After I graduated from college, I did the non-profit thing for four years, making less money in an entire year than I did in ten weeks as a summer associate. I budgeted every dollar of my paycheck, and I kept track of every cent I spent. Things most people don’t think twice about buying, like a coffee from Starbucks or lip gloss at the drugstore, would be cause for major deliberation and angst. Things most people semi-regularly splurge on, like a new purse, never even entered the realm of possibility. It wasn’t that I didn’t have the money to buy the coffee or the lipgloss or even the purse. Rather, I lived in constant anxiety that if I did buy any of those things, then I wouldn’t have money to spend on something else that I truly needed as opposed to merely wanted.

I’ve written here before about my frugal ways and how difficult it has been to leave them behind despite my exorbitant biglaw paycheck. But I’m quickly learning that it’s not the size the of the check that counts. Well not the only thing that counts, anyway. In this climate of rampant biglaw layoffs, it doesn’t matter how large your paycheck is if it suddenly stops showing up.

Consequently, like a former lover, my frugality is back and wooing me again with a vengeance. “I know that skirt is on sale, darling, but do you really need it?” it whispers in my ear right before I click the complete order button. “Who needs a week in Europe when you can do an offseason weekend at the beach?” it purrs.

Don’t get me wrong; I’m not complaining. Whether to spend money on frivolities is a luxurious dilemma of a privileged few. But after spending most of my 20s living like a pauper, it would be nice to feel like I can indulge every once in a while in something frivolous, especially since I can finally afford to do so. Well, at least for now, anyway.