A Week In Durham, NC, On A $115,600 Salary

Occupation: Analyst
Industry: Health insurance
Age: 29
Location: Durham, NC
Salary: $103,500, plus a $12,100 bonus
Net Worth: $243,612 (checking: $5,665; savings: $8,332; CD: $85,922; HYSA: $924; Venmo: $16; traditional IRA: $7,591; Roth IRA: $42,612; 401(k): $78,030; HSA: $1,996; invested HSA: $12,524)
Debt: $0
Paycheck Amount (biweekly): $2,253 (after deductions listed below)
Pronouns: She/her

Monthly Expenses
Rent: $786 (My roommate and I pay $1,500 for a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment. I pay more for the larger master suite.)
Electric, Water & Sewage: ~$55
Internet: $25 (my half)
Phone: $0 (free with internet)
Netflix: $16.99 (I pay for a friend and my parents.)
The New York Times: $4.28
iCloud: $0.99
Zoleo: $4 (This is a satellite messenger I’ll use on an upcoming trip to Iceland. I’ll switch to the $50/month unlimited plan when I’m traveling.)
Compost: $19
401(k): $1,592 (company matches 5%)
HSA: $179 (My company contributes $1,000 a year, and I earn $700 for activities.)
Health, Dental & Vision Insurance: $101
HYSA: $1,802 (This is my house fund.)

Annual Expenses:
Chase Sapphire Reserve: $550
Renter's Insurance: $106 (my half)
Duolingo Family Plus: $21.50 (my part of a plan I split with five other friends)
Planta: $17.99
Spotify Premium: $30 (my part of a family plan)
The Produce Box Membership: $25
Charitable Donations: $1,040 (My company matches $1,040 a year.)

Was there an expectation for you to attend higher education? Did you participate in any form of higher education? If yes, how did you pay for it?
Absolutely. My mom has a master’s and an MBA. My dad has a PhD and an MBA. They’re both first-generation Chinese immigrants who came here as poor graduate students and earned their “American dreams” through higher education. I’m fortunate that my parents paid for four years at an Ivy League college. I do feel guilty for having a mental health crisis during undergrad and not leveraging that degree into a high-powered career in medicine like many of my peers. I’ve settled for a “comfortable” insurance job instead. I paid $16,222 for my online master’s degree myself (my company reimbursed me for almost $3,000). It was at a state school and only cost 5% of undergrad. State schools are great!

Growing up, what kind of conversations did you have about money? Did your parent/guardian(s) educate you about finances?
My parents never sat me down to talk specifics, but they set me up for success. They invested in a 529 for college when I was in elementary school. I was an authorized user on credit cards they paid off every month (I didn’t use the cards). I feel like the first real money talk I had with them was last year, when I was anxious about finding a “big girl” job as my entry-level rotational program was ending. They advised me on how to negotiate salary, and my dad even sent me emails of scripts that I used when talking to hiring managers. I successfully negotiated from $83,000 to $100,000 with their help.

What was your first job and why did you get it?
My first job was as a peer tutor in sixth grade, making $1.50 an hour. I enjoyed being a peer tutor and was surprised when they started paying us!

Did you worry about money growing up?
Yes, in middle school during the Great Recession of 2008. My mom lost her job and had to accept a much lower-paying position. My dad lost his job and moved away for two years for a new job. Their family business (in an industry unrelated to their day jobs) was in trouble. My dad started the family business to support his younger brothers, and my mom was roped in to do accounting and taxes. It was so stressful for them. I remember crying under the covers during their shouting matches at night, wondering if I was the thing trapping them together.

Do you worry about money now?
Not really. I don’t worry about rent or groceries, but I worry about lifestyle creep. My salary doubled last year, and, thanks to my boyfriend, I have developed a new and expensive hobby: mountain biking.

At what age did you become financially responsible for yourself and do you have a financial safety net?
I would say I was responsible for myself at 26, when I got off my parents’ health insurance and got a job with benefits. I had previously worked jobs without benefits and I needed health insurance to cover my expensive medication for an autoimmune disease. I have a solid safety net and know I can rely on my parents but go out of my way not to.

