Eye Makeup Remover is Serious Stuff

Once upon a time, when Sephora would have their 20% off events, I would stock up on enough makeup to last me quite some time. So it was only a few months ago that I noticed I was on my last bottle of Philosophy Just Release Me eye makeup remover. 

I moseyed over to the internet to find my baby, only to discover that it had been discontinued. 

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Before you pat me on the back in a comforting fashion, bear in mind it took me forever to find Just Release Me in the first place. The usual favorite, by Lancome, left behind a greasy residue (in my mind). Every other product I tried merely smeared the mascara into racoon circles around my eyes, as opposed to removing it. 

I researched "dupe" frantically, and found an obscure post on an obscure blog claiming that they, too, panicked at the disappearance of Just Release Me, but found that the eye makeup remover by Neutrogena was an excellent replacement. It even had the same ingredients, the blogger wrote. 

I was dubious, as I had tried nearly every drugstore eye makeup remover already and they were disappointing. But, I tend to believe everyone's recommendations so I thought I'd give it a whirl. 

And . . . she was right! 

So, while I feel slightly stupid for paying so much over these past who knows how many years, I am thankful I do not have to rub my eyes into an early wrinkly future. Shiver.

Give Them CASH

I have um, a bit of a backlog of fascinating articles. So, er, bear with me as I link, um, holiday-themed pieces. 

 

The subject of these two are regarding gift-giving, that thankless job. It's sort of like shidduch dating; the majority of results are "Gee, thanks for thinking of me, but—" 

Sridhar Puppu's article about the misery males experience trying to select gifts for their significant others ("Why Are Some Men Such Awkward Gift Givers") is quite entertaining. Even when their spouses are fine with it, they still feel the pressure. 

 

John Tierney went to the experts, as in actual research ("The Perfect Gift? It's the One They Asked For"). Often, gift-givers get so worked up over how amazed the receivers will be, they don't take into consideration that the receivers would rather have something that's useful, instead of something awesome that becomes irritating clutter. 

 

If buying for a lot of people at once (although, is that an issue for non-Christmas observers?), don't make a point of getting something different for everyone, especially if they wouldn't know anyway. My aunt throws a Chanuka party every year, and she sticks to the same gift for a specific age group. She has to keep her sanity too. 

 

And it's cool to regift, apparently. Also, people know what they want. ASK. They'll tell you. If not opting for deliciously welcome cash, don't give a restrictive gift card, like to a candle shop. That's not fair. 

Last but not least: The thought does not count. I'm speaking from experience, here: If I am stuck with something I have to pretend to love and takes up space, I am annoyed, not touched. In Judaism, "the ends don't justify the means." So if you shvitzed to get me what you thought I would like and I didn't like it, I'm not really going to care about the effort. According to research.

One at a Time

On the his first episode on M*A*S*H, Major Charles Emerson Winchester III pompously intones, "I do one thing at a time, I do it very well, and then I move on." 

 

It turns out, the fathead was right. If I supposedly "multi-task," incompetency reigns. 

I can't listen to a shiur and surf Facebook. I can't text and maintain a conversation. Preparing too many dishes at one time rarely ends well. 

There are many who claim they can multi-task. Note that they claim. Try reading this story without distraction. Can you? Will you recall what you have read? Will you have processed it?

Earlier research out of Stanford revealed that self-identified “high media multitaskers” are actually more easily distracted than those who limit their time toggling.

So, in layman’s terms, by doing more you’re getting less done.

Perhaps you are familiar with the person who is always busy, yet doesn't seem to accomplish anything? 

But monotasking, also referred to as single-tasking or unitasking, isn’t just about getting things done.

Not the same as mindfulness, which focuses on emotional awareness, monotasking is a 21st-century term for what your high school English teacher probably just called “paying attention.”

I have learned, at my work, to complete each task one by one. Then I don't come back, spend a minute remembering where I left off, then forget that one vital action necessary to prevent my having to start it all over again. 

As much as people would like to believe otherwise, humans have finite neural resources that are depleted every time we switch between tasks, which, especially for those who work online, Ms. Zomorodi said, can happen upward of 400 times a day, according to a 2016 University of California, Irvine study. “That’s why you feel tired at the end of the day,” she said. “You’ve used them all up.”

