My client is standing in a health food store in Kīhei, Maui, looking at her receipt.

On the conveyor belt: a bunch of small chocolate bars. She buys them in variety, puts them in little brown paper bags, writes Mahalo Nui Loa on the outside — that’s “thank you very much” in Hawaiian — along with Thank you for your service and You are appreciated. She gives them to flight attendants and pilots.

(It’s sooo her.)

She’s also picking up dinner from the deli, but you pay first and then go grab it. So she’s standing there. Receipt in hand. Dinner waiting. Chocolate bars bagged.

And something’s off.

She has this discount card she bought from the local elementary school, good for a year at over 30 restaurants and businesses in town. Save money where you’d go anyway. Support local kids. Everybody wins.

She remembered showing the card. The cashier was scanning the chocolate bars. She held it up right there.

But the discount isn’t on the receipt.

Huh. That’s weird.

Let me check. What’s the harm in checking?

Maybe it’s there and I missed it?

(It wasn’t there. She didn’t miss it.)

—

Now. Here’s where it gets interesting.

Normally — normally — she would have just walked away.

You know this move. We all know this move.

Eh, it’s fine. Not worth the hassle. Not worth being that person. I’ll just… go.

The swallow-it-and-move-on. The don’t-make-a-scene. The six dollars isn’t worth my dignity or my discomfort.

(Except when you live in Hawaii, where gas is $6 a gallon, eggs are $10 a dozen, and you start doing math you never thought you’d do. But the math isn’t why she stayed.)

She didn’t walk away.

She stayed. Standing there. Looking at the receipt. Thinking.

The cashier noticed.

“Is everything okay?”

And here’s the fork in the road. Right here. This moment.

Old version of her, the one who doesn’t want to be a bother, who absorbs other people’s mistakes like a sponge, who says “oh no it’s fine!” when it is absolutely not fine — that version would have smiled and said: “Yep! All good!” and walked away six dollars lighter with a knot in her stomach.

She didn’t do that.

“Actually… I don’t see my discount on here.”

(We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.)

—

“Oh… it’s not there. Did you show your card?”

Little flutter of nerves. That familiar feeling of oh no, am I being difficult?

But then a thought, a new thought, one she’s been practicing: I don’t need to be accountable for what isn’t my error.

“I did show it. Maybe I did it too fast.”

She pulled the card out again. Showed them.

The manager wasn’t on the floor. He was the only one who could fix it.

More discomfort. Do I really want to stand here and wait for a manager over six dollars?

But she reminded herself: That’s not on me. I showed the card. This is their process.

So she waited. Patiently. Graciously, even.

(This is the part where I’m fist-pumping at my desk on her behalf.)

—

The manager showed up.

“You have to show it before each time.”

(Ah. The classic. The “let me explain your mistake to you” when it wasn’t your mistake.)

She didn’t flinch.

“Yes, I did show it. She must not have clocked it.”

Calm. Confident. Not angry. Just… clear.

Another moment of someone assuming it was her error. And her, gently, firmly, not taking it.

—

The 10% came back. Six dollars and change.

And she felt — in her words — so, so proud.

Her first thought: Yesss. Look at me advocating for myself. And even more — rejecting mistaken responsibility. It wasn’t my mistake. And I didn’t take it.

Her second thought: I can’t wait to tell Avraham. He’ll so get it. And he’ll be so proud.

(I was. I am. I’m writing a whole article about it. That’s how proud.)

—

She walked out of that store standing taller. Head up. Huge smile on her face.

Because she asked for what she needed. She didn’t take responsibility where it wasn’t hers to take. And bonus — she got those six dollars back.

It was about way more than six dollars.

—

BARCELONA. GERMANY. IRELAND. AND… $6?.

This same client is about to go on a trip. Barcelona. Germany. London. Ireland. Eventually back home to Maui.

She said: “I really want to make a budget. I want to figure out a number.”

And I asked: “The number is important. But what’s beyond the number?”

Because here’s the thing. We think sticking to a budget is all about the number. Hit the number = success. Miss the number = failure.

But that’s not quite right.

—

ENTER THE DARTBOARD…

Switching gears for a second. I promise I’ll tie it all together.

