This summer at a boat ramp along the Umpqua River, my friend Jon offered assistance. "Hey, Ang, need a hand?" I was pumping up my kayak, something of an endeavor in the 90 degree swelter but worth the work given the sweet reward of lounging in it through Sunburn Alley all afternoon.
"Oh, nah. Thanks, though. I - "
"...I can do it." He'd finished my sentence. Turning to my mom, who nearby slathered my son in SPF 750, he chided, "All week, any time I've offered help, she's replied, "Oh, thanks, I can do it."
I rolled my eyes between pumps. A chivalrous offer, but, really, I did have the task easily in hand.
But Jon, who happens to have his PhD, had perhaps accurately diagnosed a condition from which I've long suffered. Icandoitallitus.
Couldn't say how I contracted it. Maybe it all started in college (particularly during my women's studies courses) when I decided I could open my own doors, thank you very much. Or during new-parenthood when I developed a talent for dancing hollering baby, stroller, diaper bag, purse, and seven bags of groceries across a giant parking lot through a maze of traffic during a thunderstorm without losing my balance or sense of humor. Or when I purchased a "starter home" and decided to handle as many of the fixer projects as possible on my own. Who knows when it started. But, I do know somewhere along the line I decided I could do anything I set my mind on. Icandoitallitus.
Unfortunately, my case is fairly severe. For instance, last summer I conducted a move from one abode to a new one entirely on my own. But, since I had no furniture to actually move, that point is a lot less impressive than the fact that I single handedly built all of the furnishings at my new address. Imagine a 5'4'' woman hauling 100 pound boxes up stairs and erecting bookcases, bedframes, and desks into the wee hours of several August nights, squinting through bleary eyes at IKEA assembly instructions forbidding herself to have that drink of water/bathroom break/snack until the last bolt was secured. A sorry sight, especially considering the numerous offers of help from friends, family, co-workers, and my new neighbors. "Oh, I can do it. Thanks, though."
Regardless the challenge, "I can do it" has been my anthem.
Many long years of icandoitallitus have made accepting assistance, even in times of need, akin to, oh, I dunno, learning to swim the "old-fashioned way" where your school of hard knocks uncle throws you off a dock and harps, "Well, you'll either learn to swim or drown!" while you gasp and thrash, scared, embarrassed, and wishing like hell you'd not even gotten out of the car in the first place.
Which is exactly how I've felt these last couple weeks. I absolutely HATE being so vulnerable as to need help. Damn, icandoitallitus.
A while back my loving boyfriend smuggled a Costco run into my pantry. Which is to say, while I was busy with something else, he stocked my kitchen. Each time I opened a cupboard for the next ten days or so, I discovered a new surprise...an army of rice milk cartons waiting on the bottom shelf, a behemoth bottle of olive oil and pasta in every shape ever created crowding the baking supplies, almond butter standing ready in the fridge, a plethora of Annie's mac and cheese preparing for the occasion of the next quick lunch or dinner. I wonder if folks stocked up like this for Y2K? I'm ready for Arctic Blast 2010!
Had he asked, "Babe, you need me to grab some groceries for you?" I'd have answered with a, "No, thanks, I can do it."
But, he didn't. Which goes to show how well he knows me. And, how stubborn I can be.
Instead, he took charge "tough-love therapy-style" in a bold gesture that silently retorted, "Maybe you can, but you don't have to," to my usual, "I can do it." His assistance has insured I'll stay within a meager food budget this month. I'm feeling the love, one carton of rice milk at a time.
My parents have stepped in as well.
Mom must have shared my blog with my dad last week, for on Saturday afternoon I got a call from him that started, "Angie, you know me. I like to have everything taken care of..." (His tone and wording made me fear the worst...What the heck could be so important that this usually happy-go-lucky guy would begin all "I like to have everything taken care of..."?) I braced myself.
"Have you already listed your car on Craigslist? Well, it doesn't matter if you have." (I heard my mom say something to him in the background.) "How much is your car payment?"
"What? Dad, are you okay?"
"We don't want you to sell your car. It's a different economy. The "cash for clunkers" has really changed the used car market. You're not going to find a good used car that's any better than yours. I mean, is yours okay? It works, right?"
