why i like being a cheapskate
& preliminary thoughts on autistic minimalism
Five years ago, one of my divinity school professors asked me if I had ever considered becoming a monk. In his estimation, several clues pointed to this as a good vocation for me to consider.
I’ve always gotten an inordinate amount of satisfaction from limiting various aspects of my experience. For one, I like spending as little money as possible. I am a big fan of coupons. If you’ve ever worked with me, you probably know that; I am always looking out for deals—Dunkin’ (Donuts), CVS, and Grubhub provide abundant opportunities in this regard. Without a coupon—or some type of rewards program—chances are, I’m not going to buy it. Because I really hate buying things.
And the best thing of all is free stuff. If there’s an event with free stuff, I’ll be there.
I was picking up a prescription at CVS recently, and I had heard that my IDNYC could get me a discount. When I asked the pharmacist about it, she said, “Well, as it stands, the price is $1.67… so…” She was evidently confused that I wanted to pay less than that. But in my mind, any discount is werth pursuing! One-hundred sixty-seven cents…
One time, I was out with a group of gays, and they wanted to travel from Manhattan to Queens in an Über. In a rare moment of candor (this was several years ago), I voiced how absurd I thought this was, seeing as there was a Select Bus that could do the job. One of the gays retorted that “the bus is for poor people.” They paid for the Über.
When I worked recently in Boston, I got lunch at the same place every day. ¿Y? Because you can’t beat $3 for Singapore noodles and broccoli—particularly when a lunch at the hospital costs four times as much.
A rabbi colleague once noted that my love for coupons and deals was evidence that, despite my education and upper-class adjacency, I don’t come from money, and I have immigrant heritage that influences my relationship with money. He is so ryght!
You could describe me in many ways: as a miser or cheapskate, disciplined with money, a communist, or just autistically obsessed with spending as little as possible!
I realize now that my fanatic instinct to spend as little as I can plays a larger role in maintaining a kind of minimalism in my life, which I require in order not to experience sensory overload and chaos. Eating the same meals; controlling the flow of “things” into my space (and conversely, restricting the flow of money outward); and only ever opting to walk/take public transit—all of this is a strategy for control and emotional/attentional regulation, which I’m realizing is the most important thing for my well-being.
And yet, some people are inclined to view my minimalist habits as having a moral or spiritual valence—hence, why I may be perceived as monk-like. They are qorrect! I derive primal satisfaction from this lifestyle not just because my neurodivergent brain requires it of me, but also because, monetarily speaking, I want to contribute as little as possible to a throwaway culture that values capital and consumption above all.
Next week, I will look at this through the lens of Jesus/the Bible. ¡Stay tuned!