Think of a dartboard.

The whole board is your budget. If your dart lands anywhere on the board, you’re on track. You didn’t completely miss. Good for you. 🎯

But the bullseye — the center — that’s not the number.

The bullseye is how you feel when you spend your money.

You can hit the board and still be aiming at the wrong thing.

—

THE THING THAT’S BEEN THROWING YOUR DARTS

I asked her: What’s driven your spending in the past?

She thought about it.

For her, it wasn’t fear or scarcity. It was the opposite — joy and excitement. Overspending to feel free. Saying yes to big things as though she had endless money. No limits. No consequences. Just vibes.

(I get it. “Treat yourself” energy. Except the treating never stops and suddenly you’re wondering where it all went.)

But that’s not really freedom. That’s a feeling dressed up as freedom. It’s freedom cosplay.

And look, you might still hit the board that way. You might still stay “on budget.” But you’re not hitting the bullseye. You’re chasing a feeling that disappears the moment the credit card clears.

—

THE BULLSEYE ISN’T WHAT YOU THINK

I asked her: What do you want to feel when you spend money?

She said: “Joyful. I want to feel joyful.”

Okay. Like Marie Kondo? Holding something up and feeling that spark of joy?

She paused.

“Actually… I don’t really believe in that whole thing. Spark joy doesn’t quite do it for me.”

(Same, honestly. I’ve never once held up a sock and felt joy. Relief that it has a matching pair, maybe.)

“What does feel right to you?”

She thought about her aunt. This aunt gave her little gifts when she moved to Maui. She has them on display. And when she looks at them, she doesn’t feel joy exactly.

She feels loved and cared for.

That’s different. That’s deeper.

Her aunt is someone she’s close with but doesn’t see often. The gifts are a reminder: someone thought of me. Someone cares about me.

That’s the bullseye.

—

A SMALL BOTTLE OF HAIR OIL IN EUROPE

She told me about something she wants to buy on her trip. A special hair oil. Only available in Europe. She’s been wanting it for a while.

“That’s going to make me feel loved and cared for.”

(Thanks for sticking around. Almost there.)

But here’s where it gets interesting.

She’s great at loving and caring for others. Easy. Natural. She does it all the time.

(She’s the one writing Mahalo Nui Loa on paper bags full of chocolate for strangers who fly planes. Of course she is.)

Loving and caring for herself? That’s harder.

Sound familiar to anyone? Just me? Just her? Just… most people I’ve ever worked with?

Somewhere along the way, a lot of us learned that giving is generous and receiving is greedy. That taking care of others is kind, and taking care of yourself is selfish. And we carry that math into every transaction, every ask, every moment when we could speak up but don’t.

—

AND NOW WE’RE BACK

Now let’s go back to the health food store.

Six dollars. A missed discount. The easy thing to do is walk away. Don’t make a fuss. Don’t be a burden. Just let it go.

But she didn’t.

She stayed. She asked. She corrected the record (calmly and kindly) when people assumed it was her mistake.

And she didn’t get angry. She offered appreciation. Thanked them for their help. Stayed focused on kindness. Knew that we all make mistakes.

That graciousness? That made space for the correction to happen with ease.

Wins all around.

But the biggest win wasn’t the six dollars.

The biggest win was that she loved and cared for herself.

Standing in a grocery store in Kīhei, surrounded by chocolate bars meant for flight attendants — she chose herself.

That’s the bullseye.

—

SO…

Here’s what I keep thinking about.

Why is asking for six dollars you’re owed harder than handing chocolate to strangers?

Why is speaking up for yourself more uncomfortable than showing up for everyone else?

What is it about receiving — even receiving what’s already yours — that feels like too much to ask?

I don’t know her answer. But I know a lot of us have one.

And whatever that answer is, she stood in that grocery store, felt the discomfort, and didn’t walk away.

That’s the win.

The dartboard is the budget. Stay on the board, you’re doing okay.

But just because you’re staying on budget doesn’t mean you’re aiming at the right thing.

The bullseye is how you feel when you spend.

For her, it’s loved and cared for. Including — especially — by herself.

What’s yours?

Avraham
Your Financial Coach