I want to be someone who has no debt and is married to someone who is also debt-free.
And then I woke up.
Funny stuff, right? Well, maybe not. I do know a select few people who don't have a cloud of balance owing hanging over their heads, don't cringe at the first sign of a bill, and for whom Christmas is not a dirty word. They are few and far between, even in my sizable circle of friends and acquaintances, but they do exist. When encountering such a person - and after the tsunami of envy retreats back into my ocean of inappropriate feelings - I like to pick their brains about how they've managed to wind up in such a good place. What I've concluded is that the debt-free are made up of three types of individuals described below:
1. The Ex-Indebted
This is the woman who used to have enough shoes in her closet to lose a small child, or the guy with a television and entertainment system impressive enough to make him both blind and deaf. They received too much schooling and not enough salary, bought a shiny new
2. The Very Fortunate
I try very hard not to hate these people, because they are normally quite nice - just too damn lucky. We all know them: they come from a good family - or at the very least a family where mom's drinking is done mostly in private and dad's little hooker problem is swept quietly under the rug. A family where Little Darling is put through college, her wedding paid for, the down payment on her first home taken care of. She got a job through a friend right out of college and makes good coin. Rich family members fall over dead at least once every decade and she inherits money for all those overseas trips she wants to take. No major job losses, marriage break-ups, serious illnesses or dismemberment. They are good people, happy people, god awful to be around people. However, their backs are take on a funny shape due to the large, golden horse shoe stuck way up their asses. At least you look better in a skirt.
3. The Angelic One
This is the person who, for whatever reason, has it all figured out right from the start. Maybe mom and dad were great with money, or explained to the kids how they should have done things, or taught them that credit cards were only to be used in an emergency. This person pays cash for everything, saves up money while commuting by bus instead of - gasp! - taking out a car loan. Perish the thought! They buy a modest home, live a modest lifestyle, completely ignore the Joneses and whatever they're doing, and are just... happy. These are the people I place high up on a pedestal and admire from below. I pace around them, trying to figure out what makes them so much better at this whole capitalist society thing than I am.
***
A few days ago, we noticed we haven't been able to make much of a dent in our debt situation in quite some time. The company Geekster works for has been bitch-slapped by this recession and that sting has been passed on to its employees in the form of hour reductions - two days every three weeks, to be exact. For a family of five on one income, that's not an easy pill to swallow. And for one who's been living at or slightly above its means while doing renovations to the fixer-upper home they bought two years ago, choking on the proverbial pill would be a more accurate description.
It's been a full year of reduced pay, and we've realized something critically important: Geekster pay doesn't really need to come back up (although that would be nice for many reasons), we need to reassess our lifestyle. We're piggish consumers in many ways, buying on emotion, on impulse. We're not horrible, but we don't always make great choices. Our latest not-so-great choice? The hot tub. How did we justify it? It was on sale, and still way less than any major vacation - which, by the way, we've never taken, not once, ever. It's easy to justify by saying it's like a vacation that keeps on giving, or some other crap. But the truth is that we couldn't afford it or a vacation. It was a dumb move.
See, we both left home at sixteen, and were faced with the harsh reality of sleeping in stairwells and shelters and half-way houses, lining up at the welfare office and the food bank, living with cockroaches and above some very scary drug dealers with an even scarier rottweiler. At nineteen, when Intrepid was born, a friend came to visit and said "He's very cute, but you realized you just fucked up your life." She went on to say we'd never get out of poverty and I would end up a single young mom with no education and nowhere to go. A really thoughtful thing to say to a new mom, wasn't it?
She has not received a single Christmas card from us, I'll have you know. And also, I think I'm way happier than she is. And more awesome. And somewhat prettier. Just sayin'.
It's been seventeen years since I left home, sixteen since I met the love of my life, and nearly thirteen since our first gremlin was born. Sometimes I think we're too hard on ourselves. Statistically, life should really suck right now. We shouldn't be together, let alone smitten with each other. Our son should be a delinquent who has a lot of trouble in school. I should probably have a litter of kids-- I suppose that part is somewhat true. Three is a small litter, right? And we should be quite poor and regretting the decision to keep our baby.
As per usual, I am pleased to be a statistic abnormality: Happy, married, good kids, food to eat, home owner, a vehicle to drive and good credit. Oh, and an adorable smart phone I can't really afford but have to keep for at least the next 2.5 years. You can see I'm pretty broken up about that.
Soon, I'll get discovered for my ravishing beauty or exceptional writing talents and we won't have to worry about juggling the bills anymore. Until then, I'll pat myself on the back on nights like tonight, when I walked out of a very tempting Tupperware party and didn't buy a single thing.
I'm ridiculously proud of myself.
Instant gratification. Wants masking as needs. We're as guilty and, dare I say, imperfect as the next person. Judge if you'd like, but I get to think about all my mistakes while sitting in my warm, bubbly, amazing, relaxing mistake of a hot tub. So there.
(I might let you into my hot tub if you tell me about your debt/lack of debt and give me some fantastic advice - and don't have any communicable diseases.)