I’ve been delaying this post because it didn’t have an immediate, actionable takeaway – and #InThisEconomy, I felt like it was important to post things that could immediately improve people’s lives (e.g., what to do with your stimulus check).

But these types of grander, vision-setting money conversations still feel so relevant and, candidly, fundamental for a strong foundation on which to build good financial habits.

So what does it mean to get clear on your lifestyle upgrade?

Put as simply as possible, it’s your “why.” And it’s been on my mind because I’m trying to get painfully, abundantly clear on MY why.

What’s the lifestyle you dream of that powers the good financial behavior (and related choices) that it takes to get there? What’s your version of your ~ best life ~ that money could (probably) help provide? The clearer we can envision that reality, the easier it becomes to make choices accordingly.

Because that’s the sneaky thing about such a sterile topic — most people treat personal finance like the 6th period elective they reluctantly tack onto their schedule because they know it’s the #responsible thing to do.

But I’ve always felt like personal finance was the window to the soul:

Avoidant tendencies with debt? I’d bet my money that’s showing up elsewhere.

Feel guilty over wanting to live in financial abundance? That’s probably a pattern that was picked up much earlier in your life when being rich was framed as corrupt and immoral.

Splurging to keep up with the Kardashians? There might be a self-esteem issue at play.

It’s never just about the money.

Money and worth are way too closely related for conversations to ever just be about the money as a numbers game, and that’s (a) why I find personal finance so fascinating and alluring and (b) how your grander, broader fantasies and beliefs about your happiness shape your attitudes and behavior around your finances.

The money is simply the manifestation of greater human needs: security, comfort, belonging.

So sure, I can outline the optimal breakdown for your stimulus check all day long, but until you’re crystal-clear on what you want for your life and the dollar amount associated, the knowledge will only take you so far.

What’s my lifestyle upgrade fantasy?

When I imagine the dream life that money can buy, it’s characterized by a few major things — and some of them feel oddly niche when I articulate them. (Nothing makes you realize your quirks like verbalizing an ideal “day in the life.”)

• Convenience. I have a few bizarre pet peeves: I hate carrying shit from my car to the office building. You know that awkward bag lady dance we all do? Teetering on heels from the 9:15 a.m. arrival parking spot (you know the one) with the heavy laptop bag slung over one shoulder throwing off the center of gravity, dainty purse of #belongings cutting off forearm circulation, lunch box precariously positioned to avoid sloshing shrimp juice down the front of your dress (50% success rate here), coffee cup in one hand and water bottle in the other. Like a veritable three-bag circus of fluids and bullshit. It’s a little thing, but it’s that part of my morning I dread every day — and in my dream life, I’m not slogging through this inconvenient (and messy) dance day after day enslaved by my own biology and the 9-5 work day.

• I envision a life where my work computer stays at work because my personal computer is hooked up to my efficient and beautiful home office. No need to bring it home when I have an equal (if not better!) setup under my own roof. In this life, I’m wealthy to the point that I don’t need to bring all my meals for the day to the office ahead of time. Nope. Coffee, breakfast and lunch can be purchased comfortably from the café upstairs, depending on what I fancy that day. (Evidently I use “fancy” as a verb in this rich bitch fantasy. Who knew?)

• Or hell, let’s take it a step further — maybe it’s to the point where the working from home/working from an office balance is split! Maybe it’s success and trust to the point that there’s a little more agency over when and where I work. But let’s not get crazy — I still like my Corporate America Indentured Servitude™ because I love my corporate overlord and all that it stands for. I don’t think the full-time entrepreneurial bag is all it’s cracked up to be — there’s a unique pleasure in serving a common mission with likeminded people, even if it wasn’t YOUR vision originally. And I believe it’s still possible to become wealthy the way our parents did, through a good, ole’-fashioned 401(k) match.

• Point is… I value convenience pretty highly.

Record scratch:

You’re probably like, Sis, just buy coffee, breakfast and lunch at the office? Ain’t no thang!

But that’s the rub! That’s an extra $20 per day (!!) that I’m saving or investing right now. I wouldn’t be ABLE to guiltlessly buy those things right now, because I’m not ~ rolling in it. ~ The whole point of the upgrade fantasy is that it’s:

Attainable, but still aspirational.

Realistic, but still a marked improvement from your current situation (usually addresses specific grievances you have with your current setup).

And maybe it’s ironic that I could just save/invest less and have these things now… after all, if the goal is a life where these things are possible, why not just… have them now?

