Constant

The Miser Within

It’s not just about money.

I once knew someone who wouldn’t buy an extra helping of dessert — not because they were watching their weight or saving for something big, but simply because “what’s the need?” was their instinctive reaction to anything that felt even slightly indulgent. At first, you chalk it up to frugality. A sensible approach to life, perhaps. But over time, you begin to notice that this carefulness seeps into everything — into how they speak, how they experience joy, how they relate to people.

Because a miser isn’t just someone who won’t spend money. A miser is someone who is perpetually afraid of waste — of time, of emotion, of vulnerability. And so, they scrimp on everything. They’re hesitant to compliment someone even when they are clearly moved. They refrain from expressing joy too openly, almost as if happiness should be portioned out cautiously. Even love, even laughter, come with internal calculators asking — is this worth it?

It’s as if they’re living life like a balance sheet. Every gesture, every connection, every feeling is weighed and measured. What’s the ROI of going out tonight? Will hugging someone back make me appear too available? If I appreciate someone’s work, do I lose some of my own perceived worth? They look for returns before making even the smallest emotional investment — as though the goal is to make life end in the green.

But life doesn’t work that way. Some of the richest moments come with no measurable output. Some of the most generous actions bring no immediate reward. The best conversations, the deepest laughs, the warmest connections — none of these will ever come with a guarantee. Yet these are the very things that make a life full and lived.

What’s tragic is that miserliness, when it becomes a way of being, begins to alienate. People around such a person start feeling unseen, unappreciated, unloved — not because there’s a lack of emotion, but because everything is doled out in such small, cautious doses. The person holding back thinks they’re protecting themselves. In truth, they’re just slowly creating distance — between themselves and joy, between themselves and the world.

So here’s a reminder: don’t live like you’re guarding a vault. Be generous — not just with your money, but with your time, your attention, your words. You don’t always need to weigh the impact before giving something good of yourself. Say the kind thing. Laugh freely. Celebrate fully. Not everything has to make perfect sense. Not everything needs to be optimised.

Because life isn’t a spreadsheet. It’s a series of unrepeatable moments — and the most beautiful ones often show up when you stop asking, what’s the need? and start saying, why not?