The term “brain dead” suddenly takes on a whole new meaning.

Multi-tasking is not productive at all, because not only are the jobs not done right, one is rendered unproductive in the process. 

There is pleasant satisfaction in a job well done and complete, von Pfetten writes. That reminded me of the "debt snowball method," paying off the smallest debt first even though that seems contradictory to financial savvy. When those in hock are able to cross off an item from their list, they tend to be so galvanized by that signal of progress that they throw themselves wholeheartedly into further headway. 

Kids, of course, tend to interrupt mono-tasking. In cases where tackling one job at a time is difficult, just try to do it whenever possible, like reading offspring a book while the phone is elsewhere, the article recommends. 

“Practice how you listen to people,” Ms. McGonigal said. “Put down anything that’s in your hands and turn all of your attentional channels to the person who is talking. You should be looking at them, listening to them, and your body should be turned to them. If you want to see a benefit from monotasking, if you want to have any kind of social rapport or influence on someone, that’s the place to start. That’s where you’ll see the biggest payoff.” 

The Decorators of the Soul

To get myself in the proper yuntiff state of mind, I've been hearkening to various shiurim; one, by Rabbi Stauber, was addressing the difficulties some have with the concept of "hiddur mitzvah."

I was puzzled. Why should anyone feel pompous by practicing hiddur mitzvah? Then I realized: I'm Hungarian. Our whole lives are hiddur.

As my social studies teacher in 6th grade (a frum woman of Polish heritage) taught my class, an example of a stereotype is, for instance, that Hungarians have chandeliers in their bathrooms.

Darn tootin'. We matter-of-factly beautify the mundane. How much more so the sacred? 

I was once listening to an Esther Wein shiur, and she brings an Arizal: Hashem created the whole world, and within every culture and nation there is an aspect that Jews can learn to better serve Hashem. 

As the granddaughter of Rabbi Schwab, she mentioned the German meticulousness, which can be applied in how mitzvos are kept—in careful detail. 

Well, Hungarians decorate. 

Setting the table for Shabbos, for instance. My father's cousin came for a visit, and he and Ma had a passionate discussion on the art of tablecloths. (His wife, while a fellow Magyar, was not concerned with such matters.) He eagerly soaked up Ma's prowess of ideal weight and measurements. 

While I do share a house with the best cook I have ever come across (I have had much exposure to other chefs, and she has yet to be outclassed), the success of a Shabbos meal, is, oddly, less in the food, more in the presentation.

As Ma decrees, three factors: 

1)   Beautiful dishes.

2)  Beautiful flowers. 

 

3)  Gracious hostess. 

Couldn't resist.

There's a reason why I'm currently sitting on a trousseaux of Lenox, snatched up piece by discounted piece in Homegoods. Dishes are a long-term investment, and if one buys a reliable brand that doesn't chip they will be around—looking pretty—for years to come. (Cutting back on a few food items from takeout or the deli section will cover the cost quite quickly.)

As for flowers, they don't have to be expensive to be lovely. Carnations, for instance, aren't pricey and can last as long as two weeks. But then, it is also imperative to own a lovely glass vase to put them into.

 

Ta's esrog this year? The fairest of them all.    

Schwartz Ain't Cool

"They're trying to keep up with the Schwartzes," he explained, "and they are drowning financially in the process." 

"People are still trying keep up with the Schwartzes?" I replied incredulously. 

 

It wasn't until I became familiar with the British class system (thank you, My Fair Lady) that I understood the concept of upward mobility. But the funny thing about class in England is that it is a separate entity from finances (because estates tended to be entailed, and the nobility began to run out of money around the time of industrialization . . . but that's a whole other post). 

In the U.S., however, being classy is also a separate entity from money, simply because money is the only thing that matters (as a Jones-Schwartz). Yet I was surprised to hear that there are those who go into hock for a second luxury vehicle, especially since no one really cares. 

