more to do with me until I purchase some new undergarments, ones "without holes, tears, or discoloration from age". )

I think my reticence in purchasing anything new for myself, underwear and shoes included, is precisely because it is for myself. As a stay-at-home mother, my mantra is to be as selfless as possible, to the point where spending money on anything that sole benefits me feels selfish. Sure, the case could be made that the shoes ultimately help my family because they allow me to run, which makes me feel better about myself, which makes me act kinder and more loving toward my family, which makes me generally more pleasant to be around. But when all is said and done, these $100 beauties are strapped to my feet and my feet only, and I am the only one running on them. As a result, I feel a profound sense of guilt. Yet I buy them anyway.

I know there is a balance to be found in spending, I am just not sure what it looks like. As Christians living in middle class America, how much money are we to spend on ourselves? My family is not in the business of attempting to keep up with the Jones's, yet I don't want to feel guilty on those occasions when I spend some money on something that brings me enjoyment. I feel like my husband and I live pretty frugal lives, but anyone outside of the modernized world would laugh at this assessment of our wealth. So what do we do? After the ten percent rule, what amount of money should be spent on ourselves and what should be given or socked away?

After grappling with this issue for some time, I had hoped to wrap up this post with my new-found knowledge, offering it to you as a nice shiny gift which you could use to guide you in all future purchasing decisions. Such is not to be the case, though. I don't have the answers to this one, and will continue to struggle with it. In the meantime, I guess we'll keep on giving to church and to charity, living within our means, and buying running shoes (and underwear) when they are needed.

By the way, I took my shoes out for a test drive today. As I strapped them on, my feet gave an excited squeal, my knees said "it's about time!", and my legs took off on a short but fast-paced morning jog, which, in the new running shoes, felt great and made all members very happy. So, yes, I guess $100 really does buy me happiness.