In August, I left my steady job as a public high school teacher in New York City to start a full-time graduate program in Manhattan. I was concerned about the choice not only because I loved my work with children, but also because I had traded a steady paycheck and affordable health insurance for tens of thousands of dollars in tuition.

When I taught, I prepared for the cost by scrimping to save every penny I could. But my account balance still did not fully cover two years of studies and living expenses.

Throughout my savings journey, I learned many lessons, especially from my older friends.

I jumped into major money saving mode

As a result, I redoubled my frugal efforts. I made a rule not to eat out or order takeout unless it was someone’s birthday. I asked to meet people in parks instead of restaurants and suggested $5 happy hour spots from a meticulously curated list on my phone.

On rare occasions, when he went out to dinner, he would look at the prices before deciding what to order and pore over the bill with a calculator.

It worked. While it was still difficult to watch my savings dwindle, boosted occasionally by small deposits from part-time jobs, I kept my costs (relatively) low for a twenty-something in the city. Most of my friends understood my restrictions or were in similar situations.

I was worried that my older friends would routinely pay for me.

But this approach didn’t work so well with my five older friends in my intergenerational writing group. We had been meeting weekly over Zoom for several years when we began visiting each other in our home states across the country. As women ages 40 to 60 in dual-income households with established careers, they understandably gravitated toward nicer places where the cheapest cocktail was $20. My dive bars with strangely stained walls weren’t going to cut it.

When I visited two of these friends in Chicago, I anticipated that we would go to fancy places and save for weeks, eliminating everything non-essential from my shopping list: chocolate-covered pretzels, bananas, and frozen fried rice.

But when I offered to help with our multi-course dinners or our luxury spa day, I was ignored.

He was grateful for her generosity, but overwhelmed with guilt. They had contributed a lot to our time together. He didn’t want to be a freeloader, the friend who couldn’t keep up his end of the deal. How could I pay them back and show my gratitude?

At the end of the trip, my friend Andrea, 46, and I had lunch at a restaurant on the Gold Coast. I made one last offer to Zelle. In response, she said something that stuck with me.

“When I was 20, people helped me,” he told me with an easy smile. “When you’re 40, just pay it forward by taking a younger woman to dinner.”

His wisdom helped me slowly release my anxiety.

I reflected on his words on the plane home. I was surprised that her view of the situation differed so much from mine, and I was relieved that she didn’t see that I was taking advantage of her. However, it was still difficult to fully let go of the weight on my chest: the feeling of being indebted to someone’s kindness, of accepting a gift knowing it cannot be reciprocated.

Months later, my 64-year-old friend from the writers’ group visited me from Florida. We went out for coffee and I thought: Well, now I can afford this.. But when I offered to cover it or at least split it, she waved her hand at me and said, “I’m on it.”

I thought about Andrea’s words and said to myself: She’s being nice. Don’t worry about that.

“Thank you,” I said, and I meant it.

Some time later, when another friend visited us from Washington, she paid most of our bills at the bars and restaurants we visited. Although at first I felt a pang of the usual panic, on our second day together, I was able to let it pass. As we strolled through the Upper West Side, the tightness in my chest dissipated, leaving me only gratitude that she was here.

I plan to pay it

Andrea was right, I realized. Helping each other was what friends did, and they clearly didn’t mind that. Sure, I wasn’t paying for fancy things or hosting people, but I shouldn’t let my own hang-ups affect our time together, which always produces some of my favorite memories.

In time, I will be able to do what they did for me with another woman, who will then be able to help someone else.

Instead of worrying, I now let the kindness of my friends bring us together and smile, knowing that every time I pay for a twenty-something woman in the future, I will think of them.