Getting What You Want

I've got a gaggle of young children, infant to toddler to school age. Taking a poll across all age groups and genders, the average result is they are rather fond of getting what they want. The two year old often tells his mother in response to the ineffable "no" she often levies, "But I WANT to!!" But I want to. Most of us have never heard our mind say it because we're too busy short circuiting the 'good judgement' system in the heat of the moment. The little alarm voice goes off. It says a lot of things. Don't take that. Don't touch her like that. Don't drive like this. Don't crack another can. If you could hit the replay button at a later date, you'd hear yourself fire back at the conscientious objector, "But I WANT to!"

Figuring out what you want is hell of a thing. Much ink has been spilled and many external hard drives crowded with descriptions and depictions of people getting what they want. People getting what they didn't want, but actually needed. People getting what they wanted and it turning into a nightmare. The occasional getting of what you want and it all turning out exactly as you expect. The Stones of course made a famous riff off of getting what you want. Not always, but you can try sometimes, and you just might find, you get what you need. And, being a dad, no discourse on this subject can go without mentioning that old adage. Be careful what you wish for. You might get it.

So we WANT to, and dammit, why not? We work hard. We sacrifice. I can hear Dave Ramsey whining patronizingly into his top dollar voice recording equipment. "But I work hard! SHUT UP! We all work hard!" Gist being, as I understood him, you don't get to blow the budget and/or your morals because you work hard. That's the expectation, not some exceptional behavior to be rewarded with wanton hedonism. This leads me to the crux of the core of the centre of the main focal point. You might say, the bullseye. The Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility.

I will never, ever, in a hundred million years, forget Dr. Chase Reed, DVM, teaching my Introduction to Agricultural Economics at the Redlands Community College Animal Science building. He was himself a graduate student at the time, and I nothing more than a freshman, fresh from homeschooling in a brave new world 10 hours from home. Words like "elastic demand curve" gave me as much pleasure to study as it gave the majority of my classmates heart burn to memorize. I actually still have the textbook from the class, unlike the hundreds others that were rented or resold. The lessons in that book, expounded upon by the brilliant mind at the podium, seemed to flow right into the rules of life itself. They felt like important things to commit to heart when I encountered that horrific enemy that stood in the way of my success, financially and otherwise. The Man in the Mirror.

Marginal utility and your reflection don't seem to be all the deeply related. But for sake of example, there's some things humans seem to want, even lust after. A shiny set of wheels. A fine abode on beautiful grounds. A romantic partner that is physically attractive and clinically sane. If your mental faculties fall somewhere under the fat part of a normal distribution, you probably can conjure the allure for these things in your mind. But before I tee off on those, a story.

Back seat of a judging van. Can of "Copenhagen Black." I started a decade long lesson on 'The Law of Diminishing Marginal Utility.' One of my less academically inclined compatriots from the Intro to Ag Econ class with Dr. Reed had readily offered a fat pinch of this taboo tobacco for my evaluation. There must have been 5 or 6 experienced dip fiends telling me how to pack it in just right. 30 miles later, I was mercifully rescued by a stop at a gas station. I had to lean on the urinal to keep from falling over. My head was spinning that fast, and I had shed the chew 5 miles back, rather sloppily, into the Great Value drinking water bottle spitter. I didn't throw up, but in hindsight, I wished I would have. I probably would have saved my gums a lot of hardship. From there, any nicotine slave knows the gig. Two years later, I was chewing two tins a day of full strength Copenhagen Snuff. I lost a chunk of gum on a lower front tooth root in my preferred pouch. Now, I don't even like the smell anymore. The trip from massive buzz to nervous tick habit is incredibly short. Less marginal return as you use more. Frankly, that experience gave me a lot of sympathy to those dealing with harder drugs. You are always chasing that first high.

Margin is something that is simple to understand. Sometimes, we call it profit. The little sweet spot between the cost and your return. Utility being economic speak for pleasure, in my understanding, makes it pretty easy to grasp. Once you get what you want, the more you get of it, the less you want of it. I am reminded of an early 1900's story of a young man who was desperate to ride a certain dangerous horse. He went behind the back of the boss to ride him and nearly got killed. So the punishment? "A bellyful of riding." If you've been blessed to live in bounty and overeaten at a holiday, you are aware of the unpleasant feeling of your belly being full to bursting. The pleasure cruise ends suddenly with gastric consequences. So one can well imagine getting a bellyful of something is to serve to remind you to exercise restraint in the future. Food is amazing in proper measure. So are many things. These days, I really enjoy the occasional cigar on a special day. It brings a lot more margin of utility than packing a lip 10 times a day.

At the outset, I mentioned an imaginary survey of my offspring. You notice they were what we would broadly describe as children. If you are over maybe 12, and not receiving a sermon about faith, being called a child is hardly a compliment. For example, when I was a child, I blew money and health chasing pleasure in a Cope can. Now, with some measure of consequences and restraint, I enjoy a cigar of some quality on rare occasions that are appropriate to celebrate milestones or reunions. Hardly the blatant immaturity on display when I drug spit bottles into classes and cars. Most of us can point to something we aren't that proud of that taught us a deep lesson. For the "penis possessors" in the readership, when you are trying to prove the peach fuzz and voice cracks means you are damn well a grown man, spitting brown juice all over the jobsite feels like an external indication of your masculinity. Later, most of us either make it a quiet habit or kick it altogether. I'm not some paragon, I just REALLY hate dental work. So I kicked it.

I went off my rails again, didn't I? Well, I have to try and convince you I didn't. The development of young people into adults essentially translates to "appetite suppression." You can go way off into the deep on both ends of that. But, broadly, "grown ups" stick to the budget and delay gratification for a greater reward later. No matter what you want. Sex, nicotine, heroine, or money. You say no in hopes of saying yes to either a greater, or different, reward. No to every girl in the world except your wife. Yes to 40 years of a deep relationship that cannot be gained without chaste commitment. No to the snickers bar and Amp. Yes to 30 years of tax sheltered investment growth. You are smart, you can connect up the dots on your personal picture. So about getting what we want.

When I was a kid, if my dad gifted me a twenty, it would hardly have time to warm in my hand before it had left. Now, after a good introduction to real work and hard earnings, he can leave a couple hundred in my palm and it will melt from moisture before I spend it. It's not that I don't want money anymore. I just see the stuff for what it is and what it represents in the years of life he can't get back from the grist mill. I wouldn't dare use it unless it were direly needful. I know pops isn't the fountain of cash anymore. Because I am now the spring watering my own family. So it goes with generations as we must learn the heart rending lessons over and over. You like that big house your folks live in? When you get it, it means they are either in a home or dead. How do you like the digs now? Wouldn't you rather have them back spry and be happy in your cardboard box? Same goes for millions of wills read to vultures suffering from arrested development.

I watched an interview the other day. Lot's of people are familiar with the "Wolf of Wallstreet," Jordan Belfort. He was asked endlessly about financial vehicles, scams, debauchery, and so on. The upshot? The guy that stole millions looked into the camera and said with a serious tone, "Buy the S&P Index and hold onto it. That's it." So said the late Munger, and his surviving partner of lesser fame *wink*, Buffet. Don't buy a slick pitch about quick returns. They don't exist. We all know that right? But millions fall prey to hoping every year. I've been there myself. Desperation is a steep funnel to the bottom. Your brain is desperately trying to help you maintain the course. Then a whisper. But I want to.

Strength and honor. -C