This post is part of Business Mechanics — structured strategy and operational insight for serious small business builders. Read more about Business Mechanics HERE>>>
The other day I was recording a podcast, and somehow the conversation turned to my truck. I joked that it's gotten so rusty that I feel obligated to reassure people my tetanus shot is up to date.
It got a laugh. Because it's true.
My truck is rusty. Embarrassingly rusty. The kind of rusty where you hope nobody is paying too much attention as you pull into the parking lot.
Would I love to drive something newer? Absolutely.
Would I love to pull into school pickup in a shiny new truck instead of one that's slowly returning to the earth? Also yes.
But here's the thing. I'm not embarrassed enough to get a car payment.
That joke has been rattling around in my head ever since we recorded that episode because I realized it sums up my entire philosophy around money.
Every Dollar Is a Vote
I don't think there's one right way to spend money. I don't think people who drive luxury vehicles are making bad decisions. I don't think people who buy big houses are irresponsible. I don't think people who travel the world every year are wasting money.
I think every family is simply casting votes for the life they want to build.
Every dollar says, "This matters to me." The interesting part isn't where your money goes. It's what your money says you value.
The Pickup Line
I'll admit something that isn't particularly flattering. The place I'm most self-conscious about my truck isn't at the grocery store or in a business parking lot. It's in the pickup line at my daughter's private Catholic grade school.
There are beautiful SUVs, luxury pickups, Range Rovers, and the occasional Lamborghini sighting. There are vehicles that cost more than some people's first homes did.
Then there's me. In my rusty truck. If I'm honest, the embarrassment isn't really about me.
It's about her.
I remember what it felt like to be the kid who stood out. I moved a lot growing up. I was always the new kid. I was chubby with bad skin. I always felt like there was something about me that made me different before anyone even got to know me.
I don't want that for my daughter. I want her to blend in until she's old enough to decide she wants to stand out. I don't want my financial decisions to become another thing that makes her feel different before she's had a chance to figure out who she is.
As a mom, that's a real emotion. And I think it's okay to admit it.
But Then I Remember...
Every time I start feeling embarrassed, I remember something else. I picked her up from school that afternoon. Every year I am able to volunteer in her classroom without burning a vacation day. When field trips come around, my husband or I will be able to chaperone.
If one of my kids gets sick, my husband or I can rearrange our schedules without begging a boss for permission. When we want to spend a Tuesday afternoon together, we usually can.
That flexibility didn't happen by accident. It was purchased. It was purchased with years of risk, hard work, uncertainty, and intentional financial choices.
Every family makes tradeoffs. Some families optimize for a beautiful home. Some optimize for luxury vehicles. Or vacations or financial security or career stability.
We chose to optimize for flexibility. That doesn't make us right. It just makes us, us.
What I See When I See a $90,000 Truck
This is where being an entrepreneur changes the way your brain works.
When someone sees a $90,000 truck, they might think about leather seats, horsepower, and heated steering wheels.
When I see a $90,000 truck, my brain immediately starts calculating.
That's another business. That's a down payment on an investment property. That's marketing. That's hiring another employee. That's paying down debt. That's buying back future freedom. I don't even mean that judgmentally. It's simply where my brain goes.
If someone handed me $150,000 tomorrow with instructions to spend it however I wanted, I still wouldn't buy the luxury truck.
I'd to pay down my SBA loan debt that helped me build my business.
I'd want to reward my employee.
I'd want to take my family on vacation.
Those purchases excite me more than a vehicle ever could.
And when my truck finally rolls over its last mile, I'll replace it with something reliable. Probably used. Probably a whole lot less rusty.
The Most Expensive Purchase
I spend money all the time. We invest heavily in childcare because having help allows us to build businesses.
We choose private Catholic education because we believe it's the right environment for our daughter.
We invest in our businesses. We hire people. We pay professionals for advice.
I'm not afraid to spend money. I'm afraid of spending money for the wrong reason.
The most expensive financial decision we make isn't usually the purchase itself.
It's making purchases to manage our ego. Buying something because we're uncomfortable. Buying something because we're embarrassed. Buying something because we hope strangers will assume we're successful.
That's a very expensive emotion.
Maybe Someday
Will I own an expensive vehicle someday?
Maybe. Maybe not.
If I do, I hope it's because that's genuinely what I want in that season of life instead of from the nagging feeling of embarrassment or the ever present desire to keep up with the Jones'.
My truck won't last forever. Eventually, it'll become impractical, unsafe, or simply too expensive to keep repairing. When that day comes, I'll happily replace it.
But I refuse to let embarrassment decide when that day is. Because every dollar I spend is a vote for the life I'm building. Right now, my budget says I value time with my kids.
It says I value building businesses. It says I value paying down debt. It says I value investing in people.
And yes...
It also says I drive a rusty truck. I'm okay with that.
Even if I still park a little farther away than everyone else.