The idea of a financial fast, a term coined by author Michelle Singletary, is that for a specified period of time, you cut out any nonessential spending. Groceries and utility bills are fine, but DoorDash is a no.
I knew I needed to make a change in my spending habits, and I was willing to get drastic, so for three weeks in September, I gave it a try. But I didn’t really consider how uncomfortable it would make me and what painful lessons I would learn from the experiment.
I approached my fast from two directions: squeeze more money and value out of my existing resources, and stop spending on nonessentials. I was decidedly better at one tactic than another.
Take advantage of existing resources
I’ll admit I enjoyed the creative experiment of digging through the meats and vegetables that had been piling up in the freezer in order to whip up new meals. That staved off a grocery trip for more than a week. By hitting the farmers market the following week I was able to drastically slash my usual grocery budget. Even small things, like squeezing an extra two weeks out of the bottle of dish soap that looked like it was done, added up.
Monthly subscriptions are another simple way to trim the fat from my spending. This was immensely satisfying, actually: app subscription fatigue is a real thing. I had a dozen or more books queued up in Audible anyway, and I even managed to find a couple of streaming subscriptions I didn’t even realize I was still paying for. I ended up cutting $78 per month in streaming subscriptions, that over the course of a year might add up to a vacation. I discovered a wealth of forgotten favorite sweaters instead of buying new ones; I delved into the books on my “to be read” list rather than buying the newest bestseller.
These exercises helped me realize the riches I already do have. And the savings helped cover the unexpected expenses that life has a tendency to throw at everyone: in my case, an unexpected vet bill and car repair bill.
Curb nonessential spending
The first 10 days were a breeze: I declined invitations for dinner and drinks and was proud of my virtuousness. After that, though, not so much. A friend had a free ticket to see one of my favorite bands in concert, so it seemed like a no-brainer. But a $25 Lyft ride and a $55 bar bill at the concert venue pretty much wiped away the savings I’d added from my earlier frugality. I held a book event and earned money through sales, then frittered away a portion of that with a celebratory dinner immediately afterwards. The initial euphoria at saving soon paled in the face of everything I was missing out on.
