Leave the light on

Sometimes the best surprises come after you’ve made peace with your decision.

Good morning! If you follow Heather on any other social platform, you probably know about what an epic weekend she just had. So, she’s back this week to give her story a permanent residence on The Joint Account.

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Kyle Cooke once said, “Summer should be fun.”

I would have never quoted this Bravolebrity a year ago, but after working very hard to birth a book into the world, I guess times have changed. All I’ve wanted this summer is to find fun ways to nourish my mind, body, and spirit. So far, I’ve been doing a good job, though “nourish” is a term up for loose interpretation given the amount of Sancerre I’ve consumed. We’ve sailed the splendid shallow waters of coastal New Jersey twice, broken bread with tons of friends, danced into the wee hours, put toes in the sand, and even went to the paint and sip place. Saying “yes” is as much a mindset as it is a decision, but make no mistake: even in your fancy-free fun time, decisions still get made.

Let me share with you an example of how saying “yes” doesn’t mean you need to be a “yes person,” and you can still, with a bit of luck, come out on top.

Live music is one of the great joys of my life. My dad managed radio stations from the time I was young, and my Pop-Pop worked for Pepsi and had lifelong friends who used to sneak us into stadiums for almost any show I wanted. I can’t tell you how many concerts I’ve seen. I can barely list my favorites because there have just been so many.

But growing up and having to pay for tickets was an adjustment. At first, I assessed the value proposition with a bit of a chip on my shoulder. I didn’t fully appreciate what a great seat would cost, because I’d always had great seats. I never had to ask myself whether going to a show was “worth it,” because I got to experience blockbuster concerts and intimate unplugged sets alike, both without the financial risk of buyer’s remorse. A privilege, for sure.

These days, I’m the same as everyone else: just another username sitting 32,547th in the Ticketmaster queue, hoping the little blue dots don’t disappear before it’s my turn. And even with multiple calendar alerts, I almost never remember when the sale is going live and end up at the mercy of the secondary markets. From then on, I’m pretty much a girl lost between two villages on the wrong side of The Great Divide.

This is where I found myself for Noah Kahan’s sold-out worldwide tour.

I missed the initial sale, and all summer, I’d been watching prices for the New York shows refuse to come down from orbit. Floor and 100-level seats were in the thousands of dollars. Even the nosebleeds were going for five hundred plus (in a baseball stadium). Between the ticket prices, the logistics of getting to Citi Field from New Jersey on the same weekend as the World Cup Final, and the childcare planning we’d need to sort out, I started making peace with the fact that this was probably one I’d miss.

Not because I didn’t really—really—want to be there, but because the matrix of joy, cost, effort, and importance playing out in my brain revealed some non-negotiables I couldn’t resolve:

• This could not be a $4,000 night.

• I would not get tangled in the transit mess of the World Cup Final.

• I would not have Ruby miss her Monday at camp because we decided to go to a concert.

“You win this time, Big Concert Capitalism,” I said, shaking my proverbial fist at the sky. I even booked a different show closer to my birthday in a couple weeks to ease the pain.

But behind my shoulder, I heard the faint whisper of a 45-year-old reality TV star speaking to me: “Summer should be funnnn.” That’s when I thought, if Kyle Cooke could DJ himself out of spiked tea financial insolvency one brand activation at a time, then I could at least leave the porch light on until the very last minute for Noah Kahan.

I started combing Reddit and learned that he releases some face-value tickets closer to show dates. So, I signed up for the waitlist on his website, I kept an eye on resale prices without obsessing over them, and I posted on a few platforms to see if friends had an extra seat.

Did I think it would work? Honestly, no, but I felt good knowing I was doing everything reasonably within my control while maintaining the boundaries I set around the whole thing. At least I wouldn’t look back and say I threw in the towel too soon.

Fast forward to last Friday night. As luck would have it, my mom invited Ruby to spend the weekend at her house. Douglas and I were finishing up dinner at a nearby restaurant when I just happened to tap into Gmail for a second. That’s when I saw the subject line:

You’ve been selected from the Noah Kahan waitlist!

Two tickets. Sunday night. A partially obstructed view. $140 each—face value. First come, first serve.

I don’t think I spoke a complete sentence until the tickets were in my wallet. I must have sounded something like: “Tickets…waitlist…side stage…omg…I’m going…I AM GOING!”

And then, I cried for the first of many times, including the time I cried for everyone whose show got cancelled on Saturday night.

It would be very easy to tell this story as one of pure luck. One of “manifest good things and ye shall receive.”

I was lucky, but it wasn’t just that.

Weeks earlier, I’d made the financial decision that I wasn’t willing to spend thousands of dollars on tickets, no matter how badly I wanted to go. I also decided not to let that boundary become the end of the story. I left room for another possibility; however unlikely it seemed.

My loved ones took it from there. My mom kindly drove Ruby back home and stayed over on Sunday night so she could make it to camp the next day. Douglas, the elite ops specialist that he is, immediately figured out our transportation, navigated World Cup traffic, and brought me drinks while I stood in a very long merch line. He also came from a place of “yes,” even though I’m sure he questioned more than once what he was doing at a Noah Kahan concert.

Financial and emotional decisions play into one another. They are the same story told from different angles. But every once in a while, all the things—good financial boundaries, a hopeful attitude, people who show up for you, and a little bit of luck—conspire to give you a night you’ll remember forever.

Has anyone else seen Noah Kahan on tour?! Can we talk about it?!

When’s the last time luck, fate, and couple of good decisions got you something you really wanted? Let me know.

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Want to go deeper? Money Together is everything we’ve learned about love and money, told through real stories with lessons for people who want to build a financial life together without losing themselves in the process. Order your copy on: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop, or Audible (narrated by Heather!).

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The content shared in The Joint Account does not constitute financial, legal, or any other professional advice. Readers should consult with their respective professionals for specific advice tailored to their situation. The information contained in this post is general in nature and for informational purposes only. It should not be considered as investment advice or as a recommendation of any particular strategy or investment product. This post is not a solicitation or an offer to buy or sell any specific security. Bone Fide Wealth cannot guarantee the accuracy of information from third parties.