"Yeah, Dad, it works fine, I just need to get rid of my monthly payment."
"Well, your mom and I would like to pay it. No, I didn't mean that. Your mom and I are GOING to take care of your payment. Don't sell your car. What do you think you could replace it with? Something with unreliable brakes and no airbags? Keep your car. We'll help you."
I was unable to speak. First I felt relief that the call wasn't about the dwindling health of a family member. Then I was pissed that my parents were TELLING me what they were going to do. I mean, I'm an adult, right? I'm a parent myself, right? Can they still legitimately pull rank? Humph! Then I was embarrassed that my retired parents were compelled to bail out their daughter, a working professional/college graduate/person who's lived on her own pretty much since moving to college. Really, Angela? Has it come to this? Fouled up your money so much that your parents have to help?
"Dad, thank you, but I don't need the help. It's okay. I can do it. I'm planning to sell the car. Bluebook says I'll make at least two grand on it. I'm looking at VW Bugs. I can get a decent one for that. Then I won't have a payment and I can devote those dollars to paying down consumer debt."
"Angie," (no one but my folks call me Angie) "A BUG? Do you know anything about the affect of front impact on those things? No airbags. They break all the time..." He kept going. I was having trouble breathing. Jeff had glanced up from his reading in concern more than a few times.
"...Listen...hold on, your mom's telling me something...Yes. Listen, Angie, we're putting a check in the mail."
Overwhelmed, I could neither accepted or decline their offer/demand. How can one swallow her pride so quickly?
Because the world spins this way, the next day I had the opportunity to test-drive a 1972 Super Beetle. (Jeff and I had looked up all manner of Beetles on Craigslist and even visited some pro sites to learn the distinctions between Beetles and Super Beetles. I felt so educated!) If I was serious about purchasing one of those cutie pies, prudence dictated that I would at least get behind the wheel first.
The seller is a local preacher. Somehow that made me feel better about going to check it out, despite my dad's admonishments. Zane was my co-pilot.
Leo the Preacher handed me the key. I asked, "Is there anything we need to know?"
"Nope. It's a 37 year old car. It'll tell you everything up front." He left us in the driveway.
Getting in was our first challenge. The doors didn't exactly spring open when we pulled on the handle. Indeed, we had to use real muscle to open them.
"Part of the fun, right, Zane?" He giggled and climbed in.
Then we reached for our seatbelts. Hmm...not exactly the mechanized, automatically retracting kind our Jetta has. Faint memories played reminding me, "Angie, this is how all cars were when you were small..." After some wrestling, we were clicked in.
Excited, I wondered if adjusting the seat (the cushion of which sagged lopsidedly toward the door positioning me just a few inches off the floor of the cab) was really necessary? I slid it forward only to feel it slide rapidly backward several times before deciding, no, I could just prop myself upon the edge.
Adjusted the mirror.
Inserted the key and turned it.
Deafening noise! Lurch, lurch! Crash!
We'd rammed in to Preacher Leo's garage.
The combination of the seat and neglecting to push in the clutch completely had resulted in a nice test of the car's bumper. It was totally fine. What excellent automotive design! Front impact stats my ass, Dad! It was totally fine! Preacher Leo's garage door frame was...er...dented?
I looked at Zane. He looked at me. Was his face ashen?
I wrestled out of the car in hopes of beckoning the Preacher. Wouldn't he have heard the impact? I knocked on his door. He didn't answer. All I could think was , "Woe, though we walk in the valley of death..."
Returning to the car Zane calmly asked, "Hey, Mom? Does this have airbags?" I laughed. He didn't think it was funny.
Second round, I placed my foot on the clutch but was unable to get the car to idle in first. THIS made Preacher Leo AND his son come out to marvel at the woman who had broken their house and made their car screech so hideously. Leo had to show me how to get the car in reverse...and how to adjust the seat. (The stick shift had no gear markings or indicator on the handle!)
E V E N T U A L L Y, I maneuvered that purple, stinky, dusty, beast away from the garage and we tooled loudly through the neighborhood. I'm sure I had a grin on my face the entire time. We had a blast! How fun to discover the "features" of the interior.
"Mom! Look! Roll down windows!"
"Ooooo!" I'd have tried mine too, but I feared prying my hands from the wheel may have resulted in another bumper test.