Do you or have you ever received passive or inherited income? If yes, please explain.
Yes. My parents paid for college, minus $5,000 in scholarships. My mom also transferred $650 a month into my checking account to cover rent when I was working as an unpaid research assistant and when I was a full-time master’s student. I also received three COVID-19 stimulus checks: $1,200, $600, and $400.

7:30 a.m. — I wake up and urgently have to pee. After stumbling back to bed, I close my eyes and try to sleep more. Alas, no luck.

8:30 a.m. — I roll out of bed to get ready. Working from home is a blessing because I’m not a morning person. I wash The Ordinary Granactive Retinoid off my face with cold water, then put on a Clinique moisturizing gel. Breakfast is iced tea with oat milk and vanilla stevia. My work laptop boots up slowly because of software updates, so I scroll through email on my phone while I wait. My apartment complex has fined my roommate and I $25 for a “trash violation.” I'm annoyed, but I pay it because I honestly did put the bin out too early. $25

9 a.m. — I log onto work and answer emails. A coworker keeps pinging me about a data pull, which means pushing off work on my longer-term projects. Again. I quickly pull together the summaries she needs and return to my original project. No more interruptions except from my boyfriend, L., texting me his selection of the choicest Instagram Reels.

10:30 a.m. — It’s my weekly one-on-one with the summer intern. I walk her through code, then we talk about career advice. Our conversation stretches long, and I struggle to politely end it so I can finish up projects before I leave for paid time off next week.

12 p.m. — L. texts me a biking video, and I take a break from work to watch it. Last year, I learned how to ride a bike by mountain biking. My third ride ever time on a bike was on a trail. That whole year was a humbling experience filled with crashes and even a hysterical cry on top of a mountain in Colorado. I pause the video when a coworker pings me about connecting to a dashboard I worked on. I jump on a troubleshooting call and skip lunch for now.

12:30 p.m. — I join a rescheduled one-on-one with my manager, but she’s stuck in another meeting, and we skip it. The company culture is very meetings oriented, but this is ridiculous for a Friday. I make another oat milk tea but don’t feel hungry yet. Back to work.

2:30 p.m. — Okay, I’m hungry now. I have sliced baby cucumbers and bell peppers with everything-but-the-bagel goat cheese and peanut butter. I’m still hungry, so I spread peanut butter and strawberry jam on a rice cake and sprinkle salt on top. My friend K. texts about our trip to Iceland. K., our other friend, S., and I will be wilderness backpacking the Laugavegur and Fimmvörðuháls trails. The weather looks cold but dry. I’m worried because K. is not as experienced as S. or me. We plan to FaceTime tonight after I’ve had a chance to review my planning spreadsheets. I believe in spreadsheets for everything. They bring me inner peace.

7 p.m. — I still have work I want to finish, but it’s food time. Dinner is from my produce box: ravioli with peas and pancetta smothered in grated parm. I also finish leftover kale stewed with tomato and onion. It’s been a long day, so I just lay on the bed and text with L.

10 p.m. — I video call K. and advise her on packing, including reminding her that TSA regulations don’t allow tent stakes in carry-on. I briefly panic when she tells me she bought a different bus ticket than I put in my planning emails, but she double checks and it’s correct after all. Whew. Her credit card with no foreign transaction fees hasn’t arrived yet, so I buy her bus ticket ($29.55) from the airport into town and send her a Venmo request.

11:30 p.m. — I finish more work and snack on cherries and blueberries as I organize and push my code to the server.

1:30 a.m. — I’m done! That took way longer than expected. I brush my teeth, wash my face with Kiehl’s Ultra Facial Cleanser, which I got from a friend who didn’t like it, and apply my retinoid. I send a quick goodnight text to L. and I’m out.

9:30 a.m. — I wake up but want to sleep in. I text L. about mountain biking before it gets unbearably hot and sticky. We usually bike on weekends, but I have a lot of prep to do for my trip. He texts me not to feel guilty using the weekend as me time and tells me to go back to “eep.” Back to sleep I go.

