In an era of endless noise, it’s easy to lose sight of what truly matter, especially when it comes to money.
Spending has never been easier. Every purchase is only a few taps away. mobile bankings, digital wallets, QRIS, you name it. Every year brings a newer phone, a faster computer, better clothes, another destination to visit, new trends to follow, and another product we’re told will make life complete. Subscriptions quietly accumulate in the background. Discounts create a false sense of urgency.
To me, spending money is not simply the result of earning money. Spending is a habit and a category of its own. It reflects how you choose to live and, ultimately, who you become. Every purchase is a statement of what you value today and what you’re willing to postpone for tomorrow.
The principle I try to live by when it comes to spending is surprisingly simple
“Could I live without it?”
and most of the time, the answer is yes.
There are many things I deeply want. I have a strong desire to collect physical media. I love music, especially the older ones and I think there’s something deeply satisfying about owning CDs and listening to them on a dedicated CD player. It’s about the ritual, the permanence, and the connection to something tangible. But I could live without it.
The same goes for books. I’ve always wanted a personal library filled with books that have shaped my thinking. But in an age where digital copies are readily available, I have to ask myself whether or not I really need them? Is my desire worth the resources required to print, ship, and store them? Or am I simply attached to the idea of owning them?
I apply the same principle to subscriptions. Subscription-based services can be deceptively addictive. When you choose to subscribe to a service, it means you are deciding to build a habit around it. In the long run, they quietly become part of your routine until you no longer question whether you truly need them. It will be hard for you to cancel them because of the illusion of importance that’s been created. That’s why I try to be extra deliberate about this particular matter.
At the moment, I don’t subscribe to any services. I used to pay for YouTube Premium, but I noticed that because I was paying for it, I felt compelled to use it more. I’d watch extra videos or listen to music even when I didn’t really want to, simply to make the subscription feel “worth the money.” Instead of serving me, I had begun serving the subscription.
The same is true of discounts, flash sales, limited-time offers, and pre-orders. They create the illusion that you’re about to lose an opportunity when, in reality, you’re often losing nothing at all. They encourage you to act before you’ve had the chance to think.
Perhaps you save a little money, but if that purchase costs you your clarity or leads you to buy something you never truly needed, then you’ve still paid a price.
When I spend money, I try to think beyond my own perspective. I ask whether something creates lasting value not only for me, but for others as well. If something offers little benefit beyond a fleeting moment of gratification, then perhaps it isn’t worth buying at all. What value does a collection truly have if its enjoyment begins and ends with me?
As a Moslem, this perspective carries even greater weight. I believe every rizq (provision) entrusted to me is a trust from Allah, and that one day I will be questioned about how I earned it and how I spent it. Every purchase becomes part of that accountability. I don’t want to stand before God trying to justify a lifetime of trivial consumption when I could have used those blessings more wisely (Giving those money away to people who need it in the name of God, the most gracious)
That realization doesn’t diminish my appreciation for these things. Instead, it reminds me that wanting something doesn’t obligate me to own it. Not every impulse needs to become a purchase, and not every longing needs to be satisfied.
If I were to follow every desire simply because I felt it, then I’d be living by instinct alone. What separates us from animals is not that we have fewer desires, but that we have the ability to reason with them. We can delay gratification, align our actions with our values, and consciously decide which desires are worth pursuing and which are better left as passing thoughts.
We often define freedom as the ability to get whatever we want, but the greatest freedom of all is to be free from your desire.
A person can own everything and still be a slave to what they crave. Another can own very little and yet be completely at peace.
A prisoner may be confined within the walls of a cell, yet remain freer than someone imprisoned by an endless pursuit of more.
We often judge others for accumulating excessive wealth, for spending beyond their means on things that provide little value, for corruption, and for even greater atrocities such as genocide. These actions may appear different in scale, but they share a common denominator:
Greed.
The uncomfortable truth is that the same evil we recognize in others also exist within ourselves, even if expressed on a much smaller scale. After all, each of us is a microcosm of the world we inhabit. The desire to have more, to possess more, or to prioritize ourselves above others is a human tendency that exists within all of us.
“for whoever does not recognize evil will surely fall victim to it”
If we truly want to stop being frustrated by the direction in which the world is moving, we must first look inward. It’s always easier to identify the faults of others than to confront our own. But we cannot control other people. We can only govern ourselves.
The most meaningful change begins with the person we have the most influence over.
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