Prior to her reversal in discretion about me sellign my car, Mom had emailed a detailed list of attributes to scan for in a used car. (She's something of a motorhead having been a street racer in Oakland, California back in the day. She use to change the oil and shocks in her Austin Healey Sprite, I think the story goes.) Dutiful daughter, we pulled our potential purchase over and opened the trunk to checkout the hoses and wires. I did the undercarriage inspection just as she'd specified. I'm sure Mom would have known what she was looking at. Neither Zane nor I did. But, we were proud of ourselves for having found the engine.
Leo the Preacher was right. The car did tell me everything I needed to know. She told me two things...First, she didn't want me around. Second, my dad was right.
The Preacher refused compensation for the facia board of his garage. No hard sale from him. Maybe he would have felt uncomfortably responsible for the fate of the single mom and her cute kid? Or, perhaps he just wanted me to get the hell away from his car and house that afternoon? Either way, Zane and I departed, thankful for the adventure...and the relative luxury of our 2002 Jetta. Though I've never had need for its airbags, I felt a wave of gratefulness for their presence. Perhaps Zane did too.
Two days passed before an envelope with my mom's handwriting appeared in the mailbox. The enclosed card read, "Zane deserves a safe car. And so do you!"
Argh! "I can do this on my own!" I spat at the card.
But it politely retorted, "I know, but you don't have to."
I don't want anyone to feel or be responsible for me. Especially, I don't want anyone to be responsible for the mess I've made with money.
There's a lot more that could be said here, the internal processes, the attempts at developing an argument sensible enough to guiltlessly deny their gesture of support. But, what it comes down to is gratitude. I'm so flippin' grateful. How many people face the same kinds of financial struggles that I do? How do they make it if they don't have the support that Zane and I do? How would I make it without Jeff and my parents?
This week, I feel richer than I ever have. I'm learning the grace to accept help - daily tonic against icandoitiallitus.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
Simple Pleasures
I sat alone in my car, the phone call reverberating.
Angela: So you're telling me, Mike, that signing on for an $8,000 personal loan, secured by the car I'm soon to be selling, as well as applying for a $2,500 line of credit (for use in "emergencies only") is the best way for me to make a dent in my debt, and improve my credit scores so that I can then be more attractive to financial lending institutions who might then increase the amount I can borrow (at lower rates) to consolidate debt and pay it down more quickly.
Mike (the loan guy): Correct.
Angela: And what you offer, in all of your experience, is the best-case scenario?
Mike: Absolutely.
Angela: Mike, about a month ago, I woke up to my ridiculousness of my financial status and how I have actively created if for the majority of my adult life. It's not pretty.
Mike: I know.
Angela: Well, I'm dedicated to getting correcting all of this before I'm 40. I want to make a change, and I want to do efficiently, effectively, now. Doesn't what you're explaining sound like games? I have to take more credit to pay down credit?
Mike: Angela, no one is going to give you a consolidation loan for the amount you requested. Your ratio of debt to income wouldn't support it. You have nothing to secure the loan with. Maybe if you secured a co-signor or...
Angela: Mike...(and I wanted to scream, "I get it! But I'm awake! Help me! There's no way what you're saying is a ladder out!"), thank you for your time and the information.
Mike: Shall we schedule an appointment for tomorrow? Want to grab your W2 and your most recent paystub?
Angela: Let me talk this over with a few folks. I'll call you. Thanks, Mike.
There, with the 80 degree Friday afternoon heat augmenting my own boiling emotions, it wasn't easy to keep from beating myself up. How incredibly stupid I've been! What was I thinking? I am in so far over my head! How embarrassing! If there was a pageant for the consumer debt dumb, I'd be wearing the Ms. Universe crown.
It took more than a couple deep breaths to remember a beat up version of myself would perform far less successfully. So, although my whole body seemed slower, heavier and emptier at Mike's attempt to make quota for the month, I reminded myself (just like Jack Handy), "I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And, golldarnit, people like me."
Okay not really. But, I did talk myself out of floundering in pity.
Here's why: There is always a way.
Proof: September 2009
September 2009 is the tightest month I've every created for myself. Even though, I've given up credit, created a budget, sold stuff on craigslist, and used coupons. It's tight. So tight, I'll need to take a draw on next month's pay to cover my school loan and car payment.
