What a waste of money

Over the years, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve heard those words.
“What a waste of money.”
I’ve heard it when I rented a house in central London with friends.
When I moved to Bali for six months and worked part-time.
When I leased a new car instead of buying a used one.
People love to give their verdict on what’s worth spending money on. But here’s the truth I’ve come to realise: the value of money isn’t fixed.
It’s fluid.
It shifts depending on who’s spending it, when, and why.
Most of the time, when we spend money, we get something in return. But that “something” isn’t always measured in pounds and pence.
When I lived in central London, people saw rent. I saw opportunity. I was 23, single, living close to work, surrounded by friends. That flat gave me freedom, friendships, and my first real taste of independence. That wasn’t wasted money, it was an investment in experiences I still carry with me.
When I moved to Bali, it was two years after COVID began. I’d never felt more boxed in. Going part-time halved my earnings, but it gave me something I desperately needed: space to reset, recharge, and see life differently. To me, that was priceless.
When I leased a car after coming back from Bali, people assumed it was because I didn’t understand the maths. In reality, used car prices were inflated, and I didn’t want to overpay for something that would tank in value later. The lease gave me predictability, fewer headaches, and the flexibility to make a better decision down the line. That was worth every penny.
To someone else, all three of those decisions might look like mistakes.
But to me, they were exactly the right choices at the time.
And that’s the point.
The value of money isn’t universal. It’s personal.
It’s shaped by your circumstances, your priorities, and what you need in that season of life.
So the next time someone calls something you’ve spent money on “a waste,” remember, they’re looking at it through their lens, not yours.
And the only lens that really matters is your own.
