Does money make you crazy? The Money Toolbox: leave debt behind, build your savings, and grow your wealth.

Want money?

Money advice often boils down to some basic tenets: spend less than you make, or conversely, make more than you spend. Increase your earnings, then maximize your returns.

Sounds simple—in theory. But the difficulty lies in the application. How do you actually do it so that it changes? What do you do when change is so incremental that it seems barely noticeable? Is the snowball effect worth it?

Enter, stage left: J.D. Roth

JD Roth 2

I met JD Roth at the inaugural World Domination Summit. He was the popular blogger of Get Rich Slowly, although, to be honest, I didn’t know that at the time.

Instead, I danced with Adam Baker’s lovely daughter on a concrete barrier, did cartwheels with a goofy lady named Laura, and laughed with J.D. about how inordinately excited we were to be in Portland at this new conference series. At some point we eventually got to talking about our professions and careers, and once we did, we geeked out over books like Ramit’s I Will Teach You To Be Rich, The Millionaire Next Door, and ways to be frugal, savvy, and more importantly—happy.

Over the years, we became good friends, sharing tips on savings, wondering whether or not I should sell my car and go car-free (ps, J.D., I don’t know if I told you, but I sold it! And I used the cash to help start my own business). We’ve crashed in each other’s houses (because when you want to be a millionaire, who springs for a hotel?), and giggled about how we each own jackets that are more than 10 years old.

J.D. has been both a friend and a mentor, and when he told me he was working on a master series called the “Money Toolbox,” I knew it would be full of good stuff.

The Money Toolbox: leave debt behind + grow rich.

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“By following a few guidelines and completing one small step each week, you can master your money and build wealth for the future.” —J.D. Roth

J.D.’s story is familiar to many: a decade ago, he had more than $35,000 in consumer debt—credit-card balances, personal loans, car payments—and was living paycheck to paycheck. In a world where we’re taught that debt is fine, J.D. wondered: what processes actually work to make change with regards to money? And how can I become rich?

Today, he’s debt-free and has more than a million dollars in the bank.

My own story is similar—minus the million dollars part, at least at the moment—I started my twenties with piles of student-loan debt and promptly did the next smart thing all 20-somethings do: I bought a car, because someone told me it was an “investment.” Instead, my car loan was barely approved because I had already acquired so much debt. I began my first job nearly $100,000 in the red with a job that barely paid my rent—let alone the massive student loan payments that were due. I worked nights and weekends as a tutor and swim coach to bring in enough money to afford to buy groceries (My food budget was directly linked to whether or not I taught that week—some weeks were rice and beans).

And yet by the time I turned 30, I was in the black—and it wasn’t because of a miraculous scheme or a magical job. It was through small habits and the power of time.

Just like J.D., I didn’t turn straw into gold, and the process of changing my life didn’t happen right away.

Get the guide and toolkit, here: The Master Your Money Toolkit.

In his guide, J.D. documents the time-tested principles of putting his money to work.

What he learned surprised him: getting out of debt and building wealth wasn’t just about pinching pennies. He focused on reducing expenses and increasing income. For the first time in his life, he began to accumulate savings and invest wisely.

“Getting out of debt and building wealth isn’t just about pinching pennies—wise strategies for spending, saving, earning and investing can add up over time.”

Over the past eight years, J.D. spent much of his time writing and sharing these lessons on GetRichSlowly.org, a popular blog he initially founded to share his own quest for self-improvement. With over three thousand articles and more than a million words, this work still exists as a public archive.

From the mastermind behind the blog Get Rich Slowly comes his latest project: Get Rich Slowly: the year-long course, a money-makeover toolbox designed to help people leave debt behind, master their money, and achieve financial independence. Featuring a “Money Mondays,” email series, 18 audio interviews with money experts, and a comprehensive “Be Your Own CFO” guidebook, this course collects wisdom from financial gurus Ramit Sethi, Pam Slim, Adam Baker, and more.

With a 52-lesson guide to help people master their money, he created a road map to financial freedom, developed for anyone seeking to ‘master their money’ by getting out of debt and building independent wealth.

The Master Your Money Toolkit.

What’s your money story?