And, still, I'm okay. Better than okay, really. I'm sleeping well. I have energy even at the end of a long day spent spinning my most theatrical efforts to engage high school sophomores in the "wonders of the Oxford comma" and the "many faces of nouns". I have energy. I feel fortunate. The love and support of my family and friends daily humbles me.
Attribute it to finally facing facts and taking action. Chalk it up to the elimination of all the time and energy worry and fear about my finances use to monopolize. Thank those hours I've spent at my desk and online scrutinizing bank statements and penciling out the month's expenses. Give credit to the actions I've taken to avoid stalking ostrich-like into overdrafts and late fees. Whatever the source, I feel the effect. And it is good.
Know how the perfect perspective offers itself at the perfect time? My junior counselor at leadership camp this summer (a Loyola Marymount freshman and recent Central Linn valedictorian) found this excerpt in one of the text books she was pre-reading during the days prior to classes and sent it my way. She couldn't have known how fitting it would become to me this month:
"...But for the fortunate majority of us- those of us with jobs, with some savings, with incomes that let us make ends meet- are already discovering that living within one's means doesn't necessarily diminish quality of life. In fact, dialing down the money madness, and material envy and acquisitiveness can actually make us feel better. Some of the best things in life really are free, or at least inexpensive."
Some of the best things in life really are free, or at least inexpensive.
Indeed.
I haven't yet decided what to do about Mike and his "best-case scenario." Perhaps playing the numbers game and purchasing a "loan product" would be a good way to go. If not for the infinite wisdom of my boyfriend, I might have just driven to Salem yesterday and signed on the dotted line in Mike's cubicle. (In so many ways I just want a fairy godmother - like Mike - to make it all better.) But, my better half coached me to do the footwork. Call around, do some research, follow through on my intention to call the Consumer Credit Service. And I have. Funny how being honest with myself also fuels a desire to gather accurate, verified information before making commitments... Funny how good it feels to collect and manage that information and make decisions based on fact rather than fear.
There's a to do list pertinent to creating this foundation of prosperity on my desk as long as I am tall; all that research and decision making is part of it.
But, in true yin for the yang spirit, there's also a list of simple pleasures I've enjoyed these last few weeks at least twice as long. Some of the best things in life. Pleasures that cost little, but make me feel like a million bucks. They're fueling me to keep checking off the "to do's" and weather the gloominess the reality this situation could bring.
Here are a few:
1. Picking late-season raspberries on a warm evening at sunset with Triawn and our sons at Draper Farms. For $1.50 a pound we took home memories, jam making, and joy.
2. Braving my bathroom cupboard to "mine" for shampoo, conditioner, and styling product bottles holding tiny amounts of 'the goods' that also pack huge scent memories of seasons past.
3. Checking my online bank statement to see...exactly what I expected to see because I'm on top of my dollars this month.
4. Borrowing music CDs from the public library. There's such good music there! And it's free!
5. Talking about things other than money.
6. Running with our Cross Country team. A work out AND inspiration. Plus, the valley is GORGEOUS this time of year.
7. Redeeming my Dutch Bros coffee card for a free mocha on a Friday morning.
8. Taking long, long showers. (May not be good for my water bill...but, dang; that feels good.)
9. Exchanging massages and foot rubs with my boyfriend.
10. Running the Trask Mountain Escape...muddily, blissfully.
11. Joining folks for pre-harvest gatherings.
12. Finding a way to decorate my new classroom without spending any dough, being surprised by Jeff's donations of lamps and plants, and hearing my students and colleagues comment on the serenity the space brings. (A high school classroom? Is it possible? :)
13. Enjoying a pedicure treat with my friend. Conversation and sisterhood? Always always sweet.
14. Allowing myself to just collapse for a nap, or movie watching, or "unassigned" reading in bed.
15. Sitting down to breakfast in the morning with my boys.
16. Observing the subtle changing of the maples.
17. Peeking through the window of Facebook into the lives of friends far and near.
18. Being a more steady email correspondent with my mom and dad...who are both recently retired...and therefore somehow more entertaining than ever.
