Yup, you guessed it: this is another temper-tantrum post regarding the evils of growing up.
Seriously though--when they told me it was rough, they weren't kidding. When the adults I've complained to all gave me the "heh, yeah, I remember those days," I thought, "well, at least I'm not alone, at least they survived."
What I didn't realize was that the little "heh" was a temporary flashback to the red font on your bank statement, or the dreaded calls from 800 numbers (fourteen times a day), or the fact that you start using change when you buy things, simply because it makes you feel like you're spending less money.
For a while it was comforting to know that this is a normal post-college experience. Everyone agrees that it's hard to balance yourself out, start paying back loans, try to pay rent or utilities or whatever, nevermind--God forbid--the occasional "splurge," which at this point, includes paying $1.50 for a redbox movie. But it's normal, right? Plenty of Real Adults have done this, and survived, and have even started to have children! [1]
If it's normal, which they keep telling me it is, then everyone deals with it, and eventually, people recover. It's not forever. One day, or so I am told, it'll be normal to have a positive number in your bank account when you get your next paycheck.
The only thing is, that's just not helpful.
No, I don't want your budget lecture or your helpful suggestions or your "have you tried"s. The problem isn't our lack of ability to manage our money. The problem is the lack of freaking money. And sure, it's going to get better. Aaron is being handed work left and right, and my student loans go on hold in the fall, plus I get a salary to be a TA, which yay, but that doesn't help me now, this week, when it's Tuesday and we're overdrawn and there are literally only two eggs and a stick of butter in the fridge. At least I don't have to decide what to make for dinner?
And so, because I'm me, I like to look at all the things I did or am doing wrong. I could have gotten a degree in something marketable and not "English," because what does that degree even mean [2]. I could have "saved up for college" and/or applied to a bunch of places until I got a free ride somewhere and then I wouldn't have loans to pay back. I could shut my stupid mouth and get the job at Aldi bagging groceries, because in the end, what's another 20 hours/week of dealing with the average American consumer, and no one really cares about your degree or actual abilities anyway. And the time you are (selfishly!) taking for your marriage, your sanity, or cooking actual meals isn't really that important, because--you need the money! Get off your high horse and stop bitching!
....
I used to believe, wholeheartedly, that doing what you love is the most important. I used to believe, wholeheartedly, that it was just money, and that there would never be enough, and you just had to focus on what God is giving you today, and let tomorrow sort itself out...tomorrow.
The thing I'm most upset about, more than anything else, is the fact that it's getting harder and harder to believe in that. In theory, I do. In theory, I completely believe that God gives me what I need, when I need it. In theory, it could be a lot worse, and I have a zillion things to be thankful for, and I really have no right to complain at all.
You may have noticed, but I like to whine about growing up. Partially, it's because I know I'm not alone and I feel a sort of camaraderie with my fellow post-grads--and also, I'm a smartass and it's part of my stand-up routine. But honestly? It's so much harder than I realized it would be. And I'm not just talking about paying my bills. I'm talking about shouldering the responsibility of an apartment, a car [3], a job. I'm talking about facing the fact that it's irresponsible not to do something about the anxiety disorder I've been ignoring for years. Regular day-to-day responsibilities aren't homework that I get to put off until the last minute. The decisions Aaron and I have to make--we're it. We make the last call, and if it's a bad decision, there's no one to rescue us. There's no midnight-"get me out of this sketchy party"-phone-call. We're the end of the line, and we're just so used to being kids. Sure, we listened to what grownups told us, and eventually we actually started paying attention, but how on earth can you be "prepared" for this? All you really have is an idea of what it'll be like, and then cannonball, it's into the freezing cold water and you'd better learn how to swim.
You probably won't believe this, but I actually hate listening to myself whine. I know I don't have it as bad as it feels. I can look at today and think, I have a job, I have tips to buy groceries, I have a car to get home and a fantastic relationship with my fantastic husband. College degree, acceptance to grad school, prospects for the future, friends, clothes, cell phones--what do I really have to complain about?
"Growing up" is finding--or sometimes, creating--balance. Maybe I'm not at work every waking moment, but I'm making the most of my life. And life is more than the bank account. Life is goals and relationships, it's using the talents that we're given (even if they don't make us money!). It's finding the strength to face another day, to be able to say alright, let's have a kid or two, [4], to remember that the amount of money you have/don't have doesn't--shouldn't--can't--dictate how you live your life. Can I make changes? Sure. Will it be touch-and-go for a few years? Probably. But that's just how it is. That's just life, and it's not supposed to be easy.
"Growing up" means actually living and breathing the belief that God is giving us exactly what we need, exactly when we need it. It's not something that just happens, it's something you face, you learn, you exercise over and over again, probably forever. It's exhausting, and there's no going back. And that is the hard part.
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[1] I can't even begin to process how that would work right now. The suggestion alone raises my heart rate.
[2] If you're one of my past or future professors, please note that this is rhetorical and cynical and ... just keep reading...
[3] Two, actually, and no I don't want to talk about it
[4] Nope, not a pregnancy announcement. Stand down, soldier.