As important as J.D’s story is, the new Get Rich Slowly guide isn’t really about him. It’s about you. It’s a road map for your financial freedom, and it includes a 120-page “Be Your Own CFO” guide, 18 interviews with experts who offer specific advice on important topics, and plenty of additional resources. To ensure you don’t get overwhelmed (as I sometimes do!), you’ll also receive a different lesson with simple actions every week for an entire year. I’ve just started reading my own CFO guide, and I think the “Money Monday” emails are brilliant.

If you want a copy, JD is —naturally— offering budget-friendly options, and the three different scales of the program are all discounted for the launch (meaning you can get a copy without breaking your own bank)—because what good is a money guide that sets you back even further?

Get your copy here: Get Rich Slowly: The Money Toolbox.

Congrats, J.D.

Book Notes: Traffic

Traffic: Why We Drive the Way We Do (And What That Says About Us)

By Tom Vanderbilt, 2008.

Traffic is an age-old problem: ever since humans have figured out ways to move beyond the facility of our two feet, we have encountered problems of congestion, traffic, movement, and organization. Advances in technology and new forms of mobility (horses and carts and bicycles and autos and cars, to buses and trains and airplanes) all create problems: problems of traffic.

Traffic is the result of movement. The desire to get someone – or something – from one place to another. The flows and lines that carry us to and from places are clogged when too many people or too many things try to use the same space at the same time.

At the heart of every traffic – and car – problem today lies a person. The central common denominator behind engineering, traffic, and parking issues lies the need to move people from Point A to Point B in a relatively efficient manner, without slowing down or impeding the thousands of other pathways also being carved out by other people following different trajectories.

My mobility questions – and my attempt to give up my car and use other forms of transportation, from my own two feet to city buses – led me to read a few more books (me, read books?) – including TrafficThe High Cost of Free Parking, and Sprawl: A Compact History (Full disclaimer: I am a complete nerd, although for those of you that read this blog, I no longer need to fess up to that disclaimer.)

Vanderbilt looks at the human and psychological implications of traffic and asks a series of thoughtful questions about people and our (notoriously bad) driving habits.  Beyond just understanding what traffic is and what to do about it (engineering), he asks questions about human behavior in relation to driving. Why do we drive the way that we do? Why are we bad at merging? When do rules make it harder to drive, not easier? What are some of out psychological failings that make us more dangerous on the road? And – most importantly – will humans ever stop driving?

(Image from Michele Henry)

I ask these questions, too, because I’m curious to know how difficult it will be to separate myself from my car, now that I’ve crossed the threshold into car ownership.  Vanderbilt suggests that figuring out new forms of fuel efficiency (and worrying about the implications of current fossil-fuel consumption) is the least of our problems:

“The reason I have avoided talking about the negative envrionmental consequences of the car is that I believe, as was once said, that it will be easier to remove the internal-combustion engine from the car than it will be to remove the driver.”

People are wedded to their cars. Emotionally, psychologically, financially. We are literally tied to our cars and we fiercly do NOT want to give them up. (I am just one of many anecdotal case studies of this truth.)

Throughout the book, he highlights the psychological failings of humans that makes driving so dangerous:

“We all think we’re better than the average driver. We think cars are the risk when on foot; we think pedestrians act dangerously when we’re behind the wheel. We want safer cars so we can drive more dangerously. Driving, with its exhilarating speed and the boundless personal mobility it grants us, is strangely life-affirming but also, for most of us, the most deadly presence in our lives. We all want to be invidiuals on the road, but smooth-flowing traffic requires conformity. We want all the lights to be green, unless we are on the intersecting road, in which case we want those lights to be green. We want little traffic on our own street but a convenience ten-lane highway blaxing just nearby. We all wish the other person would not drive, so that our trip would be faster. What’s best for us on the road is often not best for everyone, and vice versa.”

And, he speaks to the difficulty of driving – and why it’s so scary that we drive at all, given our psychological makeup and predisposition to tune out things that become habitual to us – making us even more dangerous on familiar roads and paths:

“[Driving] …  is an incredibly complex and demanding task.We are navigating through a legal system, we are becoming social actors in a spontaneous setting, we are processing a bewildering amount of information, we are constantly making predictions and calculations and on-the-fly judgments of risk and reward, and we’re engaging in a huge amount of sensory and cognitive activity – the full scope of which scientists are just beginning to understand.”

