We’re told as we grow up that the three great conversational taboos are politics, religion, and sex, but in fact, people discuss these subjects all the time. No, the real taboo in our social discourse is money, as I was dramatically reminded this past summer.

My young son and I joined a bunch of old and new friends for a rafting/kayaking/ camping trip down the Klamath River. Of course, outdoor trips like this always speed up the process of intimacy; when you live together with others for five days—without obligations, without cell phones or PDAs, and sharing a latrine—you get to know them pretty well pretty fast. On this trip, the process moved even faster because of the forest fires that plagued northern California. The air was pungent with smoke, and the sun was always blocked, so there was a persistent sense of early dawn—a perfect setting for sharing our innermost truths, I’ve always thought.

Sarah and I had been acquaintances before the trip—my son and her daughter were pals from school—but on this trip, we grew really close. Although the fire danger meant there was a ban on campfires, we nevertheless sat and talked each evening, hunkered down in our low-slung camp chairs, our muscles weary, our kids safely in their tents. We talked about our past and present marriages, politics, religion, health, and our kids, sharing our concerns and vulnerabilities about each of these topics. It quickly became clear that ours was one of those friendships in which any subject could be fully explored.

As the trip grew to a close, we adults began to think and talk about tipping the wonderful river guides who had kept us safe through the Class 3 and 4 rapids. So on the last night, as we were settling into our camp chairs, I said to Sarah: “Have you thought about the tip? I’m thinking of giving a hundred bucks. What are you going to give?”

In the orange glow from the fires 30 miles west of us, I could see the look of stunned astonishment on Sarah’s face. “Oh,” she said, “I don’t feel comfortable discussing that.”

And that door slammed shut.

What is this? Why is money a blacklisted subject we hide behind a veil of secrecy as if we and our money were in some sinister conspiracy together? What made Sarah shut down? After all, I hadn’t asked her how much money she had in the bank or what her bonus had been last year. Nor had I suggested she tell me how many boyfriends she’d had in college or what her SAT scores had been. And the fact is that Sarah had told me some pretty private stuff about a rough patch in her marriage and about her own family history. That she could speak freely about such deeply personal matters made it even odder that she would shut down like a clam when asked what she planned to tip the next day.

What I can’t figure out is why. What makes people so uncomfortable talking about money? My guess is we see money as a measurement of our identity—and thus as a wedge that can separate us. That is, the person who “measures up” higher—i.e., with more money—feels he has to protect what he has from the person who measures up lower, while the person who measures up lower feels in danger of being exploited. I don’t know if that’s it, but when Sarah and I finally talked about her response to me, she said it was because she had indeed planned to give more than I was giving, and the difference—the separation it might define—made her anxious.

But if I don’t know exactly why we clam up about money, I do know the impact of all the secrecy: stress. And that stress makes us do stupid things in our money lives. It takes away clarity about money and cuts us off from any wisdom we might bring to our money lives. It leads us instead into a money madness that impels us toward dumb decisions about earning, spending, saving, investing, and giving money. In my own family, my father and his sister had been estranged for the last 30 years of their lives over a money secret!

I’ve been there too. I’m the guy who could talk a blue streak about my sexual history on the second date with the woman who became my wife—but for the first three years of our marriage never said a word about our assets, our debts, my income or possessions. Those were the conversational taboos I stuck to. And the dumb decisions I made as a result of that madness-driven secrecy were very costly indeed.

Yes, there are good reasons for keeping certain aspects of your money life private, but I think we’ve gone too far on the secrecy side. The money taboo has become so automatic that we no longer have a choice about whether to share or not to share details of our money life; it’s just not an option anymore. Yet most of the time, a secret or lie about money causes us stress, loses us money, and diminishes our intimacy with friends and family. That’s enough motivation for me to re-think what is the real conversational taboo—money talk.

When my wife and I started dating, we shared our sex histories with one another on the first date. But we did not have a serious money conversation until we’d been together for almost three years-and then only when a specific concern made it absolutely necessary. The subject of money between us was taboo.

Bernhard Lietaer, author of On Human Wealth: The Future of Money, speaks to the money taboo: “If I asked you how much money you have and where it came from, it’s actually more indiscreet today than asking with whom you slept last night.” Further, he states, “Most people have about as much perspective on money as fish have on water.” Fish are born in water, live, and die in water. They don’t step out of it to look at what water is. Likewise, our beliefs about money are unexamined-until, that is, we look past the money taboo.

As my teaching partner, Anne Watts, points out:

Beliefs about money fill all our heads. We all have them. They can be fed by major experiences or by simple messages we’ve picked up along the way. These translate into limiting beliefs like: money is the root of all evil; don’t trust people with money; money equals safety; it takes money to make money. The list goes on and on. These beliefs remain unexamined until we are startled awake, often by our own discomfort, and we begin to see just what it is we are living in-those subconscious thought streams about money we swim around in all day.