11 a.m. — I wake up again. Brunch is another oat milk iced tea and yesterday’s leftover ravioli. I order a magnetic knife block from Amazon to free up drawer space in the kitchen ($34.39), plus a pound of dried coconut milk for backpacking ($12.23). $46.62

12 p.m. — Time for life admin tasks. I log onto Mint and fill in my budgeting spreadsheet. I’m way over my monthly Outdoors and Travel budgets, but my spending will balance out over the rest of the year. I also call my pharmacy to delay shipment of my medication. It needs to be refrigerated, and I want to make sure the $5,000 worth of meds only arrive after I’m back. My insurance and the manufacturer’s co-pay assistance program mean I pay $0. I worry what would happen if I were to lose my insurance.

2 p.m. — L. texts that he went biking. We planned to go to the ceramics studio, but he’s tired, and I have life admin to complete. We skip ceramics. I snack on cherries, savoring each one slowly. L. sends a photo of the fatter of his two cats basking in the sun, and I miss him (the cat and the man).

6 p.m. — S. also messages me about Iceland, asking if we plan to share a tent (no) or gas canister for cooking (yes). I’ve always been the planner in my friend group but coordinating this trip has been especially tricky because each of us is flying in from a different location. I check to make sure everyone has paid me back for trip expenses, and then Venmo request K. for a glacier hike I paid for ($186.20).

7 p.m. — My dad calls unexpectedly. I spend the next two hours catching up with my parents. They push me about when I’m getting married and having kids, and I push them about exercising more. I used to leave our chats feeling like I’d failed a performance review on life’s milestones, but therapy has taught me to redirect inappropriate questions. Our relationship has definitely improved as I’ve grown older.

9 p.m. — I’ve only taken 2,000 steps today and decide to walk to the grocery store. I shower and apply my retinoid before leaving, then immediately regret it as I get sticky walking over. I buy salmon to make jerky, peanut butter, a peach, ground turkey, breadcrumbs, instant mashed potatoes, cheesecake instant pudding, couscous mix, salted peanuts, protein granola, and chicken ramen. All this food will make meals for K. and I to eat on our trip. Our financial situations are different right now, so I won’t split this with K. $40.69

10:30 p.m. — I’m too tired to cook so I just eat a granola bar. I feel cramps and wonder if this is my period? I have an IUD, and my periods are so light I no longer track them. That would explain the lack of appetite. I put away groceries, bring in my Amazon package, and check my steps: I’m at 8,000! I brush my teeth and go to sleep.

9 a.m. — Wake up to the sound of my roommate leaving the apartment. I don’t want to face the world yet, so I roll over and sink back into sleep.

12 p.m. — Whoops! I’m surprised it’s so late. L. texts to say he’s at our favorite café. I know I should finish dehydrating food for the trip but I really want to see him. To the café it is. I wash my face, moisturize, apply Beauty of Joseon sunscreen, and do light makeup. I use a new color corrector from The Saem, Estée Lauder foundation, Ilia cream blush from my Sephora birthday gift, and mascara. I never wear makeup, so it takes a long time to get ready, and I feel self-conscious about how it looks.

1:30 p.m. — I park at the café. L. asks if I’m wearing makeup but doesn’t make any other comments. What does that mean?! I rub his shoulders briefly, and he offers me the other half of his biscuit and strawberry jam. I order a ham-and-cheese sandwich on focaccia with a side salad. $13.70

1:30 p.m. — L. and I catch up over the sandwich. He’s swearing off peanut butter after watching a Netflix documentary about food poisoning. I fill him in on a podcast I’ve been listening to about a Yale fertility clinic nurse who stole fentanyl from her patients.

3 p.m. — We leave the café and stop by his house so I can drop off my car. I get into his car and have fun tagging along for groceries. He buys pork, chicharrones, diet soda, xanthan gum, and a single peach for me. L. pays, and we head to his house to relax on the couch. He listens to me vent about Iceland prep while I massage him. The massage turns intimate, and I realize again how much I’ll miss him. When I have to leave, L. sharpens his mandoline and lends it to me so I can slice and dehydrate fruit for my trip. He also hands me biking clothes he washed and the container from the Hainan chicken with Thai basil dipping sauce I fed him last week. I pet his two perfect cats one last time and kiss him goodbye. We’ll see each other at pottery class on Tuesday.

