I’m not asking for a yacht. I’d like groceries, paid bills, a flight to see family, and a little money left afterward. Here’s my sarcastic take on affordability—and why ordinary life shouldn’t require extraordinary sacrifice.
I’d like to explain affordability, because somewhere along the way, the word got handed over to people who apparently haven’t checked a price tag since their assistants started doing the shopping. When I talk about wanting life to be affordable, I am not shopping for a yacht. I don’t need a mansion, a private jet, or a fancy car with seats that give a better massage than my physical therapist. I would simply like ordinary life to stop feeling like something I need financing to participate in.
Affordability means being able to take a flight to visit family. A regular seat, in the regular section, with my regular knees pressed against the seat in front of me. First class would be lovely, but I’m talking about getting there without spending the next three months recovering financially. Visiting someone I love should not require the planning normally associated with launching a space program.
It means going to the grocery store and buying what I want for the week without turning dinner into a math problem. If I want fresh berries, decent coffee, and the ingredients for a pot roast, I should be able to put them in my cart. I’m buying food, for heaven’s sake. I shouldn’t need three coupons, two loyalty accounts, and a password I last used during the Obama administration to get a reasonable price on cheese.
Affordability means buying that new dresser I’ve been looking at when I need it, at its regular price, instead of waiting for the Memorial Day, Fourth of July, Labor Day, Presidents Day, or Apparently Tuesday Is a Holiday sale. I enjoy a bargain. I just don’t believe replacing a piece of furniture should depend on successfully stalking it through four seasons.
It means paying every bill in full each month without robbing Peter to pay Paul, then explaining to Peter that he’ll have to wait until Social Security arrives. The electric company gets paid. The insurance gets paid. There is money for groceries afterward. What a reckless, extravagant lifestyle I’m describing.
It means getting the car repaired before the noise becomes a more expensive noise. Replacing tires before every rainy drive becomes a character-building experience. Calling the plumber without wondering whether we could just stop using that bathroom. Buying a washing machine when the old one dies instead of standing beside it, praying to an appliance I don’t even like.
It means filling a prescription without mentally subtracting it from the food budget. Getting a tooth fixed before it becomes an emergency. Buying the glasses you need, getting the hearing aids that help, and paying for whatever makes it possible to move through your own home safely. None of those things belongs in the luxury category, although the bills occasionally suggest they come with ocean views.
Affordability means turning on the heat because you’re cold. Going out for dinner without studying the menu online first to determine whether you can afford to be hungry there. Taking the grandchildren for ice cream without briefly considering whether you should have brought a loan officer. Buying a birthday gift, replacing worn-out shoes, or getting a haircut without holding a household budget hearing.
It also means having something left. A little savings. A little room for pleasure. The ability to handle a surprise expense without watching the entire month collapse. If every dollar is already spoken for and one broken water heater can put you into debt, telling you that you’re “getting by” is a remarkably cheerful description of living on the edge.
And please spare me the lecture about personal responsibility. I worked from sixteen, taught myself new skills, raised children, and built a career. I understand budgets. What I resent is the suggestion that ordinary people are irresponsible for wanting the lives they worked for to include something beyond paying bills and checking the account balance.
When people ask for affordability, they are asking to live with some breathing room. They want to feed their families, care for their health, see the people they love, and occasionally buy something because they like it. If that sounds extravagant to someone sitting comfortably on a mountain of money, perhaps they should try living on the other side of the price tag. I suspect they’d discover the appeal of a coupon pretty damn quickly.