No one notices conspicuous consumption anymore. Not only that, as Steven Quartz and Anette Asp reports in "Unequal, Yet Happy," those who cannot chuck away their money so heedlessly (or unwilling to sign their names in blood to do so) can simply spin their smaller incomes as being "cool." 

Wearing an expensive suit and tie was once the only way to reflect success, and the blue-collar worker would feel that discrepancy keenly. Now, young techies, lolling about in tees and jeans, can smirk at those fast-paced Wall Street stooges.

Today, all of us are the masters of PR. Anything can be cool, and anything can be the boring, barf flip-side. Take makeup. I like it, but others find it false and tedious, thereby turning their cosmetic-less image into something anti-establishment and "natural."

Because individuals can own their outlook, people are happier than ever, even with the hiccuping economy and the shrinking middle class. We can make anything cool.

Why would any of us bother to keep up with the Schwartzes? Anytime Mr. Schwartz upgraded an expensive toy, all the neighbor would have to do is shrug and say, "I'm more about preserving the environment, you know? Less waste. Leaving a cleaner planet for my children."   

Baaltashchis

When I was a child, the concept of baaltashchis did a number on me. Maybe because I already had a predilection to shun waste, but I became (and still remain) absolutely impossible. 

Just this week, I unearthed from the freezer a bag of cherries I froze two years ago when they, courtesy of a fruit of the month club gift, arrived on the doorstep prior to a trip, and made compote out of it. They did defrost to an unappetizing shade of brown, but with the assistance of two raspberry tea bags, a few mushy peaches, a touch of brown sugar,  and a squirt of lemon juice, the results are pretty (enough) and palatable. 

Throwing away food that was spoiled due to lack of foresight makes my stomach churn. Perhaps as a grandchild of survivors such mindless excess makes me wince, or it's merely my nature; it pains me. 

 

"Starve a Landfill" by Kim Severson sent my sensibilities into hyperdrive. 

Homemakers during World War II considered themselves soldiers of the kitchen, with conservation their battle cry. In the 1970s, ecology drove the urge to make good use of kitchen waste.

Somewhere along the line, the art of kitchen efficiency was lost amid grocery stores packed with pre-made pizza shells, bagged lettuce and fruit so perfect it needed no knife work. Dinner was almost as likely to come from the drive-through or the new corner bistro as from the stove.

Prior to the 1970s, kitchen efficiency was a given. In Europe, where food storage was tricky if downright impossible, Babi had to calculate how much dinner would be needed by her brood, down to the crumb, since leftovers could not be frozen or refrigerated. Nor were certain contemporary givens always available; for instance, fruits and vegetables that were only grew in summer were jammed and jarred for winter consumption.

Via houserevivals.blogspot.com

Ma, with such an upbringing, does impressive mathematics to prevent waste, even though she has the security of two freezers. Although, some dishes do not respond well to chilly temps, and it would be better to compute their use before they begin to decompose. 

Besides for mere sensibility, when Americans throw out food, they are also throwing out money. 

 

I am surprised how many people I know claim to be on limited budgets yet shop without restraint in grocery stores. That's five pairs of shoes, ladies, going into the trash. 

Wasting less in the kitchen is just smart economics, said Dana Gunders, a project scientist for the Natural Resources Defense Council whose book, “Waste-Free Kitchen Handbook,” comes out in May.

Eating better may cost more, she said, but an efficient cook can make up the difference. “We are so price sensitive in the store, and 10 cents will swing us one way or other,” she said. “But in the kitchen we throw out so much money without even thinking about price.”

Another culprit: Gimmicky recipes that require exotic ingredients, then the budding cook is stumped how to utilize them again. 

“So much home kitchen waste is from people shopping from a recipe,” [Brandi Henderson] said. “Someone will use that weird curry paste once and then won’t have the confidence to think: ‘Hey, this curry paste is really good. I’m going to make some fried rice with it or sauté some shrimp.’ ”

. . . She recommends “The Flavor Bible,” a book by Karen Page and Andrew Dornenburg that features no recipes but encourages intuitive cooking using lists of ingredients and complementary flavors and techniques.

“If we leave the recipe behind and get back to technique cooking,” she said, “kitchen waste will go away.”    