6:30 p.m. — Back home, the mandoline makes quick work of apples and peaches, and I start dehydrating them. Next, I season and brown ground turkey, which will go in a dehydrated shepherd’s pie. I also make fennel meatballs with ground pork from local pastured pigs and simmer them in homemade pesto from my AeroGarden. While everything cooks, I open my Amazon packages. The waterproof socks I ordered are too big, so I order the small size. $32.27

12 a.m. — The meatballs are done, and I portion out some for my roommate and L. I remove the fruit from the dehydrator, then put in the cooked turkey. It will run overnight. K. has paid me back for the bus ticket and hike, so I transfer the money to my checking account. I do my nighttime routine and get in bed. The dehydrator hums along, and the apartment smells vaguely of turkey and herbs.

8 a.m. — My alarm goes off and I roll out of bed. I quickly do my morning routine, pour myself another oat milk iced tea, and log onto work. In my first meeting today, they ask for another “quick data pull.” I have to push back because I’m leaving in three days. It feels relieving to say no.

12:30 p.m. — Lunch is pesto meatballs with rice and microwaved stir-fry veggies. The turkey has dehydrated to a crisp, so I pack it away in a deli container. I’d like to nap, but there's not enough time before my next meeting.

3:30 p.m. — S. messages me that one of her tent poles is bent from a windy camping trip. I advise her to try gently bending it back, call the manufacturer to overnight her a replacement part, or rent a tent in Iceland. I pull up my planning spreadsheet and find the Icelandic outfitter who rents tents and send their contact. Spreadsheets rule!

6 p.m. — I’m still frustrated with a software issue at work, but my brain is fried. When I received a new work laptop, they updated all my statistical programming packages and broke a lot of my code. I will noodle on the solution before making a quick trip to H&M to drop off clothing for recycling. They offer a 15% coupon, so I get suckered into buying a green crop top ($5.47). Crop tops are new to my wardrobe, but I’m trying to be more confident. My body does so much for me, and I want to celebrate it. $5.47

6:30 p.m. — I exit the mall into a torrential downpour. I get completely soaked during the quick dash to my car. I still need to go to REI for last-minute boot shopping. I’ll use my Altra trail runners for the backpacking, but the glacier guiding company requires boots past the ankle for crampons. The very patient store associate lets me stomp around the store in five different pairs before I settle on a pair of men’s Salomon hikers. Men’s shoes sometimes fit my wide feet better. I use $2.43 in REI dividends and pay with my REI credit card to get 15% back in dividends for next time. $185.70

8 p.m. — Dinner is two scrambled eggs, Siggi’s plant-based vanilla yogurt, blueberries, and a handful of chips. I open the rest of my packages, pulling out Nuun hydration tablets, padded bike shorts, an extra guyline for K.’s tent, and a package of Mountain House freeze-dried eggs. Eggs are impossible to dehydrate, so I splurge on the premium freeze-dried stuff for backpacking.

10 p.m. — I take a shower, then clean the bathroom, change my sheets, and do two loads of laundry. Nothing is better than coming home to a clean apartment. I have so much to do still, but the warm laundry lures me into laying down and falling asleep around midnight.

8 a.m. — My alarm goes off, but I use the snooze button until 9. I finally drag myself out of bed and do my skincare. I lace up my new hiking boots and walk to work to drop off my old laptop, then to the library to return an Iceland guidebook that was actually due yesterday (oops). Thankfully, my library doesn’t charge late fees. The boots are comfortable but too hot and sweaty for summer.

10:30 a.m. — I’m back home and churn through work at lightning speed. My roommate texts to say her rent didn’t auto-pay, and we’re hit with a late fee of $72.90, but she promises to figure it out. I eat another Siggi’s plant-based yogurt with sliced banana and chia seeds. I’m still hungry, so I scramble three eggs and top them with goat cheese. The late nights catch up to me, and I take a quick nap after folding laundry.

1 p.m. — Okay, back to work. Thankfully, today has no meetings except an informal chat with someone who went to my college and is working on an AI startup. He wants to know how AI fits into my work as a health insurance analyst, and I tell him honestly that the industry is so highly regulated and full of sensitive information that I don’t see ChatGPT stealing my job anytime soon. I’m not super involved with my undergraduate college, but I try to be helpful when others reach out.

4:30 p.m. — I toast Dave’s Killer Bread and eat it with butter. I also start baking a dark chocolate and almond flour sponge cake for a keto matcha cheesecake I’m making for L. He was a big fan of the tiramisù one I made him two weeks ago and texted me a link to a matcha version that looks even better. As the cake bakes, I send work emails summarizing my analyses.

