These disposable Schick®️ razors are built for a single use. I use each one for roughly a month and I have a drawer full of them. Now you may be thinking that I’m a frugal, thrifty packrat. And while you wouldn’t be completely off the mark, in this case it’s a totally inaccurate assessment.
When I do the math, each of these cheap, throw-away objects carries a price tag of roughly $200 USD in my world. And no, you did not read that wrong. Two. Hundred. U.S. Dollars. Apiece.
Everything in life has a price. And everything also has a cost. What I’ve learned is that these two concepts are actually quite different. And how the math balances out between them is a surprisingly accurate reflection of happiness. At least it is for me.
So what am I babbling on about? I’ll start with some definition.
PRICE
This is nothing more or less than the exchange rate. The currency you have to fork over in order to have any given thing. There’s no emotional baggage or assessment involved. Sheer numbers come into play. That’s it.
Sometimes a price can seem really low. And that looks like a win on the surface. But I cannot truly know that until I factor in the cost. Likewise, a price can appear staggeringly high, beyond my reach, outside of my budget. However, the cost has to be figured before I can decide.
Prices are innocuous. They shouldn’t drive decisions. Which brings me to...
COST
Cost is messy. It’s complex. Cost is what you give up to get something. Not monetarily. Not necessarily literally. Cost is also what you give up when you choose not to obtain something you dearly desire.
Cost comes with history and longing and baggage and psychological charge. Cost can fuck you up. It can keep you from pursuing your dreams and desires. Or it can kill your future in a moment of impulse. It can cause jealousy and resentment and regret.
Or it can create memories and nostalgia and experiences. It’s what you feel when you lament about the priceless things you’ve collected along the way. The things you wouldn’t trade for anything.
In my estimation, the cost should always outweigh the price. It deserves the most consideration. Doing things that cost too much leads to distress. Not doing things your soul burns to do because of the price is equally as damaging.
And this brings me full circle to my razors...
For nearly 20 years, my husband has traveled to Japan a few times a year. He’s done this regardless of the price, regardless of our financial situation. Sometimes we can easily afford it. Sometimes we are living on a prayer.
The cost to me feels high. He’s not spent a Thanksgiving with me since 2002. I’ve sacrificed material things. And I’ve built up baggage and resentment.
But here’s the thing...
For him, the cost of not going would be the sacrifice of one of the single largest burning passions that has been with him since his childhood.
When I spin it that way, of course he should go. And there’s no price tag I can attach to it. For him, this is the epitome of priceless.
And the razors?
The hotel provides him with one per day. He reuses just one for the entire trip and saves about a dozen and brings them home to me.
I am a woman who has a husband so committed to his passion that he’s pursued it singularly for most of his life, regardless of the price.
I am a woman who has a zillion reasons to avoid paying the price for the things she wants and deserves.
I am a woman who pays too high a cost for that...
And I am a woman who shaves with $200 razors.