I have a list of things I want, and the more I think about it, the more I realise that I might have expensive taste. Not necessarily in the designer handbag, luxury watch, expensive champagne kind of way, although I wouldn’t complain about any of those things.
My expensive taste is a little more complicated. I want things that require money, space, time, equipment, maintenance, planning and, occasionally, an entirely new level of income.
I want a comfortable home, a properly equipped business, a beautiful working environment, a reliable car, holidays, a well-stocked kitchen, good furniture, a printer that can handle the work I want to produce, machinery that can increase production and enough money left over to enjoy myself after paying for everything.
I want things that would make my everyday life easier, things that would make my work more enjoyable and things that I simply think would be nice to have. My wishlist has become a rather ambitious document, and sometimes I look at it and wonder who exactly I think I am.
The funny thing is that I don’t always want things because I need them. Sometimes I see something and immediately imagine how nice it would be to own it. I can be looking at a completely ordinary object and suddenly find myself imagining it in my house, my workspace or my business.
I have an unusual ability to turn browsing into planning. A piece of furniture becomes a home improvement project. A machine becomes a potential business expansion. A beautiful property becomes a future home. A car becomes a lifestyle upgrade. A trip becomes an entire itinerary in my head before I’ve even checked how much the tickets cost.
I can spend an afternoon imagining a life that requires several financial milestones I haven’t reached yet. And the worst part is that I don’t always think I’m being unreasonable. I genuinely believe these things would be nice additions to my life.
Sometimes I think the problem is that the more I learn about what is possible, the more things I want. There was a time when I didn’t know half the equipment available for the kind of work I do. I knew what I could make with the resources I had, and that was enough to keep me occupied.
Then I started researching machines, production methods, materials, finishing options and what other businesses were capable of producing. Suddenly, the equipment I already owned seemed like the beginning of a much bigger conversation. I could see what I wanted to make, how I wanted it to look and what I could potentially offer if I had the right tools.
The same thing happens when I think about my home. The more I learn about interiors, furniture, lighting and how spaces can be designed, the more particular I become about the environment I want to live in. Knowledge has a funny way of expanding your wishlist.
I also have a habit of wanting to skip the uncomfortable middle of things. I can understand why someone would want to start small, gradually acquire equipment and expand as the business grows. I know that is often the sensible approach. But there are moments when I look at the bigger picture and wish I could simply acquire everything I need and get on with it.
Why should I buy one machine now, another six months later and another when the business has generated enough profit, when I can already see the production capacity I want? Why should I keep improvising when I know what a properly equipped workspace could accomplish?
Of course, there are financial realities, and I have had to learn to respect them. But knowing that something is beyond my current budget doesn’t automatically make me stop wanting it. Sometimes it just means I add it to the list and find something else to work on in the meantime.
There are also things I want that have absolutely nothing to do with business. I want my home to feel finished. I want furniture that makes sense for the space, a beautiful wall unit, a comfortable sofa, appliances that make domestic life easier and little details that make coming home enjoyable. I want a kitchen where I can cook without feeling like I’m negotiating with the available space.
I want to buy groceries without calculating whether I should leave something behind. I want to have people over without feeling like I need to explain why my home is still a work in progress. I want to wake up, open the curtains, enjoy the sunlight, water my plants and have an ordinary morning in a space that feels like somewhere I deliberately created for myself. These things might not be urgent, but they matter to me.
Then there is the travel list. I want to see places, stay in beautiful accommodation, experience different environments, try foods I’ve never tasted and have days that don’t involve thinking about orders, customers or business operations.
I want to visit somewhere simply because I have always been curious about it. I want to take photographs, buy little souvenirs, enjoy the scenery and come home with memories that have nothing to do with how much money I made that month.
I don’t want every trip to be justified as a business opportunity or every outing to be squeezed between responsibilities. Sometimes I want to go somewhere because it looks beautiful and I have the money and time to go.
I have also noticed that some of my desires are less about acquiring things and more about the kind of experience I associate with owning them. A car, for instance, is not just a vehicle. It represents being able to leave when I want, carry what I need, take my son somewhere comfortably and not have to organise my entire day around transport.
A washing machine is not just an appliance. It represents time saved, fewer domestic tasks to coordinate and one less recurring responsibility to think about.
Better machinery for the business isn’t just about having impressive equipment. It represents production capacity, consistency and the possibility of accepting work that I might otherwise have to turn away. Even a properly furnished home represents something beyond furniture. It represents having a place where I can rest, entertain, create and enjoy being alive.
When I examine my wishlist closely, I realise that a lot of the things I want are really different ways of purchasing convenience, freedom and a better everyday experience.
