Spending money to spend time with friends and family isn’t spending money at all.
I know that sounds like one of those quotes you’d find stenciled onto a piece of reclaimed wood hanging in someone’s kitchen, but the older I get, the truer it becomes. We’re taught from a young age to think of money as something to save, invest, or spend wisely. We compare prices, hunt for deals, and convince ourselves that happiness is waiting on the other side of the next purchase. And don’t get me wrong, I enjoy a new gadget, a good meal, or a plane ticket to somewhere I’ve never been as much as the next person. But if life has taught me anything, it’s that the things worth paying for rarely fit inside a pre-prescribed box or shopping bag. They usually come with a boarding pass. Or a long drive. Or an excuse to gather around a table that’s just a little too small for everyone.
When I look back on the years that have shaped me, I don’t remember the cost of the trip or what the hotel charged for parking. I don’t remember what gas cost or whether dinner was overpriced. What I remember are the conversations that drifted late into the evening, the stories I’ve somehow heard a hundred times but still laugh at every single time, and those little moments that nobody planned but everyone remembers.
Friends and family have a funny way of doing that.
Someone always burns something on the grill…except this time because my dad let my brother cook. Someone always tells a story that gets more dramatic with every retelling. Someone insists they weren’t asleep in the recliner despite overwhelming photographic evidence…you know who I am talking about. And somehow, those tiny, ordinary moments become the memories we treasure the most.
As an author, I spend a lot of time writing about history. Gold rushes. Ghost stories. Pirates. Legends. Larger-than-life characters who chased fortunes across oceans and mountains. Yet, ironically, the richest people I’ve ever met aren’t the ones with the biggest bank accounts. They’re the ones whose calendars are full of birthdays, reunions, fishing trips, Sunday dinners, and family vacations. Their wealth isn’t measured in dollars. It’s measured in the ones around them. Maybe that’s because stories are what remain long after everything else fades.
One day, none of us will remember what we paid for airline tickets or whether we booked the expensive hotel or the budget one. We won’t remember if we found the best deal online or paid a little too much for dessert. We’ll remember sitting beside the people we love. We’ll remember watching our parents become grandparents. We’ll remember nieces and nephews growing taller every year. We’ll remember inside jokes that make absolutely no sense to anyone else and laughter that somehow echoes louder than the places we visited. Those are the souvenirs that never collect dust.
Time has a way of slipping through our fingers faster than we’d like. Kids grow up. Parents grow older. Life gets busier. Before you know it, the family photos on the wall don’t look like our family anymore. That’s why I’ve stopped looking at family trips as expenses. Because, if I’ve learned anything from writing about history, it’s this: the moments that matter most are rarely the ones that make headlines. They’re the quiet ones shared with the people who made you who you are.
Here are a few photos from a couple weeks I decided to stop counting, slow down, and spend time with the ones I love:
