How I learnt to love budgeting without hating myself (2024)

I’ve never really been someone who subscribes to new year resolutions. The entire concept is engineered towards crushing defeat, something I try to avoid so early in the year.

I’d much rather save my failures for the cooler months when everyone is sick of self-improvement and cowering inside. You know, promise to quit drinking in June and spend July drowning my sorrows behind closed doors.

However, on the odd occasion when I set myself a goal at the start of the year, it’s always been something trivial and fun: complete a 100-day streak on Duolingo or learn to ride a unicycle.

Unfortunately, my wife takes it more seriously, and this year, one of her resolutions was to get on top of our finances, which is way more complex and far less fun than the one I chose (watch Nicolas Cage’s entire filmography in order).

And so it was, during a recent Friday night screening of Con Air, she strode into the loungeroom and said the six words I’ve spent a lifetime avoiding, “We need to do a budget.”

For as long as I can remember, I’ve kept a safe distance from budgets and the people who create them. This is not because I have the means to spend without worry; quite the opposite.

I am just someone who struggles to maintain focus when talk turns to incomings and outgoings.

To be fair, I have tried in the past. I was part of the great Millennial rush to buy The Barefoot Investor, convinced that this pleasant-looking man on the front cover, leaning casually on a fence, would be the answer to my financial woes. I even opened an ING account just like Barefoot told me to and tried splitting my income into different buckets.

Eventually, it became clear that I would prefer to live in a state of constant financial chaos than become someone who knows exactly how much they’d save in one year if they never bought coffee on the way to work. The answer is $1848 a year, according to one of my Boring Budget Friends who constantly reminds me that “if you spend $5.50 on coffee daily, that is $38.50 a week, or $154 a month, so then you add that up over the year…”

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It’s probably worth noting that my wife is also terrible with money, which is really annoying because usually, there is one person in a couple who tends to handle the finances.

Instead, we are the worst kind of enablers, cheering each other on as we treat ourselves to things we can’t afford and shouldn’t buy. “Love your new mountain bike, you can store it near my Pilates bed.” Sounds good, now what should we order for dinner?

Sadly, while being financially frivolous can be charming in your twenties – who needs to barefoot invest when we can barefoot bowl? – in your thirties, it becomes more of an issue.

Factor in the current cost of living crisis, rising interest rates, plus a child in daycare, and the idea of a budget almost sounded appealing. Responsibility for creating an Excel spreadsheet fell to my sister-in-law, someone for whom budgeting counts as a hobby.

Punching in all the necessary info, she kept saying things like, “Once you create a personal budget, you won’t know yourself,” and “Eventually, it becomes kind of addictive.”

I assumed these were lies. Then, after a few weeks, I found myself increasingly obsessed with sticking to (and talking about) The Budget.

At first, it was nice to know that the system was working, rather than every transaction feeling like a high-stakes game of Authorised or Declined. But before long, I began confidently using terms like “spending habits” and “wealth goals”, losing myself in TikTok wormholes where other born-again budgeters would share advice.

The illicit thrill I once associated with spending had now shifted to saving, and I was prepared to cut corners at every turn. Why spend $10 on public transport when I can walk home in just over two hours? Who needs Uber Eats when there is a single sweet potato to share?

Naturally, my newfound disgust of unnecessary spending meant I was basically the only person in the country not to buy a ticket in the $200 million Lotto draw. The same can’t be said for my wife, who spent $30 (thirty unbudgeted dollars) on losing tickets.

When pushed about her rash decision, she simply said: “I figured I would win, and then we’d never have to talk about The Budget again.”

Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at thomas.mitchell@smh.com.au or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell.

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