The concept of spending money to achieve happiness has been a topic of interest for researchers and scientists for decades. One of the most enduring studies on this topic is the Harvard Adult Development Study, which has been tracking participants for over 80 years. This study has concluded that personal connections, rather than money, are the key to fulfillment.
Research in neuroeconomics has shown that material purchases provide only a short-term dopamine spike, after which individuals return to their baseline. This phenomenon is known as hedonic adaptation. But then, spending on experiences has been found to consistently deliver more moment-to-moment happiness than buying material goods.
In 2020, researcher Amit Kumar and colleagues conducted a study that found experiences, such as a beach vacation or concert, provide more happiness than material goods. The benefits of experiences also linger across anticipation, participation, and memory, and can foster stories, identity, and social bonds. The idea of spending money to “become” a better version of oneself is a concept that has gained attention recently.
We have all been there. The box arrives. The tissue paper crinkles with a sound that promises a new beginning, a slightly better version of ourselves. We think the thing will fix the feeling. A set of Japanese kitchen knives to make us a person who cooks with intention. A weighted blanket to finally soothe the frantic hum beneath our skin.
For a moment, it works.
The object is a talisman against our own dissatisfaction. We hold it, admire its clean lines, and believe in its power. But the charge it holds has a half-life. Soon, the knife is just a knife, nicked from hitting a bone. The blanket is a heavy lump at the foot of the bed. The thing has been absorbed into the ordinary landscape of our life, and the feeling it was meant to fix remains, waiting patiently for the next box to arrive.
This phenomenon, the rapid decay of satisfaction from material goods, is not a personal failing.
It is a well-documented pattern of human psychology.
Our brains are built for adaptation. The thrill of the new—the metallic scent of a new car’s interior, the unblemished screen of a new phone—is potent but fleeting. We return to our baseline level of happiness with remarkable speed. The car becomes a machine for getting to the grocery store.
The phone becomes a utility for answering emails.
The joy was in the acquisition, not in the possession. A short, bright flare. Then, the darkness it was meant to illuminate settles back in.
Building a House of Memory
There is another way to spend. It involves gathering less and experiencing more. Think of the money you spent on the best meal you ever had.
You cannot hold it.
You cannot display it on a shelf. But you can recall the taste of that perfectly seared fish, the sound of your friend’s laughter across the table, the warmth of the wine. Those things are now part of you. They are woven into the fabric of your identity. Research by psychologists Leaf Van Boven and Thomas Gilovich has shown, quite definitively, that spending on experiences provides a more enduring form of happiness than spending on material possessions.
An experience cannot be devalued by a newer model.
Your trip to see the monarch butterfly migration in Mexico does not become less meaningful because someone else took a more luxurious one.
It is yours alone. The anticipation of an experience—planning the trip, looking forward to the concert—is itself a source of pleasure. The memory of the experience provides dividends for years.
The muscle ache after learning to rock climb. The quiet awe of standing in a forest of ancient trees. The shared vulnerability of taking a pottery class and failing spectacularly with a loved one.
These moments build an internal house of memory, a place of richness that cannot be bought in a store. It is the difference between buying a lovely frame and having a life worth framing.
The Currency of Connection
The most radical redirection of spending has little to do with the self.
It flows outward.
Studies by Elizabeth Dunn and Michael Norton reveal a profound truth: we are often happier when we spend money on other people. This isn’t about grand, performative gestures. It’s about the small, intentional acts. Buying a cup of coffee for the person behind you in line. Sending a thoughtful, unexpected gift to a friend who is struggling.
Donating to a local cause that you have witnessed doing good work in your own community.
That five dollars, spent on another, can generate a more significant and lasting mood boost than spending twenty on yourself. It forges a connection. It reminds you that you are part of a web of humanity.
This outward flow can also be used to buy something intangible and precious: time. Spending to reclaim your time from drudgery is a powerful investment in well-being. Paying for a service to mow the lawn or clean the house is not an indulgence if it frees up two hours of your weekend—two hours you can now spend walking in the woods, reading to your child, or simply sitting in silence.
It is a strategic purchase of peace.
You are not buying a clean floor; you are buying the freedom from the resentment of having to clean it. You are spending money to create space, and in that space, a quiet sort of happiness has a chance to grow.
The information in this article was first published in “Psychology Today”.
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