19. Reuniting with former students at the McMinnville Market - how sophisticated and talented they are!
20. Savoring the surreal colors of the sunrises on weekday mornings.
21. Joining this river of bloggers and receiving feedback on-line and in person.
22. Anticipating the release of Int'l Male's debut CD "Anthems of Potency" and marveling at the talent of all invovled.
23. Just being near my boyfriend at the end of the day.
24. Learning German from my third grader.
25. Attempting to enjoy the advent of his football "career".
26. Watching my "volunteer" pumpkins emerge along the patio garden.
27. Closing the day thinking, "You know, I did okay to day."
28. Hearing my little one sing in the shower in the morning.
29. Borrowing good books from friends and then getting to talk with them all about the characters and such...
30. Laughing with my son...anytime, anywhere.
...and many, many, many more riches too numerous to count.
Mike called and left a message again today.
Mike: Angela, be sure to give me a call so we can set up an appointment for Monday and get this thing going.
I must be on his short list. Wonder what our next conversation holds...For now, the draw on my paycheck has been deposited and the bills have been paid. I'm going to pick up some brautwurst and BBQ with my boys on this warm Friday night.
All good.
Angela: So you're telling me, Mike, that signing on for an $8,000 personal loan, secured by the car I'm soon to be selling, as well as applying for a $2,500 line of credit (for use in "emergencies only") is the best way for me to make a dent in my debt, and improve my credit scores so that I can then be more attractive to financial lending institutions who might then increase the amount I can borrow (at lower rates) to consolidate debt and pay it down more quickly.
Mike (the loan guy): Correct.
Angela: And what you offer, in all of your experience, is the best-case scenario?
Mike: Absolutely.
Angela: Mike, about a month ago, I woke up to my ridiculousness of my financial status and how I have actively created if for the majority of my adult life. It's not pretty.
Mike: I know.
Angela: Well, I'm dedicated to getting correcting all of this before I'm 40. I want to make a change, and I want to do efficiently, effectively, now. Doesn't what you're explaining sound like games? I have to take more credit to pay down credit?
Mike: Angela, no one is going to give you a consolidation loan for the amount you requested. Your ratio of debt to income wouldn't support it. You have nothing to secure the loan with. Maybe if you secured a co-signor or...
Angela: Mike...(and I wanted to scream, "I get it! But I'm awake! Help me! There's no way what you're saying is a ladder out!"), thank you for your time and the information.
Mike: Shall we schedule an appointment for tomorrow? Want to grab your W2 and your most recent paystub?
Angela: Let me talk this over with a few folks. I'll call you. Thanks, Mike.
There, with the 80 degree Friday afternoon heat augmenting my own boiling emotions, it wasn't easy to keep from beating myself up. How incredibly stupid I've been! What was I thinking? I am in so far over my head! How embarrassing! If there was a pageant for the consumer debt dumb, I'd be wearing the Ms. Universe crown.
It took more than a couple deep breaths to remember a beat up version of myself would perform far less successfully. So, although my whole body seemed slower, heavier and emptier at Mike's attempt to make quota for the month, I reminded myself (just like Jack Handy), "I'm good enough. I'm smart enough. And, golldarnit, people like me."
Okay not really. But, I did talk myself out of floundering in pity.
Here's why: There is always a way.
Proof: September 2009
September 2009 is the tightest month I've every created for myself. Even though, I've given up credit, created a budget, sold stuff on craigslist, and used coupons. It's tight. So tight, I'll need to take a draw on next month's pay to cover my school loan and car payment.
And, still, I'm okay. Better than okay, really. I'm sleeping well. I have energy even at the end of a long day spent spinning my most theatrical efforts to engage high school sophomores in the "wonders of the Oxford comma" and the "many faces of nouns". I have energy. I feel fortunate. The love and support of my family and friends daily humbles me.
Attribute it to finally facing facts and taking action. Chalk it up to the elimination of all the time and energy worry and fear about my finances use to monopolize. Thank those hours I've spent at my desk and online scrutinizing bank statements and penciling out the month's expenses. Give credit to the actions I've taken to avoid stalking ostrich-like into overdrafts and late fees. Whatever the source, I feel the effect. And it is good.