"Technique cooking"? Jacques! Oh, Jacques! 

No Money Tree, Kids

Once upon a time, money was not spoken about. It was considered crass, impolite, indiscreet. But then again, many topics were considered verboten, which have all since been busted wide in this secret-free and loud era. 

As for myself, in my childhood, money was really not spoken about. I was thrifty by nature; Babi would send me a check on my birthday, which was immediately deposited into the bank account Ta created at my birth, where it earned interest at a rate that no longer exists. If I wanted anything, I would bring my petition to the high potentate (Ma), where my request would be accepted or denied. Life was pleasantly simple. 

Today, with so many once-untouchable matters being openly discussed, that would make the kinfauna's approach to cash quite different from my kiddie view. Shopping with my 13-year-old niece, I bought her a pair of shoes for her birthday. She fretted that they cost too much (they didn't), not realizing that she doesn't give a second thought to other, more costly expenses. 

When times are good, then the after-effects of money is not a conversation. When times are bad, such as a Recession, then there comes a need to address the sensitive subject of spoiled children.

Ron Lieber wrote The Opposite of Spoiled: Raising Kids Who Are Grounded, Generous, and Smart About Money. He also has article with some of the book's information, "Why You Should Tell Your Children How Much You Make." There is an interview with the author here.

That idea made my breath catch. Tell younglings about their parents' salaries? Unheard of! Absurd! As I continued reading, I managed to grudgingly put aside my biases, finding myself swayed by Lieber's anecdotal arguments. 

While I do think that there are people out there who are stupid about money no matter how much education they receive in that area, most of us are simply tossed into the world of bills and budget without any prep work. Our schools should certainly have required courses in the realities of money before these teenagers make any life-altering decisions.

In my observations, I see that many make the fatal error of thinking that being a "loving parent" means showering offspring with expensive toys, snacks, and clothing. Yet as those children age, they will have been carefully taught that only things have value, as opposed to actual values. 
 

What rugrats actually crave is quality time with their parents. Give a kid an iPad, and he'll be initially thrilled, but not when his father retreats into his own tablet and shuts him out.

I grew up with toys (I adored Barbies) and I was in no way deprived. Yet each were purchased with tactical care, not mindlessly. There were many "no"s before we got to the "yes"s, and still Babi thought Ma was wasting money. If I make the stupendous mistake of shopping with the youngest of kinfauna, I get many admiring smiles from bystanders as I repeat, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no." But the kiddies aren't resentful. They pout for a few minutes, and most of the time they forget what took their fancy. They do a bigger dance at the idea of me going hoarse reading them books. Like The Berenstain Bears Get the Gimmies.

     

Let It Go

There is a shopping mall I like to frequent, referred to fondly as "Mecca." I usually aim to be one of the first shoppers in the parking lot, before the doors open, relishing my selected shade tree as I nibble some fuel for the exacting mission ahead. 

When I emerge a few hours later, there are cars as far as the eye can behold. Now is the next stage of the game, stealthily creeping out to my vehicle as numerous sedans furiously circle, seeking a spot. More than once there has been a near fist-fight as frantic shoppers (who refuse to walk) screech over who gets first dibs. 

Americans like to shop. Frankly, is there any culture that doesn't like to shop? 

Regarding the holiday season, Arthur C. Brooks addressed the commercialization of a seemingly spiritual holiday in "Abundance Without Attachment." 

Jews, too, feel the constant tug between gashmius and ruchniyus. For all, it is about balance. But balance is subjective. It relies more on how one views money. As an American who made it big then became an property-less swami put it:

“There is nothing wrong with money, dude. The problem in life is attachment to money.” 

 Abundance isn't a bad thing; if there was no prosperity, we'd all be starving. But with wealth, there is the danger of "MINE!" 

Brooks has a simple yet brilliant means to combat that side-effect: 

Firstly, collect experiences, not things.

Amen, sir!

However, I was not crazy about his example, second honeymoon as opposed to new couch. "Experiences" don't have to be about expensive travel destinations, and a couch provides the means for memorable experiences. Like cuddling up on a soft yet sturdy couch with a sleeping nephew. 

