When I was in sixth grade, I was convinced I would marry John Taylor of Duran Duran, if only I had the opportunity to meet him.
Since that was out of the question being as how they didn’t allow middle schoolers into bars and I wasn’t permitted to go to the concert when they rolled into Philadelphia, I settled for a Betamax tape of their documentary—Sing Blue Silver.
The problem was my parents didn’t agree with that either. It was $29.99, around $100 in today’s money.
Not a small ask for a preteen.
My parents adamantly opposed the purchase and answered my whines of “It isn’t fair,” with “If you want it so much, go buy it yourself.”
So I did.
Birthday money, Christmas money, babysitting money. Coins and dollars counted daily. My math skills had never worked so hard. Subtracting what I had from what I needed; averaging what I had collected over the months I had been working at it, using that to guesstimate when I would have the money to bring my beloved home.
Every dollar I set aside was a small act of devotion to my favorite band, but it was also a vote of confidence that I could commit to something and choose it over other things.
Every babysitting job was a choice — does this money go toward the tape, or candy at the mall?
Birthday money that could’ve gone toward immediate satisfaction went into my piggy bank instead. For months, I chose fund over fun. That’s not a small thing for an eleven-year-old.
Finally, after four months, I had enough (but later learned a very valuable lesson about tax).
Forty-two years later I still remember saving for that tape.
Although it took longer than I wanted, the waiting had an impact on me I never expected. Wanting something you can’t immediately have is its own education in delayed gratification.
Delayed Gratification Is a Big Deal
Delayed gratification sounds like a phrase out of a child development book. But for me, it was entertaining the wanting long enough to befriend it.
For most people, if you pay attention to the wanting and it becomes a part of your life, it makes you feel stronger. That was true for me too, although when I committed to this savings, I didn’t go into it thinking — “I will grow from this lesson.”
Avoiding the temptation of the easy thrill of “Buy this. Forget saving up. It will take too long.” made me feel like I could do hard things.
It was the same excitement I experienced at the end of Lent, when I looked back knowing I had successfully given up sugar for 40 days.
When I finally walked out of the store with that tape, something changed for me. It wasn’t just a purchase, something I’d toss on a shelf. It was more than a physical item that I had bought.
It was a path to more.
I learned something about myself and what I valued. The things that collected dust on my shelf were the ones that arrived without effort.
This one was different. I had decided I wanted it, decided it was worth working for, and then proved to myself I could save and follow through.
I think about that memory a lot now.
We live in a world engineered to eliminate the wait — one click, same-day delivery, streaming anything, instantly. I’m not nostalgic for inconvenience.
The Deep End Idea: What do we lose when the act of wanting is snuffed out by a credit card.
What happens to the feeling of desire when it’s never allowed to ferment long enough to become something greater? It’s grape juice that never transforms into a prized vintage.
Craving that gets immediately quenched doesn’t teach you anything about yourself. You never find out how much you wanted it. You miss the satisfaction of sacrifice and commitment. You miss the pride in following through.
I was fortunate. My parents’ “no” was actually a gift, even if it didn’t register that way at eleven. It gifted me an opportunity to find out something about myself.
Not every kid gets that, which is its own kind of irony.
I wonder sometimes what gets skipped when that moment never arises. The item doesn’t matter. It’s the experience of setting a goal, embracing the desire, and making it happen through your own effort. That particular satisfaction doesn’t have a substitute.
You can’t buy the feeling of having bought something yourself.
I still have my tape, though the Betamax is long gone. Now the tape is just a colorful paperweight. But when I go into the attic and pull out my Duran Duran memorabilia, it still makes me smile.
Because I’m proud of that purchase. I worked for it. And that’s why out of all the tremendous gifts I was given over my childhood; it’s one I remember most.
When you’re able to pursue something and obtain it through your own effort, it leaves an impression. It separates it from the rest. And it’s something you remember long after the “pain” of waiting for the item subsides.