Know how the perfect perspective offers itself at the perfect time? My junior counselor at leadership camp this summer (a Loyola Marymount freshman and recent Central Linn valedictorian) found this excerpt in one of the text books she was pre-reading during the days prior to classes and sent it my way. She couldn't have known how fitting it would become to me this month:
"...But for the fortunate majority of us- those of us with jobs, with some savings, with incomes that let us make ends meet- are already discovering that living within one's means doesn't necessarily diminish quality of life. In fact, dialing down the money madness, and material envy and acquisitiveness can actually make us feel better. Some of the best things in life really are free, or at least inexpensive."
Some of the best things in life really are free, or at least inexpensive.
Indeed.
I haven't yet decided what to do about Mike and his "best-case scenario." Perhaps playing the numbers game and purchasing a "loan product" would be a good way to go. If not for the infinite wisdom of my boyfriend, I might have just driven to Salem yesterday and signed on the dotted line in Mike's cubicle. (In so many ways I just want a fairy godmother - like Mike - to make it all better.) But, my better half coached me to do the footwork. Call around, do some research, follow through on my intention to call the Consumer Credit Service. And I have. Funny how being honest with myself also fuels a desire to gather accurate, verified information before making commitments... Funny how good it feels to collect and manage that information and make decisions based on fact rather than fear.
There's a to do list pertinent to creating this foundation of prosperity on my desk as long as I am tall; all that research and decision making is part of it.
But, in true yin for the yang spirit, there's also a list of simple pleasures I've enjoyed these last few weeks at least twice as long. Some of the best things in life. Pleasures that cost little, but make me feel like a million bucks. They're fueling me to keep checking off the "to do's" and weather the gloominess the reality this situation could bring.
Here are a few:
1. Picking late-season raspberries on a warm evening at sunset with Triawn and our sons at Draper Farms. For $1.50 a pound we took home memories, jam making, and joy.
2. Braving my bathroom cupboard to "mine" for shampoo, conditioner, and styling product bottles holding tiny amounts of 'the goods' that also pack huge scent memories of seasons past.
3. Checking my online bank statement to see...exactly what I expected to see because I'm on top of my dollars this month.
4. Borrowing music CDs from the public library. There's such good music there! And it's free!
5. Talking about things other than money.
6. Running with our Cross Country team. A work out AND inspiration. Plus, the valley is GORGEOUS this time of year.
7. Redeeming my Dutch Bros coffee card for a free mocha on a Friday morning.
8. Taking long, long showers. (May not be good for my water bill...but, dang; that feels good.)
9. Exchanging massages and foot rubs with my boyfriend.
10. Running the Trask Mountain Escape...muddily, blissfully.
11. Joining folks for pre-harvest gatherings.
12. Finding a way to decorate my new classroom without spending any dough, being surprised by Jeff's donations of lamps and plants, and hearing my students and colleagues comment on the serenity the space brings. (A high school classroom? Is it possible? :)
13. Enjoying a pedicure treat with my friend. Conversation and sisterhood? Always always sweet.
14. Allowing myself to just collapse for a nap, or movie watching, or "unassigned" reading in bed.
15. Sitting down to breakfast in the morning with my boys.
16. Observing the subtle changing of the maples.
17. Peeking through the window of Facebook into the lives of friends far and near.
18. Being a more steady email correspondent with my mom and dad...who are both recently retired...and therefore somehow more entertaining than ever.
19. Reuniting with former students at the McMinnville Market - how sophisticated and talented they are!
20. Savoring the surreal colors of the sunrises on weekday mornings.
21. Joining this river of bloggers and receiving feedback on-line and in person.
22. Anticipating the release of Int'l Male's debut CD "Anthems of Potency" and marveling at the talent of all invovled.
23. Just being near my boyfriend at the end of the day.
24. Learning German from my third grader.
25. Attempting to enjoy the advent of his football "career".
26. Watching my "volunteer" pumpkins emerge along the patio garden.
27. Closing the day thinking, "You know, I did okay to day."
28. Hearing my little one sing in the shower in the morning.
29. Borrowing good books from friends and then getting to talk with them all about the characters and such...
30. Laughing with my son...anytime, anywhere.
...and many, many, many more riches too numerous to count.
Mike called and left a message again today.
Mike: Angela, be sure to give me a call so we can set up an appointment for Monday and get this thing going.