Though it seems counterintuitive, it is physically permanent stuff that evaporates from our minds. It is memories in the ether of our consciousness that last a lifetime, there for us to enjoy again and again.

Secondly: 

. . . steer clear of excessive usefulness.

Our daily lives often consist of a dogged pursuit of practicality and usefulness at all costs. This is a sure path toward the attachment we need to avoid. Aristotle makes this point in his Nicomachean Ethics; he shows admiration for learned men because “they knew things that are remarkable, admirable, difficult, and divine, but useless.”

To quote Shlomo HaMelech: "Hevel."  

Countless studies show that doing things for their own sake — as opposed to things that are merely a means to achieve something else — makes for mindfulness and joy.

. . . This is the point made famously in the Hindu text the Bhagavad Gita, where work is sanctified as inherently valuable, not as a path to a payoff.

I revel in a stupid sense of self-worth after partially cleaning my room. 

And finally, get to the center of the wheel.

Life changes, and sometimes we're at the top of the heap, sometimes we're in a pretty crummy bind. Seven years of plenty, seven years of lean. But if one looks at material goods at being on the outer perimeter of the Wheel of Fortune, then one remains whole and at peace in the center. Things may come and go, but that has no bearing on one's self-worth, providing one does define oneself through one's possessions.

  

I am more than my income, success, or closet. I think.  

Shop Like a Pilgrim

My family doesn't observe Thanksgiving. Considering how Ma makes her chicken soup with turkey legs, we get sufficient gobble-gobble year round. Plus that gratitude thing is in our daily Amidah, so we are happy to have an excuse not to cook exponentially, yet again. 

But, like any red-blooded Hungarian, I have my eye on the holiday sales. No Black Friday for me—I would like to live to see another day—yet I keep a careful eye on possible reductions. 

 

My shopping style has evolved over the years. The whole pastime did not interest me until my late teens, and it took time to calculate what is a valid buy. 

Initially, I made the fatal error that cheap = purchase it. If insanely reduced = MUST purchase it! But what simply resulted was a backlog of unwearable attire that was too soon ushered into the charity thriftstore. 

Every item under consideration now undergoes strict mathematical computations. What purpose does this item serve? Will it be worn enough? Is the fabric and construction of sufficient quality to the price? For how much it costs, is the potential use valid? Does it require alteration? Much or little? Do I have to rehaul my wardrobe to match other items to it?

Like I have said, shopping is a sport, involving speed, stamina, and savvy.

Now, a suggestion from David DeSteno on "How to Defeat the Impulse Buy": Gratitude. 

Aw, shucks. 

Humankind has a tendency to indulge in immediate gratification, and that's how "they" get you. So what to do? Invoke Thanksgiving. 

Of course we can. We all have a proclivity for immediate gratification, but we are also all capable of self-control. The real question is: How do we ensure that we exercise that control?

A natural suggestion is to rely on willpower. But when it comes to holiday shopping, that is likely to fail. Research has shown that willpower tends to be limited. Each successful exercise of it actually increases the likelihood of subsequent failure if temptations come in quick succession (as they do, for instance, in shopping malls).

So rather than trying to override your decision-making impulses, a better strategy might be to try to change them. And recent research suggests that an effective way to do that is by cultivating the emotion of gratitude.

This reminds me of the basic message in "Sur mei'ra v'asei tov," turn from bad and do good. Simply refraining from the bad won't do, one must actively do good. That's how habits can be broken; not by simply sweating out unfulfilled impulses, but by replacing those unhealthy actions with beneficial responses.

Online is usually the place where I mess up, shopping-wise. I surf  a shoe section even though I don't need anything and there is only one pair left of these really gorgeous moccasins and they are on sale too and couldn't I use moccasins? 

I ended up returning those stupid moccasins. Of course I didn't need those moccasins. 

The emotion of gratitude, viewed from a cost-benefit perspective, stresses the long-term value of short-term sacrifice (e.g., If I’m grateful to you for a favor, I’ll work hard to repay it and thereby ensure you’ll help me again in the future). Consequently, my colleagues and I suspected that gratitude might also enhance patience and self-control . . .

