Living money-free

The assignment: Live free of money for a week. I could cook with groceries purchased during a normal shopping trip the week before, and I could bargain, haggle, dumpster dive, and beg for food and rides. But no cash could leave my pocket or checking account. ¶ I live a comfortable college life. I drink coffee like it’s my job and I’m seeking a raise. I meet my friends on Fourth Street rather than cooking dinner, even if I have enough groceries at home to throw something together. I’m careless about parking tickets. ¶ When I don’t see money, I don’t see how quickly it leaves. I’m not wealthy and I don’t live on my parents’ money, but I’m forgetful enough that I cringe each time someone swipes my debit card: Do I have any money in my account? ¶ I wanted the third week in January to be different. ¶  Sunday morning, I grabbed a few crumbled bills on the way out the door to church. As the offering plate passed from pew to pew, I remembered the assignment and tucked them back in my pocket. ¶  I couldn’t spend any money, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t pay. Here’s what my week cost:


Attention.
There is so much free food on this campus that it’s amazing we shell out for anything during the first few weeks of a semester. With all the callouts, information sessions, and open houses, there are enough pizzas and veggie platters to feed a small country. Or a large campus. I looked at Facebook and fliers to find events with free food. I attended a “Taste of the Union” event where vendors gave away samples of their products. I ate little cups of pasta salad, pico de gallo, and wolfed down half a cheeseburger, even though I haven’t eaten red meat in months.

Creativity.
I ran out of toothpaste on Thursday. I scrounged in my bathroom for travel-sized tubes from past trips. When I used those up, I dusted my brush with baking soda. You can use that stuff for anything.

An open friend tab.
Allowing someone else to provide me dinner when I didn’t know where else I would get food was a beautiful and humbling thing. When my friend Laura cooked me beans, rice, roasted squash, and goat cheese, I told her I wanted to pay her back. She said to put it on our friendship tab, and I like that idea. There’s no official accounting. We just make each other food or pick up the bill for a coffee date from time to time. We don’t keep a record, we just know when it’s time to take the other out.

Community.
Every Thursday, the Hillel Center on Third Street gives out free pancakes. I stacked a plate with apple-butterscotch and chocolate chip-banana pancakes. My friend Rachel has been trying to get me to learn about her Jewish faith for a year, and she tempted me to Hillel with free food. I walked throughout the building with her, and she even showed me the beautiful Torah scroll. Hearing her read from it made me realize how much she cherishes her faith. I came for pancakes, she came for God and fellowship. We ate and left nourished.

Time.
I valued my schedule more when I had no money. Every morning, I woke up early enough to play with my dog and make breakfast, two things I forget about when I rush around. I brewed coffee and poured it into a thermos instead of sleeping late and hitting Starbucks first thing.

Lessons.
I spent more moments saying grateful prayers over food. I surrendered embarrassment and dove to pick up wrapped mints on the sidewalk. I planned my time better, tried new recipes, and carved out more time for friends — especially when they cooked dinner.

Sunday morning, my free week was over. I dropped a few dollars in the offering plate. I took my boyfriend out to breakfast at the Runcible Spoon. I drank coffee, savored the refills, told him to get whatever he wanted, and then paid for it.