I must be on his short list. Wonder what our next conversation holds...For now, the draw on my paycheck has been deposited and the bills have been paid. I'm going to pick up some brautwurst and BBQ with my boys on this warm Friday night.
All good.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Words
Oh, the power of language.
Time to take more seriously what Don Miguel Ruiz calls "impeccability" of my words. An instance in example - the other night I was asked if I had made the cover for a pillow on my bed. In the past, I might have answered, "No, I bought it." But, compelled to truthfulness by the act of "waking up" to my finances, I quipped instead, "No, I purchased it on credit." Though not quite as satisfying a statement, it's honest. How often have I said "I bought it..." when really I'd charged? Can I really say I own it if I still pay for it everyday? Nope. Not honestly. Not with impeccability.
Even in conversations with my son a shift in wording about money is occurring. When he asked to stop at Dutch Bros for hot chocolate yesterday, I responded not with my customary "Sure! I could use a coffee too!" and not with "Nope, we're trying to save money."
Oh, no.
Surprising myself, I stated instead, "We're being smart with our money these days. Let's make some hot chocolate at home, instead." Again, this was not as satisfying as finding the next drive-thru java joint. But honestly, I can't use a coffee. There's no use spending $3.50 for a mocha when I've got only $70.00 budgeted for food this week. And we're not TRYING to save money...we ARE saving money. It's how we're making money work for us rather than work us. It's an active choice...one mocha at a time.
Saying something like, "I've got debt," or "I'm really struggling with money right now," those statements wield a ton of power. But, to me, "I've got debt" sounds a lot like "I've got a dog." Now, having a dog's real nice. Having debt is not. Though debt might be waiting for me when I get home, and it might curl up with me at night in bed, it is nothing I want to feed. It's not welcome. And it's certainly not something I want to keep around. I'm no longer going to feed this debt. It needs to do the whole tail between the legs bit and sulk away.
"I'm really struggling with money" rings curiously of waging a losing battle. No thanks; I'm in it to win it. Contrastingly, statements like, "I'm paying down debt," and "I'm creating a foundation of prosperity" have more active, positive repercussions. There's still acceptance of responsibility, but that sense of "poor me" is absent. The way I understand it, the brain can hold on to new thoughts for fleeting seconds. Why not choose the powerfully positive rather than the solemnly static/sadistic/somber/slothly?
A friend once lambasted me for placing so much stock in "positivity." (I'm known in some parts as the "What you think about, you bring about" Gal. He said, "Angela, bless your angel baby heart, there may, in fact, be a bright side to everything, but that doesn't mean the bad stuff gets fixed...and it doesn't go away just 'cuz you're smilin'." (Okay, he didn't say the "angel baby heart" part, but the sentiment of that "quotation" is true.)
It gave me pause.
Since, I've endeavored to DO something about the stuff in my way so that I'm NOT just some smiling dolt watching a tsunami wash in. Even if I'm swimming in debt right now, I've got my board, I'm ready to paddle and I'll catch the next wave to shore. Rather than swim, I'll surf, thank you.
Words are powerful. And so is action. When both are targeting a positive outcome, good things happen.
The truth is a large percentage of stuff in my home has been charged on credit. That fact is a part of every choice I make all day - from mochas to what's for dinner. Still, how I think about this and what I do about it, and how I talk about...all those things make becoming debt-free a realistic goal. Bless my angel baby heart.
Time to take more seriously what Don Miguel Ruiz calls "impeccability" of my words. An instance in example - the other night I was asked if I had made the cover for a pillow on my bed. In the past, I might have answered, "No, I bought it." But, compelled to truthfulness by the act of "waking up" to my finances, I quipped instead, "No, I purchased it on credit." Though not quite as satisfying a statement, it's honest. How often have I said "I bought it..." when really I'd charged? Can I really say I own it if I still pay for it everyday? Nope. Not honestly. Not with impeccability.
Even in conversations with my son a shift in wording about money is occurring. When he asked to stop at Dutch Bros for hot chocolate yesterday, I responded not with my customary "Sure! I could use a coffee too!" and not with "Nope, we're trying to save money."
Oh, no.
