Prioritize Experience: Invest in Wonder

In general, spending money on experiences—to go somewhere or to do something—offers a much more durable sense of satisfaction than material possessions. Things often lose their luster quickly. We’ve all experienced the adult version of the child who sets aside the expensive new toy they were dying to have only to play with the box.

Beyond that, material goods tug at our instinct to measure our worth against those around us, which can trap us in a never-ending cycle of upgrades and the exhausting pressure to one-up the neighbors. Experiences, however, are uniquely ours. They create a vivid mental scrapbook that we will be able to revisit for the rest of our lives.

I was raised in a household of “doers rather than owners.” My parents were never maximalists. Although it wasn’t stated outright, they clearly viewed money as a vehicle for expansion rather than a means for collection. My childhood was a constant sampling of skills and discovery—ballet, gymnastics, soccer, horseback riding, and tours of museums or trips to planetariums where the goal was to learn, not to possess. What we did buy was usually connected to someone’s latest hobby—ice skates, tennis rackets, a windsurfer—or meant to facilitate learning and connection at home—games, jigsaw puzzles, books. The focus was always on enrichment and what we could become.

Isolating the Signal

This perspective was sharpened into a core conviction by a series of profound losses—my best friend in high school, first husband and father of my children, and (most recently) both parents. Each loss has acted as a filter, stripping away the noise of “stuff” and leaving behind only the signal of shared time. It reminds me of Randy Pausch’s The Last Lecture, where he deliberately poured soda all over his brand-new car just to prove to his nephew that a person’s experience is always more important than a pristine possession. He successfully neutralized the object so the memory of the outing could take center stage.

I tried to be the “guardian of experience” for my own children. While it often felt like the world was trying to bury them in things, I invested in wonder and adventure. I knew toys would soon be forgotten, but swimming with a dolphin, visiting the Kennedy Space Center, or taking each of them skydiving for their 18th birthdays would stay with them forever. The proof is in the present: when I asked my children what they wanted me to leave them in my will, they didn’t ask for high-cost assets. My son wanted the Dove family crest and the Egyptian cartouche with my name on it from a King Tut exhibit in Indianapolis. My daughter asked for my hand-pounded singing bowl—one of my oldest possessions which produces a sound that undoubtedly brings her back to her childhood.

Unlike physical goods that depreciate and become clutter, shared experiences become part of our history and our identity. They’re opportunities to deepen our connections. And, even if they aren’t all they were cracked up to be, they become funny stories we can tell for years.

Unscripted Exploration

Today, with my kids grown and on their own, my drive for discovery has largely shifted toward connection with nature and experiencing vibrant, eclectic cultures. My husband and I preference the visceral payoff of long hikes to panoramic views, feeling the mist from a waterfall, watching our German Shepherd reconnect with her “wild wolf” spirit, or cycling through winding country roads. Traveling—both domestically and abroad—has become our North Star as we look toward retirement. While many spend their final working years upgrading the “forever” home, we’re moving in the opposite direction. We aspire to vagabond for the first few years of our retirement—hoping to trade the security of having a home base for a life of unscripted exploration, so long as we can figure out the logistics.

We still buy things, but we’re hyper-intentional. Our spending is currently focused on things like books and gym equipment—tools that help us design an environment to support our health and feed our minds for the journey ahead. We’re finding the courage to live without a permanent zip code, knowing that at the end of the line, rather than leaving behind a house full of hassle, we’ll pass on a lifetime of stories.

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