I’ll give you all I got to give if you say you love me too
I may not have a lot to give but what I got I’ll give to you
I don’t care too much for money, money can’t buy me love
- The Beatles, “Can’t Buy Me Love”

“In love but no money…you won’t be in love long.”

Okay, I know that you know how to spend your money. We all do. Since 1990, the average Canadian household income grew 11.6% but spending grew twice as fast, increasing 24%. In that time, total household debt also increased 71%. Most of us are expert spenders. But does the way you spend your money make you happy?

My guess is no, and I’ve got some recommendations about how to spend your money and your time to be happy.

Stop hissing. Yes, dear reader, I do think that you can buy happiness if you spend your resources on the ‘right’ things. Let me tell you how and why and you can stone me later.

Today, my darlings, we’re going to talk about the Economy of Happiness.

[Side note: In university, I attended exactly one Econ 100 class and then dropped it. The professor did not make any jokes. The class was early. The textbook contained a lot of formulas. Formulas allow very little wiggle room for bullshit, and the strength of my GPA was directly related to the number of classes I took that required expert bullshitting. As you might expect, I majored in Political Science. I wrote brilliant papers on the gender politics of dance movies and romance novels, which meant that my primary research activities consisted of reading Harlequin Romances and watching "Dirty Dancing" seven million times. My GPA was obscene. Unfortunately, any analysis I offer on subjects other than fictional love stories - including and especially economics - is suspect.]

[Side note to side note: I heart liberal arts and am deeply saddened by the loss of Patrick Swayze.]

I first learned about the Economy of Happiness in March 2006 when I attended a presentation given to Vancouver Board of Trade by UBC Professor Emeritus John Helliwell.

Helliwell told a swashbuckling tale of income, satisfaction and the law of diminishing returns. It went something like this:

Once upon a time, classical economic theory said that income was a primary indicator and predictor of quality of life. More income = more happiness.

Then along came Happiness Researchers, who combined the methods of economics and psychology to describe and predict the factors that created ‘the good life’.

This was not The End.

They also applied a law from classical economics, the law of diminishing return, which says that after an optimal level of production is reached, each input yields less and less increases in output. In practical terms, this means that when you’re struggling to find enough money for food, shelter and healthcare, every additional dollar you earn makes you happier – a lot happier.

But after a certain threshold is met – the level at which your needs for are met – each additional buck yields less and less bang. Money can buy happiness, initially, but after a certain point, the currency of choice is time. Spare time.

Turns out there is a lot of wiggle room in economics and that John Helliwell is the sexiest man alive. And that econ class I dropped? Regretting it. Dr. Helliwell was the prof.

I digress.

All of this means that if you want to be happy, working more and sacrificing your leisure time to increase your income is not the answer. Instead, you should increase the amount of spare time you have, the amount of control you have over how you use your spare time, and spend more of that spare time with friends, family, and in your community.

This is not easy. We’re all so busy. We don’t have enough time to do everything we are need to do – work full-time, work out, parent, call Mom, cook, clean, bathe, go to the liquor store, maintain an adequate supply of clean underwear, play slow-pitch, date, organize the garage, update Facebook, curse the dog, volunteer resentfully at preschool, and spend time with friends – so we outsource parts of our lives that could be communal tasks. We hire people to babysit, landscape, mow lawns, walk the damn dog, build fences, demo unfashionable kitchens, and move.

Yet I think that there is actually a profound social and personal value created when friends, families and neighbours work together on these kinds of projects. This time together – no matter what mundane thing you are doing – strengthens bonds and builds narratives.

When you need help moving house, you learn who your friends are – and you remember. When your buddy wants you to help him move 1 1/2 tonnes of paving stones instead of paying to have them delivered, it is just an excuse to spend time with you in a sweating, panting, heaving, but non-homoerotic way. No. Not homoerotic at all. And he’s not cheap. He just loves you, man.

If you want to be happy, spend a little less money on working madly and outsourcing and a little more time collaborating.

Not convinced? Here is my point in action:

If someone you hired to take down your fence did this, you might not crack a smile. You might think evil thoughts about his provenance, sobriety and work ethic.

However, if your brother-in-law did this during a yard reno fueled by free family labour, you post the video to your blog. Your family members tell stories about it. Your three year old nephew is hysterical with delight. It becomes part of the family history and we all know that families are held together not by blood but by gossip. I mean memories.

In short, there is no better way to build community than engaging in volunteer gonzo demolition.

So, if you want to buy happiness, spend your money on experiential things that foster togetherness and create memories, and spend your time with people. Spend less time working and more time helping friends, families, neighbours, community members and handsome strangers.

You can buy happiness, but only if you spend your resources – time, money, attention – on the right things. The right things are people and experiences. Happiness comes from what you do and who you do it with.

I absolutely know this to be true. Here are just a few reasons why:

• When I was recovering from the birth of my first child and could not safely walk my nine-month old puppy/bear, my sister would drive one hour to my house, her toddlers in tow, to walk my dog.
• When I was moving and scheduled to be on a plane to Texas on the same freaking day, my friend convinced her husband to give up his Sunday to haul my boxes from one house to another. I have a hunch as to which favours were required. She is a great friend.
• The armoire that I saved for a year to buy generates nowhere near the satisfaction of the $4 I spent on cupcakes, tea and conversation with my five year old.
• The only reason I survived my first four years of parenthood was this recipe: fair weather, lawn chairs, a group of stay-at-home moms, and day-long conversations that included lots of bad words and bad-mommy confessions. (Winters required medication.)
• My two daughers still talk about the first really sunny warm day this spring when I picked them up at daycare, flip-flops and sunglasses in hand, and we took an impromptu trip to the beach for dinner. It cost $13. We threw seaweed at each other and squealed like girls. Magic.
• Last week I went to six meetings but the only one I remember is the one that took place on a patio on Commercial Drive. Two girlfriends can sort out the meaning of life – or at least nail down a practical guide to dating – in two courses or less.
• Going to fancy schmancy places is great – I love that – but the best and most memorable conversations happen when a couple of friends and Sailor Jerry convene around the kitchen island.

This is the good life. I am loved, I love, and I am happy. I am most happy when I am the least worried about myself.

This is because the antidote to the alienation of modern life (shout out to Karl Marx!) is strong and frequent doses of love, leisure time, togetherness, and memory- and community building. This is how you to buy happiness.

Interestingly enough, this lesson is much the same as the themes of my much loved and rigorously analyzed romance novels and dance movies. Love is what you do. Love is when you stand up to the whole world, or at least to your disapproving parents, hypocritical resort guests and one lazy poli sci student, because you know that Johnny didn’t take the wallet. You know because he was in his room all night. And the reason you know is because you were with him.

I’m telling you, there is wisdom in the movies of the 1980s and 1990s.

Next post: what we can learn about gender roles and misogyny from the films of actor (I use this term loosely) Michael Douglas.

I’m just kidding. Now go boil a rabbit (but do it with friends) while I make a mural of John Helliwell press clippings.

This entry was posted on Friday, May 8th, 2009 at 1:10 am and is filed under Family, How To, Love, Purpose. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.