It doesn’t take an extreme circumstance to be startled awake. A little bit of discomfort can go a long way, as it did the day my wife and I first saw the house that we eventually purchased together. Glowing with excitement when she saw the backyard, Janine said, “Plenty of space to put in a garden.” I could tell by her tone and the look in her eye that she was imagining a full-blown permaculture installation, complete with pond and multiple tiers. All I could see was a pile of invoices.

I looked away, secretly hoping the garden idea would decompose. Mustn’t let on that we can afford it, went my thinking, she might insist on having it.

At that stage in our relationship, all of our financial information was my secret. In my family of origin, the primary messages about money included: “Don’t talk about it,” and, “Money is the only thing that will give you security.” In the absence of clear and conscious money talk, those undercurrents translated into thought patterns that held my own sense of prosperity in check. In essence, I believed that my job as the head of the household was to watch the purse strings and silently monitor my wife’s spending to keep us secure.

Something about the juxtaposition of Janine’s obvious pleasure at the idea of a garden and my obvious distress in the moment triggered a new awareness. Janine delighted at the thought of working the soil, picking out and planting seeds, watching those little cotyledons send the plant’s first two tender green leaves up through the earth and then grow into broccoli, asparagus, collard greens, and beets. She wanted the pleasure of plucking our dinner salad straight out of the yard. She was giggling with delight at the thought, while I, on the other hand, looked and felt like quite the curmudgeon. What was that all about?

I began to examine my resistance and looked at what was behind the “mustn’t let on” thought stream. Was it true that one shouldn’t spend money on a garden? I felt into the feelings, and asked myself: is this a new feeling, or a familiar old feeling?

I knew from the work I had done with Anne and the Human Awareness Institute-an organization dedicated to eradicating ignorance and fear in the areas of love, intimacy and sexuality-as well as earlier training in meditation, that I could dive beneath the surface of my thoughts and gain valuable perspective if I paused for a few moments. This self-reflection and inquiry process is one of the skill sets Anne and I teach in our workshop: Financial Intimacy and Freedom for Couples.

I knew from experience that shifting my beliefs could radically alter my experience, and I wanted a radical new me to step in for the curmudgeon that particular afternoon. But I also knew that simply denying my feelings or sweeping them under the sod would not do. So I took a slow stroll around the side of the house and stayed with the feelings. What does this feeling want me to know? I scanned my body, relaxed my mind and allowed my awareness to do a full sweep. Almost immediately, a memory of my father came into my mind’s eye and I watched him flinch when the eight-year old me asked, “How much money do you make, Dad?” He flashed me a look of disdain that nipped that conversation in the bud-for good.

Once I connected the dots between these early experiences that told me to stay silent about finances and my difficult feelings, I was able to take a deep breath and relax. Immediately, a sense of spaciousness filled my mind. All of a sudden, I was much less attached to my original idea about the garden. From this place of openness I began to look into my present-moment thoughts and feelings. A garden can increase the value of one’s home, came the first thought. That was predictable; my mind is ever watchful when it comes to the bottom line. Then, following on that, I realized that a garden could be quite a lovely sanctuary, a place of beauty, a place to enjoy the textures and smells of seasonal change, a source of high-quality fruits and vegetables for our family.

My thinking expanded further as I imagined throwing a party in our backyard, hosting community events, having a place to explore the natural world with my kids, and being able to appreciate the ordinary miracles of peach and almond blossoms. It would be lovely to meditate out in the garden, I thought. Walking back toward my wife, I said, “Actually, Janine, we can afford a garden.” The garden has become all of the above and much, much more; it is the best investment I have ever made.

Whenever I tell this story, Anne likes to mention another important aspect of partnership and intimacy:

This experience with the garden highlights the way in which two people’s differing values can either create friction between them, or, if handled consciously, open new possibilities for each while solidifying the couple’s bond. Spencer grew up in the city where there were no gardens; they were simply not important to him. It had not occurred to him that a garden could add to the quality of his life. In relationships, distinct individual values such as gardening can become shared values for the couple, and thus expand each person’s horizons.

In the workshop Anne and I teach together, we start by posing this question: What is the best way to deepen intimacy with your partner?

Most people, especially Californians, will answer: Talk about ecstatic lovemaking!

No, we assert. Talk about money.

Some say: Insane! Talk about money to increase intimacy?

Of course, we realize that what we are suggesting is counter-intuitive. After all, money is the number one identified cause of divorce in the U.S. And yet, from my experience as both a workshop leader and financial advisor, money-talk is the greatest aphrodisiac of all. Think about it. If you can be open, honest, and fully present with your lover while talking about such a taboo topic, what might you discover?