But I would be lying if I said everything on my list was practical. Some things are there simply because I like them. I want beautiful clothes. I want lovely fragrances. I want to buy things without having to calculate their return on investment.
I want to walk into a shop, see something I like and occasionally buy it because I can. I want to order food because I don’t feel like cooking. I want to buy chocolates without mentally categorising them as an unnecessary expense. I want to have a birthday celebration that doesn’t require me to become the event planner, caterer and financier.
I want to be able to do something spontaneous without first asking myself whether it is financially responsible. There is a part of me that wants to enjoy the ordinary pleasures of having money, and I don’t think I should have to turn every desire into a business case.
The interesting thing about having expensive desires is that they can make your current life feel smaller than it actually is. You start noticing everything you haven’t acquired yet. The furniture you haven’t bought, the equipment you haven’t purchased, the places you haven’t visited, the income you haven’t reached and the experiences that still exist somewhere on your future list.
You can have a perfectly decent day and still find yourself thinking about ten things that would make your life better. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I am not living a failed version of my future. I am living a present that is still unfolding.
There are things I have today that I once wanted very badly, but because I have become accustomed to them, I rarely stop to appreciate that they were once on a wishlist too.
I remember how much certain pieces of equipment meant to me when I was trying to establish my production capabilities. Acquiring them wasn’t just a purchase. It was a milestone. It meant that something I had been planning could finally happen. It meant fewer limitations and more possibilities.
It also reminded me that some of the things I want are not fantasies. They are things I can work towards, plan for, save towards and eventually acquire. That doesn’t mean everything will happen quickly, and it certainly doesn’t mean I can buy everything simply because I have imagined owning it.
But I have learned not to dismiss a desire just because I cannot afford it today. I can put it on the list, research it properly, understand what it costs and decide whether it deserves a place in my financial plans.
Perhaps that is the part I am still learning: how to want things without allowing the wanting to make me miserable. There is a difference between having aspirations and constantly feeling deprived.
I don’t want to spend so much time thinking about the life I am trying to create that I forget to enjoy the life I currently have. I don’t want to postpone every beautiful experience until the business reaches a particular revenue target, until I have acquired another machine or until I have accumulated a certain amount of money.
There will always be another target. There will always be another piece of equipment, another improvement, another property, another place to visit and another version of comfort I haven’t experienced yet. If I make enjoyment conditional on completing the wishlist, I might spend a very long time waiting.
I am also learning that not everything needs to be purchased immediately just because I want it. Some things need to wait. Some things need to be prioritised. Some things need to prove that they are worth the money. And some things are probably just ideas I entertained during an afternoon of browsing that I will eventually forget about.
I want to become better at distinguishing between things that genuinely improve my life, things that support my business and things that simply look attractive from a distance. I want to spend intentionally, not because I have suddenly decided to become a minimalist, but because I have enough experience to know that buying something and enjoying something are not always the same thing.
I want to make more money, certainly. I want my business to grow, my income to expand and my investments to become more substantial. I want to be able to afford the things I currently save photographs of, the equipment I keep researching and the experiences I keep adding to my mental itinerary.
But I also want to develop a healthier relationship with the distance between what I have and what I want. I don’t want that distance to become a permanent source of dissatisfaction. I want it to be something I can work with, something that gives direction to my decisions without making me feel like I am perpetually behind.
Sometimes I look at my wishlist and laugh. There is a version of me who apparently needs a bigger workspace, more machinery, a better home, a car, several holidays, a new collection of products, a wardrobe upgrade and enough disposable income to make spontaneous decisions without consulting a spreadsheet.
She is very ambitious, that woman. She also has very little regard for the current state of my bank account. But I like that she exists. I like that I can still imagine things beyond what I currently have. I like that I haven’t become so accustomed to financial limitations that I no longer allow myself to desire anything.
I just want to become the kind of woman who can afford her wishlist without making the wishlist her entire personality. I want to buy things, enjoy them, move on and have enough left to continue living. I want to acquire things without becoming consumed by acquisition.
I want a beautiful home, but I also want to enjoy sitting in it. I want a successful business, but I also want time away from it. I want a car, but I want places worth driving to. I want money, but I want experiences, relationships, memories and ordinary days that make having money worthwhile.
Perhaps the things I want are expensive. Perhaps I have expensive taste. Perhaps my imagination has been writing financial commitments that my current income has not yet agreed to honour. But I don’t think I want to become a woman who stops wanting things simply because wanting them requires effort.
I want to earn more. I want to build more. I want to experience more. I want to enjoy more.
And one day, I would love to look at that old wishlist, realise that I have acquired most of the things on it, smile at a few of the ridiculous entries and start a new one.
Because apparently, even when I get what I want, I will probably find something else to want.
I hope I always have the means to enjoy a little of that audacity.
