How to make managing your money less scary: Do it over eggs and bacon

"Money is so emotional. Money means nothing until you realize, like, I really just want to go shopping because I am having a stressful day," she says. "That's what money helps us fulfill. It has nothing to do with the actual amount that you have in your bank account, but what kind of value do you assign to it?"  

Travel is important to me, I announce. She suggests putting 10 percent of my paycheck into a savings account separate from my regular one. I act as if I knew people could have more than one savings account. (She recommends Capital One 360, which doesn't assess fees or require a minimum balance to open.) Capalad tells me I'm right to consider getting a new credit card, since I don't have a long credit history, and even though I'll initially take a hit to my score, it will disappear after about a year. Two years on, I will be in better shape to buy big things, since I'll have expanded the ways for credit agencies to verify that I pay back debts. 

From her days managing the wealth of high-net-worth clients, Capalad noticed a difference between rich investors and the rest of us: They are perfectly comfortable talking — a lot — about money. Speaking openly with friends about what you earn and what you spend helps make thinking about money less terrifying. 

For example, according to the calculations Capalad asked me to make, spend $500 per month on eating and drinking at restaurants. "Do you really like trying new food?" Capalad asks, somehow without sounding judgmental. (I don't.) She tells me to eat out once a week, instead of, say, four. She also suggests deleting my Seamless account and replacing it with a couple of months on a food delivery service such as Blue Apron, which sends people all the ingredients they need to make certain meals and kindergarten-level instructions for preparing them.

Apparently these moves will trick me into cooking regularly. Capalad's theory is that the services help ease people into the rhythm of making food and teach them how much time and energy it takes and the amount of stuff you need to buy to make that happen. All told, that could save me $2,400 per year.   

At some point, the food runs out, and all that's left is Capalad asking patient, probing questions and tapping the answers into her iPad.

Capalad suggests, at one point, that I call my health insurer to make sure I know what code my out-of-network doctor should be using, so that I can make sure I'm getting covered for the services I deserve. This sounds like a nightmare to me, but Capalad is determined to make it thrilling. "Yaaay, fun!" she says. I think she might be serious. 

See also:

Women vs. men in retirement: More stress, but also more joy