But we’re going for sustained longevity, not immediacy. Someone with my income doesn’t get a home office and three meals out daily without sacrificing future comfort, and that’s not a viable option since 55-year-old KG would like to retire in style.

Ahem, back to the hilariously realistic fantasy:

• Freedom. Specifically, freedom from thinking about the price. I envision a lifestyle where — within reason — I’m not sweating the small shit. Even today, I had a mental battle over a $23 dry shampoo from Dry Bar that smells like affluence. Ultimately, I decided I don’t need a dry shampoo badly enough to shell out double digits for it, but in this fantasy lifestyle upgrade, I’m not sweating decision points like that — ideally, the budget just becomes a vestige of a lower tax bracket KG and dollar amounts under $100 aren’t worth the 10-minute mental debate.

• The ironic thing is that I think a lot of traditionally wealthy people became that way precisely because they sweated the small shit for so many years. After all, the big shit might be big, but the small stuff really adds up.

• Freedom from a budget is really the end game, I think — imagine a world in which you have millions in the bank and tens of thousands coming into your checking account on a weekly or monthly basis. Are you ever, under any circumstances, going to debate the validity of a $25 purchase? No. You’re just going to buy what you need and move on. That’s mental freedom that money can buy.

So maybe money can’t buy happiness, but it can buy freedom and convenience.

And as far as I’m concerned, both of those things make day-to-day life better.

There’s that saying (I believe it’s from Tim Urban’s “Wait buy Why” blog): Life is a series of Mundane Wednesdays.

And while I’ll always advocate for spending money (read: points) on travel, wouldn’t it be nice to build a life you don’t crave a vacation from? Doesn’t it make sense to strive for improved Mundane Wednesdays vs. increased frequency of escapes away from your every day?

That brings me to my third and final point:

• Comfort and inspiration. While inspiration isn’t necessarily borne out of comfort, certain environments are more conducive to inspiration than others. Ultimately, my happiness long-term will be contingent upon the ability to do fulfilling, meaningful work – and frankly, that’s just easier in safe, inspiring surroundings. When the basics are accounted for and everything works properly, you simply just have more brain bandwidth to devote to stuff that matters because you aren’t preoccupied with bullshit.

• Let’s use an automobile example. Imagine that you commute to your workplace every day in an old beater of a car: the A/C doesn’t work, the sound is spotty, and it’s overall not a very comfortable experience. The power steering often goes out, the dashboard resembles a Christmas tree, and it smells a little funky from the aforementioned-shrimp juice sloshing.

• In the realistic fantasy version of this scenario, you’d have a conservatively priced luxury car: something not too flashy, but still a serious upgrade from the 15-year-old rattle-trap. (I don’t know why in these fantasies it’s always a Lexus sedan – something about that car just screams, “I have a pension and I’m not afraid to use it.”)

• Now you’ve got cushy leather seats. A working A/C. Cupholders abound! Your sound system is Bluetooth and responds to your voice when you tell Google to read you the news. The blindspot monitoring alerts you to the Camry about to swerve into the side of you.

• This commute suddenly looks and feels very different. One experience is ripe for an inspiring and comfortable start to the morning, and the other is a breeding ground for frustration. While this example is just a small part of your overall experience in a day, imagine that 30-minute, twice-a-day experience over many days, months, and years. Those things compound. 30 minutes spent stressing over the check engine light and fiddling with the radio vs. leisurely sipping your coffee and enjoying a podcast is NBD once or twice, but what about all 240 mornings per year that you commute? 240 mornings * 30 minutes each = 120 hours of either enjoyment or frustration. And that’s just the mornings!

I might sound like a middle class sympathizer gone wrong, but there’s something to be said for identifying simple changes that would have outsized impact on the overall quality of your life.

After all, that’s why this is a fantasy: it’s a realistic but still aspirational future that guides the decisions I make about money now. When any form of sacrifice is involved, thinking about the “lifestyle upgrade” I want some day helps.

It doesn’t have to be outlandish.

Maybe you’re convinced the key to your happiness is a 7BR white brick home with an infinity pool shaped like the eggplant emoji – but I’m inclined to believe that the things that actually improve our life (the ones that money can buy, that is) are usually a lot simpler and less flashy.

I’m still not sure I’m totally clear on exactly what mine entails, but I’m trying to sharpen the focus. It’s easier to build something when you have a real blueprint, rather than just haphazardly stacking building blocks with no real direction.