My mother deserves luxury — I don’t.

This week, for my birthday, I got my mom out of Moscow for a few days. It’s been many months since I last saw her. It’s been four years since she went anywhere abroad. And it’s been about ten years since she dipped in the sea.

I booked her a first-class ticket.

After all, my birthday is her day. Not just mine.

I sat in the economy seat on the plane there, looking out from the window, sipping my Diet Coke, watching over small cities, rivers, and mountains pass below. I thought about what I felt about my mother coming to meet me in Dubai. I thought about her traveling business and me — coach.

It felt good.

Whenever I do something good for myself —like book an expensive hotel, rent an overpriced apartment, or buy costly clothes — it doesn’t feel nearly as good as when I do the same things for my mother. I can get away with not having these things. I mean, I am only 24. Now is not the time to indulge in luxuries. Now is the time to invest in experiences, learn, and soak up the world.

My mother, on the other hand, is almost in her fifties. She’s making five times less than I do. She lives in Russia. She’s raised the 24-year-old me and my 20-year-old sister. She’s survived a soul-crushing divorce from my father.

She deserves luxury. At least from time to time. I don’t.

I feel good about making money to give her these things. Taking care of the people I love is what motivates me to make money in the first place.

I don’t see the point in making money just for myself. I’d rather be poor so as not to have to work and have all the time in the world to read books. But when it comes to my loved ones, I want to give them the best.

Just something I’ve noticed.