Lynda Moore says in money decisions, whether practical and enjoyable, sensible and human, it turns out there's room for both

I was having a coffee (I’m a tea girl) with a girlfriend, and chatting about everything friends talk about when they get together, including the state of the world, when she announced this was going to be her last coffee out, as she had decided to give up her morning café run. "It's just not sensible," she said, with the kind of solemn expression usually reserved for much more serious life decisions. I was in shock, this was a friend who loved her morning coffee, it was the highlight of her day, and she always found a coffee stop when we went out for a hike. I said nothing, instead I just nodded supportively. Then as we were leaving, I bought a piece of carrot cake for Mum, because sometimes that's just what you do.

But the conversation stuck with me. When did we all become so suspicious of our own enjoyment? My friend wasn’t in dire financial straits, and like the rest of my friends, and probably you as well, we are being more careful and aware of how we spend our money.

There's a version of financial awareness that's genuinely great. Knowing where your money goes, making thoughtful choices, not accidentally subscribing to four streaming services you forgot about. All very sensible. But there's another version that quietly tips into something a bit less fun, where every small purchase starts to feel like a character test you're probably failing.

A lot of us are living in that second space right now, whether we've noticed or not. This is where my girlfriend found herself.

Here's the thing about money decisions, we like to think they're rational. We're calm, logical, spreadsheet-friendly humans weighing up pros and cons. Except we're mostly not. Research consistently shows that how we handle money is far more emotional than we'd like to admit. Remember the 10 second rule I talk about, it takes 10 seconds for our rational brain to kick in, emotion comes first. We’re driven by feelings. By habit. And by stories we picked up long before we had anything worth worrying about financially.

Some of those stories came from our parents. How money was talked about, (or carefully avoided) at the dinner table shapes how we relate to it today in ways that sneak up on you. If money was always tight and stressful growing up, that tension has a funny way of following you into a life that's really pretty comfortable. You might find yourself anxious about spending even when you genuinely can, bracing for a rainy day that isn't really coming.

On the flip side, if money was never discussed at all, the adult version of you might deal with it the same way, by quietly hoping it sorts itself out. (Spoiler: it generally prefers not to.)

What I keep coming back to is how much of our money behaviour is about control. When life feels uncertain, we grip harder on the things we can manage. Budgets. Cutbacks. Saying no to things. It gives us a sense of agency, and honestly, sometimes that's exactly what's needed. But it's worth checking in on whether sensible caution has slowly drifted into just... not being allowed to enjoy anything anymore.

In other conversations, I've spoken to people who have solid savings, steady incomes, no looming financial disasters, and yet they feel a pang of guilt buying a book or talk themselves out of going to a restaurant for a modest dinner. The worry is completely real, even when the situation doesn't really call for it. That gap between what's happening in reality and what it feels like is where so much unnecessary stress quietly lives.

Psychologists call it a scarcity mindset, when we're so focused on what we might not have that it starts to shrink our thinking. We get very good at spotting risk and considerably worse at noticing when things are fine. It's a useful setting to have in genuinely hard times. Less useful when it's permanently switched on and quietly convincing you that a new book is an extravagance.

The fix isn't to throw caution out the window and treat every week like a holiday. It's something more low-key than that. It's just getting curious about your relationship with money, not just the numbers, but the feelings underneath them. What you're genuinely worried about. Whether the choices you're making day to day line up with what truly matters to you, or whether they're mostly just reflexes.

My friend and her coffee, for instance. I suspect she doesn't miss the coffee so much as the ritual around it. The walk. The few quiet minutes before the day kicked off. The small, reliable pleasure of it. That stuff has real value, even if you can't put it in a column. It’s not quite the same as a cup of instant coffee in the kitchen at home.

A good financial life probably has room for a coffee. And if it doesn't feel that way, that's a useful thing to notice.

Fortunately, the morning coffee is back on my friend’s agenda, I didn’t need to say anything, she gave it some more thought and decided that the coffee and the ritual were more important to her than saving just the price of the coffee.  If she needed to save some money, she’d do it another way.

The goal was never to spend as little as humanly possible and feel virtuous about it. It's to be intentional, to make sure your money is going toward things that matter to you. Including, now and then, the things that just make ordinary Tuesday feel a little better.

Practical and enjoyable. Sensible and human. Turns out there's room for both.

And sometimes the smartest money move you can make is realising that the story you've been telling yourself about what you can and can't have... might just be ready for a small rewrite.

*Lynda Moore is a Money Mentalist coach and New Zealand’s only certified New Money Story® mentor. Lynda helps you understand why you do the things you do with your money, when we all know we should spend less than we earn. You can contact her here.