What these findings show is that certain emotions can temporarily enhance self-control by decreasing desires for immediate gratification. While feeling happy doesn’t do much to increase patience, feeling grateful does.

Yes, I will make a point to be mindfully thankful as I scroll through Yoox.       

Homeward Bound

"Why do you live at home?" my date suddenly asked, abruptly changing the topic. 

I blink. He obviously does not know my bank account balance.

And he says this right after telling me the headaches his deadbeat roommate gives him. 

I have been attacked by people for not relocating to the various Singlevilles that dot this grand city, or have been begged never to do it. Once, a woman asked me why I don't live there, and her husband quickly invoked, "Heaven forfend!" 

I'm not exactly sure why I have to explain myself. It seems rather obvious to me. 

"Why do you still live at home?" my boss snorted. 

"I'm hoarding my money." 

"For what?" he scoffed. 

"To buy a house, Jack." 

Well, that shut him up. 

There are other perks, I must admit. Most nights I am greeted by savory aromas traveling down the driveway (did I mention my mother is a fantastic cook?) and I don't have to worry about bills. I'm also not the type to deal with like-aged roommates; I would probably end up the naive idiot who is hoodwinked into taking care of all the unpleasant things that apartment renting involve. Then there is my sacrosanct bedtime which few are respectful of, and the fact that as the lone cheese I have a private bathroom. My parents and I get along great (apparently, that is not a cool thing to say nowadays, but I never went for trends) and we share the same television interests. 

Did I mention I'm hoarding my money?

There was a woman written up in the NY Times right after the economy went kablooey; while all of her friends were getting mortgages or subsisting on credit, she lived with her mother, a choice which most of the world scoffed at. Now, while they are getting foreclosed upon, she has money (not "Monopoly" paper) to buy her own home, outright. 

Not everyone can live at home, true. But I can. So I will, pal. Without apologizing for it.

"Beggarville"

This past Sunday's NY Times Magazine featured "The Beggars of Lakewood," by Mark Oppenheimer, about the concept of schnorring. 

Peter van Agtmael/Magnum, for The New York Times

It was actually a very nice article. The whole piece is a pleasant read, but I would like to highlight a couple of points. 

It mentions one of the wealthiest men of Lakewood, Rich Roberts. 

Roberts, who is married with six children, moved to Lakewood seeking a religious community within commuting distance of Philadelphia. But when he got to an Orthodox community, he discovered the downside of living with his coreligionists. “In the secular world,” Roberts told me, the rich live “in estates that are away from the public. They’ll have gates, they’ll have guards. People even buy their own islands.” But because religious Jews don’t drive on the Sabbath, they must live within walking distance of their synagogues, no matter how wealthy they are. Roberts clearly lives well. His large house was decorated in a style you might call South Jersey riche: overstuffed sofas, late-model kitchen, huge dinner table for Sabbath guests, giant exotic aquarium dominating the living room. But it was not in an exclusively rich neighborhood. “I am a well-to-do person,” he said, “but I live in a poverty-stricken area.” 

The non-Jewish or irreligious millionaires seclude themselves from the rest of the rabble, unable to see the difficulties, first-hand, of their fellow human. In order to be empathetic, there must be exposure. Just by having to be able to easily reach a minyan by foot, a financially diverse community is guaranteed. And Roberts is very, very generous, always listening to the stories being told. 

The current Aharon Kotler (Reb Aharon's einikel) was also interviewed. 

I asked Kotler what he thought of the culture of begging. “I think that people of quality want to live in a place that has a flavor of doing chesed,” or kindness, he said. He questioned whether the door-to-door begging was “the most effective way to raise money,” but ultimately he looked on it favorably.

“There’s a certain warmth and trust to it,” Kotler said. “In a big city, in Manhattan, you see indigent people collecting on the street. That doesn’t feel as dignified as this. Here, a person knocks on the door. And tells you their story.”

People want to be seen and heard. They want to count. They want to be recognized. Often that can be just as valuable to them as the money they are attempting to raise, that they were looked in the eye and respected. 

Brené Brown (b'sheim amra) wrote on this. The barista who brews the coffee, your waitress at the restaurant, the fellow who pumps the gas—see them. Hear them. It makes a big difference.  