And lastly, on how much time we spend driving:

“Considering that many of us spend more time in traffic than we do eating meals iwth our family, going on vacation, or having sex, it seems worth probing a bit deeper into the experience.”

Why do we do it, then? Why do we drive, when the cost of car ownership spirals us into greater debt, when the risks of driving are our lives and our families (because automobile deaths are one of the top causes of death each year), and when being in traffic is one of the most psychologically taxing experiences, resulting in more unhappiness each year?

Why do we drive? Where is that we are going that’s so important?

Driving can be seen as both a “symbol of freedom or as a symptom of sprawl.”  Much like Mindless Eating is not a book about dieting (it’s about the amazing psychological implications of our behaviors and attention), Traffic is not a book strictly about driving. It’s a book that delves into the inner workings of the mind and human nature, asking us questions about why we do things the way that we do them, and what behaviors contribute towards traffic, safety, and sanity.

*** *** ***

To read more about my car-free experiments and adventures, check out the category “Car Free?” and join me as I journey around the world in my car, on my feet, riding my bike, and on the bus.  I still haven’t decided whether or not to sell my car – but will update you as I discover and learn more!

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Also, you can find me on twitter.

Dear Car, It’s Complicated. Love, Me. (I Think I Have an Emotional Attachment)



Dear Car,

I guess it’s time we said good bye.

This is harder than I thought it would be. I kind of like you.

Scuff Scuff. I kick my feet in the dirt.

I mean, we were pretty good friends, right? You’ve been with me for 20,000 miles – I don’t even want to think about that in terms of a time relationship, but *does some quick math* – that means that each month, we’ve spent between 3 and 4 days together. ENTIRE DAYS. Without SLEEPING. Like, I could have not paid RENT for 3 days and just slept in your backseat because that’s how much time we spent together.

I took you to Seattle and I slept in the back with you, looking up at the stars. We drove through Portland and up to Mt. St Helen and by Shasta and through Corvalis. I’ve seen a lot of friends because of you. I’ve also traveled a lot of places – places I probably should have just taken the bus, but instead, I popped down to the curb, found you waiting for me in your cute little parking spot, hopped in, and zoomed off.

You’ve been with me to LA and back, twice, even though one time I got in and drove just to drive because I didn’t know what else to do.

I get worried about you when we spend too many days apart. I don’t want anyone bumping into you, or scratching you, or breaking into you. If I leave you at work for too long, I sometimes want to go over their just to check on you.

You are one really, really, really big accessory. A 5,000 pound accessory that I like to take with me everywhere.

Unfortunately we had that nasty bump with the BMW – remember that CEO (sorry can’t name the company here)?  – Hah, that was not one of our finer moments.  At least he was nice to email with, after the bump. You definitely got my heart racing with that one.

I’m gonna miss my weekly naps with you – I mean, who am I kidding? When I pull those late nights at work and I’m too tired to think straight, you know that I take 45 minute sunshine naps outside in the warmth of the car. I’m like a cat – I’m looking for a little sunshine nap. During the winter, when it’s freezing, I just park in a little sunny spot and let the solar heat warm up the space in the car and I nap, staring out the window at the sunshine and daydreaming about the day when I get to be a freelance writer forever. Sometimes I fall asleep in there. (Good thing I keep my cell phone with me.)

Oh Matrix, it’s complicated.

I like the fact that you’re dark grey. I love the shape of the Matrix – even though my friend says you look fat and squat, I’ll defend you. I think you look cute and little. And I love that you fit into most parking spots but you can also keep my skis and bikes all stored up in the car. Brilliant, eh?

I also think your angry face is funny – most Toyota’s have that angry-looking set of headlights. It cracks. me. up. When I see another Toyota looking back at me at a stop sign or intersection, I usually laugh and giggle and scowl my face in a grimace (at least in my mind, I do), and pretend we’re having a mock-angry fight.

Awww crap, I think I’m getting teary-eyed. Who knew it would be this hard?

The fact is, having a car is awesome. And fun. And exceptionally easy and freeing. I love the seeming independence and autonomy that comes with the car. But the day-to-day ease of using the car doesn’t resonate with the $1051 dollars I fork over every month just to own it. That’s $35 a day just to own the car.

