The article Mars, Venus and the Handling of Money, in The New York Times on Sunday, February 22, represented, for me, a Finally! Finally, someone is talking about the financial elephant in the living room—that women and men approach money differently and that it’s not because women are “bad at math,” that ridiculous dismissive catch-all.

The essay, by M.P. Dunleavey, asserts that even though women have moved into arenas of earning, owning, and inheriting “real money” and control most of the buying decisions, they are still not taken with the data-driven, “performance-only please” approach to financial management.  In other words, the way many men make decisions about money doesn’t work for women.

I am not invalidating the data-driven view (how could I since numbers don’t lie!), but I am championing la difference—women want a more holistic, simpler, how does this investment approach fit in with my life, goals, and intuitive sense?  Yet the article asserts a harsh reality: studies show that the average retirement account balance for women is only $58,000 compared to men’s average of $95,000.

Now, how do we marry the two money decision styles:  men’s data-driven and women’s need-to-ask-lots-of-questions-before-I-bite styles?

My answer? More blogs like this so we can pry open the conversation, aka real talk, about money: what it’s for, what it means to me, what scares me about it, what joy it brings, instead of pretending we’re supposed to know this stuff. If we could educate each other openly, without the shroud of shame, secret, or competition, we’d be on the road to financial health and heftier returns.

I often think how the fall of the American economy in 2008 could’ve been averted if more women had been in the crow’s nest of the wayward vessel, saying “hey, fellas, wait a minute. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

Ever notice how people hand each other cash? I do.

Yes, money is the coins and bills that buy us stuff and boomerang back—hopefully—when we get paid. But money also floats on the wings of personal interaction, the one-on-one exchange that happens when we hand someone cash.

Sometimes if I’m in a rush I’m tempted to put the money on the counter instead of placing it directly into the hands of the cashier. But since I’ve been paying attention I remember to give it directly into the hand. Placing money in someone’s hand just feels right, complete.  And it says something about my relationship with that person and how much I respect money.

I also notice how a cashier hands me change.  Yesterday I was in CVS buying body lotion and the lone cashier (all the other check-outs were self-serve where no money changes hands) grabbed my bills and threw them on top of his open register drawer.  He treated the cash like trash to be gotten rid of.  He was otherwise courteous but I couldn’t help but wonder how he felt about his job, the people he meets, and almighty buck.

There’s a pizzeria near my house I’ve stopped going to because the guys behind the counter manhandle the cash, practically shoving change at customers, dismissing them out of the store.

How we handle money also extends to placing cash in a wallet—neatly, with all bills facing one way, cavalierly, or crumbled, never making it into the wallet.  And many Millennials, Gen-Xers, and lots of others eschew cash, using debit cards instead.

So what’s your style?  Are you a smoother-outer of bills or crumpler? Do you place money on the counter or into the palm? Share you money touch.

This morning, walking on West 35^th Street in NYC in the 17˚ air, I spotted a crisp $20 bill on the sidewalk about to make a getaway in the wind. I stopped its progress with my clunky snow boot, picked up the bill, looked around to see if anyone was chasing it, and then pocketed it.

Wow! Lucky me. Then pow! I saw another 20 and grabbed it. Looked around. No one in pursuit and stashed that one in my pocket. Zipped my pocket.

There are few things more exalting than finding renegade cash. A surprise! A delight! Makes you want to tell someone immediately. Hey! Guess what?

I wonder why finding money is so thrilling. Not like the 40 bucks is going to change my life. But it reminds me of the whimsy of life, the spontaneity of things—anything can happen at any time—and how the universe provides.

For me, finding money signifies abundance and reminds me of my great fortune to live where money sometimes floats in the street.

It’s not the first time I’ve found money, though it’s a lot more than I’m used to spying. I’ve kept my eye out for currency ever since a friend told me he’d been keeping a jar of found money for years and had almost $200. He called his stash God’s money. He believed it was a gift from some greater power.

So I started collecting found money. Mostly bruised pennies, some silver, and today two unsuspecting Andrew Jacksons.

I’ve decided to donate the money I found today not because I’m altruistic but because I believe my friend is right. Found money is circulated goodwill and a reminder to express gratitude for all my riches—beautiful sons, good health, ability to express myself creativity, comfortable home.

Lucky me.

Last week I had the privilege of staying with my friend Lynn and her daughter at their beautiful vacation hacienda in Todos Santos, Mexico.  Another friend joined us, as did a friend of Lynn’s daughter.

We were five women—young and middle age—inhaling the fresh mountain air and soaking up the jacaranda trees, hummingbirds, and friendly residents. I count the invitation to my friend’s home among my riches—the abundance I’m ever grateful for.

Whenever I travel with my sisters and cousins, we pool our money together into a “kitty,” an envelope of cash managed by a self-appointed treasurer.

We ante up at the start of the trip so gas, road food, tolls, and anything we spend as a group gets shared.  The kitty is a simple equalizer, so no one has to feel she is paying more or less than her share or be a big shot by picking up the tab when the bill comes.  We avoid the awkwardness that arises when it’s time to buy groceries.

My sister Mary Ann coined a joke:  “the kitty makes a mockery of money!,” meaning when the check comes, you don’t have to pay! Cause you already have. Go ahead. Order the extra dessert to share. We’re rich because of the kitty.

In Mexico, I suggested we try the kitty.  Whenever I recommend this method with newcomers, I always feel a little hesitant.  Will folks feel it’s a little persnickety? Old school? Unnecessary?  I’ve noticed when I’ve suggested it in mixed company, men often dismiss it or flat-out refuse. I always wonder why.

Lynn, Amy, and the others agreed to try it.  Amy fetched the envelope and penned a drawing of a kitten on the outside of the envelope.  She offered to be treasurer because she was good at handling pesos.

We drew parameters around the kitty as we went.  Since Amy’s friend was a student, we agreed she only had to contribute half, even when we ante’d up. If anyone wanted to buy something personal, like a souvenir or clothing, that wouldn’t come out of the kitty.  But when we all went to the sweet little shop for helado, we got extra scoops. Why? Because the kitty makes a mockery of money.

Money left in the kitty at the end of the trip gets divided. This time, because we had stayed at Lynn’s home, we let her keep the remainder to cover expenses  from hosting us.

So next time you travel, try a kitty.  Not only will it help you keep track of how much you spend, but the kitty also thumbs its nose at restraint or overspending on holiday.  Go ahead. Order another guacamole and chips.  It’s on the kitty.