Penny for the Pushka

When I first began to receive a salary, I decided to whip out my newly acquired checkbook and send money in to various tzedakah organizations. 

A few days later, my refund check from the government arrived in the mail, for the approximate amount of my donations. I decided to view that seeming coincidence as a divine boost. 

 

Judaism possesses that inherent understanding that it is impossible to become impoverished through giving charity. That's why I found Andrew C. Brooks article, "Why Fund-Raising is Fun," to be quite entertaining:

In 2003, while working on a book about charitable giving, I stumbled across a strange pattern in my data. Paradoxically, I was finding that donors ended up with more income after making their gifts. This was more than correlation; I found solid evidence that giving stimulated prosperity.

It is quite understandable that giving charity makes one strut one's stuff . . .

In one typical study, researchers from Harvard and the University of British Columbia confirmed that, in terms of quantifying “happiness,” spending money on oneself barely moves the needle, but spending on others causes a significant increase.

Why? Charitable giving improves what psychologists call “self-efficacy,” one’s belief that one is capable of handling a situation and bringing about a desired outcome. When people give their time or money to a cause they believe in, they become problem solvers. Problem solvers are happier than bystanders and victims of circumstance.

If charity raises well-being, there is no obvious reason it would not also indirectly stimulate material prosperity as people improve their lives.

Yes, but how? 

I read through the the article more than once, but while he explains quite clearly the psychological benefits to generosity, he still doesn't explain how one can gains a higher income from a charitable disposition. Meaning to life, of course, but how exactly does more money come gushing in?    

We frummies may have an opinion on the matter. 

Hunger is the Best Sauce

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease," he whines, for the shiny toy he sees on the store shelf. 

"Oh, all right," I succumb. 

It's not much of a surprise when all the bits and pieces are scattered about, forgotten and neglected, all too soon.

Let us consider dinner for a minute. I have come to a point that I don't enjoy eating unless I am hungry, since there is a missing element of delicious satisfaction when the juices haven't been stewing in anticipation. It seems that also applies to purchases. 

Elizabeth Dunn and Michael Norton report in "Happier Spending" that thanks to technology, people can buy without marking the cost, also known as instant gratification. 

Ma has nurtured in me a preference of using cash. Whenever I go shopping and I hand over my credit card, I do not even process the price. When I'm using cash, I repeat, "It's how much?" and sadly count out the bills. 

Square Wallet’s chief appeal is that it makes payment essentially invisible. This is exactly what makes it so dangerous. Yes, the app soothes the pain that might be connected to forking over five dollars for morning coffee, but numbing that pain is tricky. Just as the sensation of burning tells you to pull your hand from the stove, the pain of paying can keep spending in check. This isn’t just a metaphor. Paying high prices for goods and services activates the region of the brain associated with the anticipation of actual physical pain.

I always thought my hands felt suddenly arthritic when I have to empty my wallet.

Cash smells so nice and papery . . .

Americans are mired in debt. Sometimes it isn't avoidable, or even can be financially sound, but happiness is diminished anyway. However, prepayment, the vanquisher of debt, is connected to higher happiness.

No matter the item to be purchased, if it was paid for in advance as opposed to on the spot, the buyers were happier. It would seem the physical pain of parting with greenbacks then does not taint the joy of receiving the item later—the sensations are experienced separately, so the happiness is complete. 

It's about anticipation, which even applies to dating. The idea of the first date is usually more palatable than the date itself.

Parents recognize this principle when they wrap Christmas gifts and leave them under the tree for weeks. Wrapped presents are often more exciting than ones that have been opened. We all know a child who pined for some toy only to end up playing with the packaging. Perhaps this explains why research shows that people frequently experience a happiness boost in the weeks before their vacation. Stuck in an office cubicle, the anticipation of the beach is almost as enjoyable as the beach itself. The French — those masters of pleasure — even have a word that helps capture the thrill of anticipating the future: réjouir.  

Additionally, the mind uses the anticipation to gloss over any possible flaws when the union takes place. So in the end, waiting is a win-win.