5:30 p.m. — I pull the cake out of the oven, pull the cream cheese out of the fridge to soften, pack some pesto meatballs in a cooler, then drive to my local zero-waste bulk foods store. I buy freeze-dried vegetables and dark chocolate pretzels for backpacking ($14.43). I weigh everything out in glass containers that I’ll return to the store for reuse. I stuff some pretzels in my mouth while driving to the ceramics class I’m taking with L. The guest instructor shows me how to throw a closed-form lidded jar. I'm vibing with the clay today and love how it turns out. After class, I pass L. the pesto meatballs and a small sample of homemade teriyaki salmon jerky. I wish we could go get ice cream or something but have to go home and finish the cheesecake. $14.43

10 p.m. — I’m back home and take a shower. L. texts that the pesto meatballs are amazing but he didn’t get a chance to try the salmon jerky because the cats got to it! My love language is definitely feeding people, and positive feedback makes me glow. I use my stand mixer to make the matcha cream cheese layer, but it’s super lumpy because the cream cheese is too cold. I put the bowl into a hot-water bath, and check my mail. The waterproof socks I reordered in size small are here but now they’re too small! I stick with the medium and plan to return the small socks when I’m back. K. texts to ask if I’m done packing for Iceland, and I almost laugh. I look around at the apartment: There’s lumpy cheesecake batter steaming away on the stove, dehydrated food in deli containers all over the dining table, and all my individual backpacking gear laid out on the floor and couches. It’s going to be a late night.

12 a.m. — I’m still up portioning out and repackaging all the meals K. and I will eat on the trail. Food is so important for morale on a backpacking trip, and I put in extra effort to optimize weight, nutrition, variety, and taste because I’m not just feeding myself but also K. We’ll be powered by breakfasts like apple cinnamon chia oats with coconut milk and dinners like turkey with mashed potatoes and freeze-dried vegetables. The cheesecake batter is also finally de-lumped after two hot water baths and multiple mixings, so I pour it onto the sponge cake and put it in the fridge to set.

3:42 a.m. — I’m finally done. I’ve packed all 10.8 pounds of backpacking food (yes, I weigh it), checked and double-checked my spreadsheets, generated PDF maps and elevation profiles for all four days on the trail, activated my Zoleo satellite messenger with the unlimited messaging plan, and even done my skincare routine in a sleep-deprived delirium. People always say to sleep on the plane, right?

9 a.m. — I regretfully get up to my alarm. I have one last day of work before flying tonight. I grab my work laptop and log on while still in bed. I have a quarterly performance review with my manager and I want to review all the projects and goals I’ve completed recently.

11 a.m. — The performance review goes well and ends with my manager wishing me the loveliest time in Iceland, I feel like I’ve grown into my role and my team over the past year. I skip my next meeting (it’s just a webinar) and work on polishing all my projects to hand off to the other analyst on my team. Lunch is a quick fridge-clearing meal of pesto meatballs, rice, eggs, and goat cheese.

4 p.m. — After a quick meeting with the other analyst to walk through my code, I log off and jump into last-minute packing for my flight at 8 tonight. L. is driving me to the airport, and I surprise him with the keto matcha cheesecake I made last night (technically this morning) when he arrives to pick me up. He rolls his eyes and affectionately-exasperatedly tells me I didn’t have to make a whole cheesecake for him. I tell him if he eats 1/16th of it every day, he’ll have enough to last the whole time I’m gone. He squeezes me extra hard when we hug goodbye at the terminal and makes me promise him that I’m not about to leave him and the cats for some Icelandic glaciers.

7 p.m. — After I get to the gate, I transfer $200 from my regular checking account to my travel checking account, which I use because any ATM and foreign transaction fees are refunded for that account. I also realize I forgot to inject my autoimmune medication early to account for the next two weeks of travel. I should be okay, though, and have plenty of regular anti-inflammatory meds just in case.

10 p.m. — I have a layover at JFK and check out one of the lounges that my credit card gives me access to. Thankfully, one of them is open, and I eat Mediterranean pasta salad, a ham-and-cheese sandwich, and a banana. I also smuggle some madeleines, a rock-hard pear, and two packs of Goldfish crackers out for later. L. texts that he loves the cheesecake, although the tiramisù version was a smidge better.