And do I want long-term financial independence or day-to-day location freedom?

Is selling the car getting me closer to the true kind of freedom I want?

I think it’s a balls-to-the-wall kind of decision. If I try to make the decision based on a single day, I’ll rationalize the heck out of selling the car.

‘Cause it turns out I really, really like my car.

30 days Car-FREE: An Experiment

Can I go 30 days without a car?

As part of “Lessons from Less,” and in a follow-up to my question about whether or not I should keep my car, I set out at the end of December to go for 30 days without my car to see if I can wrangle up the nerve to sell it. I’ve parked my car outside of the city, and it’s gone from my being for nearly the entire month of January.

In fact, I may sell it at the end of January. (Thanks for all of the amazing opinions and comments from my first post!)

I am taking a deep breath and trying to re-route my life by living with less and un-burdening myself from some of the financial stress of car ownership.

One step at a time, one bus ride at a time, one book at a time.

Wish me luck. For the first 25 years of my life, I lived car-free (well, with the exception of mom and dad driving me around everywhere). I’ve been a car owner for a year.

Now I’m about to embark into the car-free world again …

Let’s see how it goes.

The Pitfalls and Costs of Car Ownership (And I Need Your Advice!) Should I Sell My Car?

Car-free or car-stuck?

I have an important question that I’d love people to weigh in on: Should I sell my car?

Logically, the question seems to have a very simple answer: yes.

I keep writing lists and outlining the reasons why I should sell my car (and why I shouldn’t) and the balance seems to lie heavily in favor towards selling my car. And yet I’m having the hardest time extricating myself from my car. Despite giving up several things during my current ambitions towards doing and having Less, I’m still having the hardest time with the idea of selling my car.

Why? I’m a practical, logical, pragmatic person: why is this so hard to do? Why is selling my car so difficult? Even with the facts laid out, staring me in the face, I’m having the hardest time selling my car.

The prelude: why I bought a car in the first place

I used to live completely car-free. I lived in different cities and each time, I only walked, bused, or biked to get around – occasionally living the high life and taking a taxi when I felt like being luxurious.

And then I moved to California.

I lived in San Francisco for a year and a half before caving and purchasing a car. In December 2009 I bought a brand new car.

I purchased a 2010 Toyota Matrix from a dealer, priced at $17,490, with a $1000 rebate for being a recent college grad. The Kelly Blue Book value of the car, at new, was $20,049.  My purchase price was $16,490. With taxes, registration, and fees, I forked over $19,009.  Well, I actually forked over nothing – NOTHING DOWN.  Instead I signed a promise to buy the car over the next three years.  (As a somewhat-savvy consumer, I secured a 3-year financing plan with 0% interest.)

Why did I buy the car? I purchased the car because I was living 40 miles from my job and commuting an hour each way (through San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge and back), and there wasn’t sufficient public transportation to get me to and from my job – at least at the time I bought the car.

I have since owned and paid for the car for 12 months – which means I have already spent $6,800 on the car payments.  I have a remaining $12,200 left to pay on the car over a 2-year period.

We all know that cars are expensive – but how expensive are they really? The actual cost break-down:

Keeping and maintaining a car is incredibly expensive. Here is a breakdown of my monthly costs of car ownership (calculated from the aggregate of one year of driving). Looking at it on paper, I’m stunned. The cost of the car has been unbelievable. In one year, this is what I’m spending:

Car payments$529 per month

Gasoline: (20,000 miles total, 25 mpg average, gas price is $3.15 in California, $2520 annually for gas) – $210 per month.

Maintenance: for one year (4 tune ups at $109 each) – $436 annually (for year one only), or $36 per month for maintenance.

Insurance: AAA Insurance – $109 per month.

Tolls and Fees: Crossing the Golden Gate Bridge every day ($5 each way) – $80 per month.

Parking: I’m lucky to have mostly free parking, unless I drive downtown. I spend about $50 a month in various parking fees. If you count the parking tickets from San Francisco’s crazy street-cleaning schedules and signage, then I spend an average of $37 a month in parking tickets (Thanks to Mint for alerting me to this). – $87 per month.

