Pastries, Pastrami and Picasso

"It's taken me 66 years to learn that."

That's not just my cold opener this morning, that's a phrase that been leaving my mouth with more frequency. And more resonance.

I'll give you an example. I woke up this morning with a dream, a vivid dream playing in my head like one of those Facebook reels on autoplay. Hint: if you watch one bikini-clad woman doing jumping jacks, you will be met with an onslaught of bikini-clad women, doing a variety of high cardio exercise. 

In this dream, I owned a beautiful downtown apartment in an undetermined city with a sprawling view of a bay (undetermined) that reached out to the ocean (also undetermined.) I could, with the help of a sketch artist, show you the exact layout of the 2000 square foot apartment. I told you it was vivid.

At some point in the dream, my old boss from Chiat/Day, who I recently ran into at a small reunion party, was scoping out the view of my luxury pad and said, 

"This is really nice Rich, I'm so happy for you. You deserve this."

"Thanks," I replied, "it's taken me 66 years to learn that."

I've given this quite a bit of thought. And realized the converse is also true: It's taken me 66 years to unlearn the notion that I don't deserve that.

And that's completely understandable. My parents were working class poor. And they were raised in the post depression era, where the next meal was never guaranteed. And where every penny, every accumulation of anything in value, even string and coffee grinds, had to be saved. And locked away for further enjoyment or utilization. 

This may or may not be true, but I seem to remember my mother blowing up balloons for my brother's birthday party on November 6th. Then carefully untying the knot in the balloons so they could be inflated a week later for my sister's (two years younger) birthday party a week later on November 14.

Unlike the unwanted hair that started growing out my ears in my senior years, this annoying parsimonious mindset has been with me my entire life.

And now I'm doing my best to excise it. Because, and I find myself saying this as well, 'pleasure delayed is pleasure denied.' 

Last week, Ms. Muse and I found ourselves at LACMA. We had intended on seeing the new Motion Picture Museum, but there was a private event. So we pivoted. Here's the obligatory lamppost shot...

Following the Picassos, Monets and the interesting Simone Leighs, we were feeling a bit peckish. Having scaled back on red meat, I had a particular hankering for cured meats, seasoned Hebraically. And so in an unlikely and impromptu move, we made our way over to Canter's Deli for an unplanned and exorbitantly expensive pastrami sandwich.

On our egress, Ms. Muse treated herself to some of Canter's finest cookies. 

Money can't buy happiness, but not spending money can't either. 

"It's taken me 66 years to learn that."