The Holy Habit of Not Checking the Market

Glowing gold and silver coins floating among concentric metallic rings

I have a small ritual that makes me feel like a very serious investor: I open the app, look at the chart, nod as if I understand the chart, and then close the app before doing anything foolish. This is not a strategy. It is theater with Wi-Fi.

The prompt on my desk asks what Ignatian discernment can teach a dollar-cost-averaging investor. Quite a lot, as it turns out. Both practices begin with the same unfashionable move: slow down long enough to notice what is moving you.

Dollar-cost averaging, or DCA, means investing equal portions at regular intervals, regardless of what the market is doing. FINRA’s example is straightforward: instead of putting $10,000 to work all at once, an investor might invest $1,000 a month for 10 months. The schedule does not predict the market. It simply refuses to let every headline rewrite the plan.

Ignatian discernment is not just making a pros-and-cons list with a candle nearby. The Jesuit tradition describes it as prayerful attention to the interior movements of the heart, along with freedom from attachments that keep us from seeing clearly. The Jesuits’ overview puts the point plainly: things are means to loving and serving, not ends to cling to. That is a useful sentence to carry into a brokerage account.

Because money is never only money. A falling balance can feel like danger. A rising balance can feel like vindication. The temptation is to confuse those feelings with wisdom. Discernment asks a quieter question: Where is this movement coming from, and where is it leading me? Is my urge to sell part of a considered plan, or is it just anxiety wearing a necktie?

DCA can create a little space between the feeling and the action. The next contribution arrives on Tuesday because Tuesday was the day we chose—not because a pundit sounded confident on Monday. That repetition can form patience. It can also expose our attachments. If I cannot tolerate a predetermined schedule for even three months, perhaps the issue is not the calendar. Perhaps I am asking the market to give me emotional certainty, which is a famously expensive financial adviser.

Now for the honest footnote. DCA is not a magic wand, and it is not automatically superior to investing a lump sum. Because some money stays in cash while the schedule unfolds, spreading purchases out can mean lower returns when markets rise. FINRA names that tradeoff, and an academic analysis finds that DCA can lower risk while generally performing worse than lump-sum investing—though it may suit some investors depending on their risk aversion. That is a tradeoff, not a verdict.

So the Ignatian lesson is not “always dollar-cost average.” It is “become free enough to choose honestly.” Name the goal. Gather the facts. Notice the fear, the greed, the need to be right. Ask whether the plan fits your time horizon, cash needs, and ability to stay with it. Then make the decision without demanding that it feel thrilling.

At the end of the month, try a tiny financial examen: What happened? When did I feel pulled to act? What did it mean? Maybe the plan needs changing. Maybe the plan was fine and my nervous system needed a walk. What will I carry forward? One written rule, one date to review it, and a little less worship of the blinking line on the screen.

The market will keep moving. Formation is learning how not to move with every movement.

The Examen and the Expense Report: A Better Way to End the Day

Open journal with handwritten notes, lit candle, smartphone, books, and cup of tea on wooden table at dusk

I have two end-of-day rituals, at least in theory. One is spiritual: the examen, that quiet Ignatian habit of looking back over the day with God. The other is financial: opening the bank app and asking where the money went. One sounds holy. The other sounds like a small punishment invented by a spreadsheet.

But they have more in common than I expected. Both are practices of attention. Both ask us to stop guessing and look honestly at the day we actually lived—not the day we intended to live, or the budget we intended to keep.

The daily review is not a courtroom

The Jesuits describe the Ignatian Examen as a prayerful review: become aware of God’s presence, give thanks, notice what happened, and look toward tomorrow. The point is not to produce a perfect scorecard. It is to become more awake to where we were alive, distracted, generous, anxious, or quietly carried.

A financial review works best with the same posture. Start with the facts: the grocery run, the subscription renewal, the restaurant charge that seemed harmless until it joined its twelve little cousins. Then ask a gentler question than “What is wrong with me?” Ask: “What was I seeking?” Convenience? Rest? Belonging? A reward after a long day? The numbers are not a moral verdict. They are clues.

Attention turns into agency

The Consumer Financial Protection Bureau recommends tracking spending for at least two weeks, or even a month, so patterns become visible. That is a wonderfully unglamorous form of freedom. You cannot choose what to change until you can see what is happening.

This is where the spiritual and financial reviews meet. In the examen, I might notice that a certain conversation left me impatient. In the ledger, I might notice that the same kind of day ends with delivery food and late-night shopping. Neither observation is the whole story. Together, they might reveal a need for a better pause before I reach for the easiest relief.

And “better” does not have to mean dramatic. Investor.gov suggests keeping track of income and expenses and including savings in the picture. For tonight, that could mean writing down three purchases, one gratitude, and one small adjustment for tomorrow. No overhaul. No financial monasticism. Just a little light.

What happened, what it meant, what to carry forward

What happened? I spent the day making choices, some deliberate and some automatic. What did it mean? My attention—and my money—moved toward whatever felt urgent, comforting, or important in the moment. What can I carry forward? A five-minute review, done without self-contempt, can turn a blur into a pattern. A pattern can become a choice.

Tonight, before closing the banking app, try one question from each practice: “Where did I receive a gift today?” and “What did my spending say mattered?” The answers may not match perfectly. That is not failure. That is information—and information is a decent place to begin again.