Surprising myself, I stated instead, "We're being smart with our money these days. Let's make some hot chocolate at home, instead." Again, this was not as satisfying as finding the next drive-thru java joint. But honestly, I can't use a coffee. There's no use spending $3.50 for a mocha when I've got only $70.00 budgeted for food this week. And we're not TRYING to save money...we ARE saving money. It's how we're making money work for us rather than work us. It's an active choice...one mocha at a time.
Saying something like, "I've got debt," or "I'm really struggling with money right now," those statements wield a ton of power. But, to me, "I've got debt" sounds a lot like "I've got a dog." Now, having a dog's real nice. Having debt is not. Though debt might be waiting for me when I get home, and it might curl up with me at night in bed, it is nothing I want to feed. It's not welcome. And it's certainly not something I want to keep around. I'm no longer going to feed this debt. It needs to do the whole tail between the legs bit and sulk away.
"I'm really struggling with money" rings curiously of waging a losing battle. No thanks; I'm in it to win it. Contrastingly, statements like, "I'm paying down debt," and "I'm creating a foundation of prosperity" have more active, positive repercussions. There's still acceptance of responsibility, but that sense of "poor me" is absent. The way I understand it, the brain can hold on to new thoughts for fleeting seconds. Why not choose the powerfully positive rather than the solemnly static/sadistic/somber/slothly?
A friend once lambasted me for placing so much stock in "positivity." (I'm known in some parts as the "What you think about, you bring about" Gal. He said, "Angela, bless your angel baby heart, there may, in fact, be a bright side to everything, but that doesn't mean the bad stuff gets fixed...and it doesn't go away just 'cuz you're smilin'." (Okay, he didn't say the "angel baby heart" part, but the sentiment of that "quotation" is true.)
It gave me pause.
Since, I've endeavored to DO something about the stuff in my way so that I'm NOT just some smiling dolt watching a tsunami wash in. Even if I'm swimming in debt right now, I've got my board, I'm ready to paddle and I'll catch the next wave to shore. Rather than swim, I'll surf, thank you.
Words are powerful. And so is action. When both are targeting a positive outcome, good things happen.
The truth is a large percentage of stuff in my home has been charged on credit. That fact is a part of every choice I make all day - from mochas to what's for dinner. Still, how I think about this and what I do about it, and how I talk about...all those things make becoming debt-free a realistic goal. Bless my angel baby heart.
Friday, September 4, 2009
This morning at 9:55 I greeted my 37th year. Of course, I feel more like 27, with a few extra laugh lines as evidence of life well lived.
As a teacher, this time of year is already imbued with a sense of new beginnings. Compound that with the coincidence of my birthday and the sentiment is all that much deeper professionally and personally. In journals all the way back to the 80's I've documented annually my hopes and dreams for my "new year"... "be kissed by a boy" to "get accepted to college" to "get a dog" to "get a job" to "find the love of my life" to "run a 10K" to "be the best mother I can be"...
This year, though...this year rather than swearing to drink more water, work out more regularly, be on time, and grade my students' essays in a more timely manner I simply make a promise to myself.
My promise is to be consumer debt free by the time I turn 40.
That's big. Especially considering the sum I'll be shrinking. But, I have faith I can do this. I have to.
I'm imagining September 2012 - when I greet my fortieth new year without the weight of debt - that will be freedom, possibility, peace. Only three years away! You'll all be invited to the celebration so mark your calendars!
Happy new year!
As a teacher, this time of year is already imbued with a sense of new beginnings. Compound that with the coincidence of my birthday and the sentiment is all that much deeper professionally and personally. In journals all the way back to the 80's I've documented annually my hopes and dreams for my "new year"... "be kissed by a boy" to "get accepted to college" to "get a dog" to "get a job" to "find the love of my life" to "run a 10K" to "be the best mother I can be"...
This year, though...this year rather than swearing to drink more water, work out more regularly, be on time, and grade my students' essays in a more timely manner I simply make a promise to myself.
My promise is to be consumer debt free by the time I turn 40.
That's big. Especially considering the sum I'll be shrinking. But, I have faith I can do this. I have to.
I'm imagining September 2012 - when I greet my fortieth new year without the weight of debt - that will be freedom, possibility, peace. Only three years away! You'll all be invited to the celebration so mark your calendars!
Happy new year!
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