I remember the first time I learned what credit cards could do for you. Two of my friends — one in grad school, one graduating medical school — were going to visit my friend’s family in South Korea. I was invited but couldn’t afford it. I asked my friend with the hot-off-the-presses MD how she was fitting a round-trip ticket to Asia in the budget.
Credit card points, she said. Those three words changed — if not my life — then at least my future travel itineraries.
I had a credit card in my wallet. But mine was a nondescript, unexciting credit card that I’d gained in 2010 along with the Wells Fargo checking and savings account for the new college student. Their brand was practical, not sexy. My mother’s one piece of financial advice was to use the credit card rather than the debit card because it was “more secure,” and off I went into the big wide world without asking any more questions about it.
But missing the opportunity to go to Korea with my friends opened my eyes and my wallet. So, after finishing theology school and spending the summer unemployed and living in my parents’ basement, I signed up for my first (real) credit card to get a discount on plane tickets to my friend’s wedding. Then when I got a job and had to make a cross-country move, I found the credit card to be a helpful catalyst for getting my life started — buying Ikea furniture and so on. From there, I discovered a whole range of activities credit cards could buy. My friend told me to sign up for the Amtrak credit card (which, if you’re a train lover and regular commuter, is worth its weight in gold), and then I got Capital One’s competitor to the Chase Sapphire (the globe-trotting Millennial’s preferred card) because it paid for TSA pre-check, and I rounded it out with a Chase credit card to purchase tickets to Grand Cayman.
And then COVID-19 came rolling through, and I suddenly found myself sitting on three travel credit cards with nowhere to go.
Enter another complication: after journalism graduate school (this is the second grad school, for folks keeping score at home), I decided to freelance. You quickly learn when freelancing that some months are feast, others are famine. Unlike a salaried position, you don’t have regular chunks of cash filling up your bank account in two-week intervals with taxes neatly withheld. Unless you’re a well-established pro, you usually have to live a little leaner.
And yet, I kept doing things I couldn’t afford because my credit cards allowed me to separate spending and cost — which is the whole point of credit cards from the purveyor’s perspective (and the unsurprising reason 56 million Americans have credit card debt). You can consume and the cost of consumption is borne not by Today Renée and her impulses in the moment but by Tomorrow Renée. And that carefree spending of a salaried lifestyle on a freelancer’s budget caused Tomorrow Renée a lot of stress.