9:05 a.m. — We touch down in Iceland. I didn’t sleep a wink on the flight, but I’m here! All the excitement gives me a surge of energy. I meet up with K. in the airport. Hugging with our stuffed backpacks on is a bit awkward, but it’s so good to see her for the first time in a year. K. waits for our bags while I buy an e-SIM. After we get our bags, K. and I get on the bus that takes us into Reykjavik (we prepaid for our tickets). The weather is windy and drizzly, perfectly matching the grey landscape. There are no trees, but I spot a geothermal power plant steaming in the distance. I’m feeling hungry, so I eat one of the madeleines from the airport lounge and give K. the other two. The pear is still too hard to eat. $30.63

12 p.m. — It’s too early to check in at our Airbnb, so K. and I stow our luggage in the Airbnb’s storage closet and go to lunch. We go to the touristy restaurant next door and both get bread bowls with the hearty lamb and beef stew. Food is more expensive here, but it's nice not having to think about tax or tip. $20.13

3 p.m. — K. and I spend the rest of the afternoon exploring the downtown area and harbor. I buy us a delicious cinnamon roll and a Danish ($13.38). $13.38

3 p.m. — When we stop at the Icelandic wool shop, I fall in love with a pair of supremely warm felt-lined wool mittens. I’ll take these on the trail instead of the thin liner gloves I have. $81.90

3 p.m. — At the famous church that sits in the heart of downtown, I purchase a postcard and two international stamps ($6.61). Whenever I travel, I send postcards to my friends and family — it’s the cheapest souvenir you can get. We check into the Airbnb, and I write a postcard to L. There’s a knock on the door, and it’s S.! We have a wonderful group hug, and I can’t stop smiling just looking at my friends. I haven’t seen S. in at least three years. $6.61

5 p.m. — Now that everyone is here, it’s time to do some pre-backpacking chores before we have a group dinner. We go to the Bónus grocery store. I purchase cheese, a salami stick, and tortillas for my trail lunches. $18.20

5 p.m. — I also lead us to an Icewear store to buy a large gas canister for cooking. When I try to withdraw cash from my travel checking account, the ATM informs me I have the wrong PIN. I try again and have no luck. Thankfully, S. is able to withdraw cash (just in case we can’t use credit cards at campsites). Chores accomplished, we walk to dinner. $11.32

6 p.m. — Dinner is at a bar that serves traditional Icelandic food. We split the sampler platter with bread, cheese, smoked and cured meats, and berry jam for an appetizer, then order the braised lamb shank and plokkfiskur, a baked fish stew with haddock, potatoes, and béchamel. The total is $90.79, and I pay, but we’ll split it three ways ($30.26 for me). Because Iceland is so far north, the sun doesn’t set until 10 p.m., and it’s a beautifully sunny evening. We walk for ice cream in the harbor. I get chocolate, K. gets berry cheesecake, and S. cheerfully chooses the abomination that is salted black licorice ($6.08). I try to be open-minded when I try it, but I just don't understand. $36.34

11 p.m. — We’re finally back at the Airbnb and start packing our backpacks for tomorrow. We’ll take a bus to Landmannalaugar tomorrow afternoon, enjoy the natural hot springs for a night, and then begin backpacking the day after. I squeeze my sleep clothes and quilt at the bottom in a trash bag (for waterproofing), then stack the heavy dehydrated food, mystery cheese, and gas canister on top. The tent footprint and poles get tucked into a side pocket so it’s the first thing I pull out when I set up camp. I even put the still-very-hard pear into the top zip and hope it ripens for breakfast tomorrow. We use the Airbnb’s scale, and I find my pack is 36 pounds, which is almost exactly what my spreadsheets predicted. This load is nearly the heaviest I’ve ever had, but not unexpected, because I have most of the food and some shared gear with K.

11:30 p.m. — There’s no air conditioning in most of Iceland, and our Airbnb is no exception. I am delighted to find S.’s roll of digestive cookies is perfect for propping the window open while we do our nightly routines. I text L. pictures of the day (he loves the street cats I spotted). The digestive cookies come down, the sleep mask goes up, and I drift off to sweet slumber.