Drumroll, please.

Every month I spend approximately $1051 on my car.

$1051! What would I do with $1051 per month!

In addition, I have a substantial amount of debt from undergraduate and graduate student loans (more on that in a post coming soon) that I’m currently working hard to pay off. My student loan payments are to the tune of $700 per month. I’ll be honest: I struggle to make the car payment and the student loan payments each month.

Today: the current situation

In November, I moved back to San Francisco, because I couldn’t stand the long commute. Commuting through city traffic is tiring and psychologically draining – I quickly remembered why I disliked driving so much. In contrast, San Francisco is a hub of public transportation options – sometimes better or worse, depending on the neighborhood that you live in.

I now live 8 miles from my job in Sausalito. The drive takes about 15-20 minutes, depending on traffic. Parking at my job is easy, but parking in San Francisco is a nightmare – it can take up to 40 minutes to find a parking spot.  I have the option of purchasing a parking spot – but those cost upwards of $300 in a city like San Francisco, and I can’t stomach how much I’m already spending on the car alone.

I now have alterative means for getting to work – I can bike to work a few days per week, depending on the day and the weather. There is also a bus line that goes to and from my work on the hour, and takes about 30-40 minutes to get to work (it doubles my commute time, but I don’t have to worry about parking, driving, or concentrating on the road).

The (easy) conclusions – and some further hesitations

I’m starting to think that it makes sense for me to sell my car. Here are the reasons:

Living in a city – with ample public transportation, alternative car-sharing options, bicycle riding, and walking – makes having a car a luxury, not a necessity.

Getting rid of $12,200 of unpaid debt is a good thing. I simply don’t have the money – and thinking about paying for the car with my future earnings un-nerves me.

There are additional costs to car ownership – insurance, gas, parking, maintenance – that will continue to add up over time. (To the tune of about $450 per month, even after I’m done making the car payments)

The current value of my car ($14,000) is more than I owe on my payments ($12,200).

It aligns more with my current values in landscape architecture, city planning, and environmental behavior.

I like walking. I also enjoy busing, biking, and exploring different forms of public transportation.

To further underscore the reasons I should sell my car:

A car is a depreciating asset, and will not add any value over time. Struggling to make these payments does not help me reduce or eliminate debt in other areas of my life.

Public transportation to work costs $4 each way, or approximately $160 per month.

If I also choose to use a car-sharing program (like zipcar or city car share) on the weekends, I would spend between $50 and $75 for a half to full day of weekend use – but the cost would be elective, and not fixed.

If I don’t spend the money on the car, I can spend the money on: ___________ (fill in the blank: student loans, emergency fund, freedom fund, retirement savings, 401K, Kiva Entrepreneurs, etc)

I’m not sure where I’m going to be living in the next 3-5 years, and one of my dreams is to live abroad for a year and learn a new language. (If I do this, I won’t be taking a car with me).

No decision is permanent. If I do end up absolutely needing a car in the future, I could always buy a new car. Selling this one does not mean that I’m never allowed to own a car again.

Last minute hesitations: Some of my fears.

I am a little bit worried that it’s a mistake to sell my car after owning it for one year – it seems that I run the risk of losing the most money that way. Some people tell me that I should wait it out for the next two years, buckle down, and just finish making the payments – because I need a car and can’t possibly live without one. (Is this really true?) People also suggest that it’s foolish to buy a brand new car and sell a car within the first year of ownership.

However, I also know that sunk costs are sunk costs: what I’ve already spent on the car is gone. What I spend in the future is still up for determination. Do I want to spent $1051 per month on a car for the next two years? (that’s $25,244!)

It seems painfully clear, on paper, that I should sell my car. And yet I get in and drive it every single day – to teach swim lessons after work, to go to dinner parties, to meet up with people at new events, on trips to Tahoe, on excursions beyond the city limits to do fun things.

I am somewhat afraid of selling my car. I’m worried that I’ll miss it a lot after I sell it – and I will wish that I hadn’t sold it. Psychologically and emotionally, I’m attached to it.

Also, I’m stubborn: I don’t to admit I made a mistake in buying the car in the first place.

Tell me, what should I do? Can I afford to sell my car? Can I afford not to?