Facebook: To Do or Not To Do?

My friend tells me this story of a guy who went into a job interview, well-prepared and all charm, only to have the hiring manager turn around his computer screen and show the guy’s Facebook profile to him.

“I’m going to tell you right now,” the boss-man said, “You’re not getting this job, and here’s why. But let’s go ahead and do the interview. It’ll be good practice for you.”

This really happened, she swears. Within the last few months. To someone I almost know.

Do you Facebook? And if so, have you thought about the potential viewers of your page, including future employers? I know that when I was hiring for assistants, I looked them up on Facebook. I don’t know what I was looking for really, but I did do it. And I also know, just from enough casual conversations with random people, that almost everyone looks almost everyone else up.

So. I do have a FB, and I do use it regularly, but I have it set on private.

I have other concerns with FB, besides what strangers are viewing it or what they’ll be thinking. I hate the keeping-up-with-the-Joneses mentality it creates. At any point, morning, noon or night, I can click to see who’s updated what last–who’s engaged, who’s having a baby, who just got a new car and has created an entire slide show of photos.

I can’t tell you the time I’ve wasted looking at every detail of someone’s vacation, even though I barely know the person and might not say hello to them on the street. This, I’m pretty sure, is not healthy.

It’s no secret to me that my heart, deep inside, is an ugly one. And sometimes, I’ll just tell you this too, I get jealous. I feel like I’m falling behind everyone else. That everyone else (note the “everyone”) is getting better jobs, cooler apartments, prettier friends/boyfriends/spouses/children/pets/etc. Instead of being happy for them, like their friend (FB or not) should be, I’ll envy them.

Yet every time I think I should delete my account, I remember the roommates, good friends, long-lost coworkers that I wouldn’t keep in touch with otherwise. So I don’t delete, and the cycle continues.

I know the solution is bigger than deleting my FB, bigger than avoiding the slide shows or updates. I know the only thing (or One) capable of quelling my green heart is the One who made it. I need to live for His approval, not the Joneses, or anyone else’s, for that matter.

Wow. Amazing how a thought about Facebook leads to a reminder of worldviews and eternal relationships.

That’s my take. What say you?

What’s Your Earliest Money Memory?

Recently, I acquired Suze Orman’s Nine Steps to Financial Freedom through paperbackswap.org. The first part of the book invites you to think back to your earliest money memory: when you were a child, did you feel worried, ashamed, desperate for money? She asks a series of questions, all intended to glean information from your past. This, she says, is key in discovering your deepest associations with finances.

What were the best presents you remember receiving as a child?
Did your friends have things you didn’t?
Did both of your parents have to work, and did your friends’ moms not have to?
Were you ashamed to bring your friends home?
Did your friends have nicer clothes, toys, etc.?
Did you hear your parents fight about money?

For me, my earliest memory, as far as I’ve been able to think back, is of being embarrassed to have a nice house. It sounds a little funny to say now, but childhood perspective is very different. My parents lived in an upper middle class neighborhood, but most of my friends from private school lived in smaller or less expensive homes. I wanted desperately to just be the same as everyone else, to blend in and not be noticed for where I lived.

When my parents built the house we live in now, random teachers would ask me how it was coming along. I mean, teachers who’d never taught me or who’d taught me a long time ago–who never talked to me otherwise–knew about the house and wanted to ask about it. This was another way I felt singled out and resented it.

What about you?

wednesday: better outlook, still questions

I enjoy Wednesdays. After a Wednesday’s over, it’s practically the weekend, and the downhill surge has begun. Finishing seems to come easier than starting, in the work-week sense at least.

Today, I’m especially happy for my Wednesday, and that’s because it precedes a glorious day off tomorrow. In exchange for this day off, I had to work last Saturday, which meant a six-day week, which meant a more tired me. That, combined with fewer hours of sleep each night, extra responsibilities that the holidays bring and a few random interactions got me into that depressing funk that contributed to my overall discouragement late Sunday night.

It’s funny that being honest seems less frightening when you’re being honest with strangers, or mostly strangers. Writing from the perspective of anonymity emboldens. I’m not sorry for what I wrote, since it was true; nor do I think I’ll never feel that way again, or even that the feeling has completely left me now.

But it was cleansing to write it down and publish it. It was comforting to know that some mysterious internet void would eat up my words and digest them, like they mattered. And it was healing to read your comments (and e-mail, sweet K, who brought tears to my eyes). All of your advice was taken, gratefully, and I appreciate your concern.

I’m very blessed, with much to be thankful for, I know. It’s just that right now, I’m a little over-busy and a little over-lonely. It will pass, and it will return, and it will pass again.

I’m telling the One who cares, and I’m clinging to precious Truths I know. Right now, that’s very good.

her questions

How can someone have so little free time, her hours filled with commuting, working, eating, meeting, organizing, sleeping; yet feel so lonely, her thoughts before bed drifting to wishes and dreams and friendships that were or might be and her fears hinging on always eating alone, always planning alone, always wondering?

How can a life full of acquaintances equal a life with few friends? How can people she sees everyday seem like strangers and people she once knew have strange lives now, completely removed from her own?

Will she keep working—hourly, weekly, monthly—keep striving—to save, to give, to prepare—keep longing—for things her work and her savings, however faithful or strong, cannot give her?

Money can’t buy happiness, she knows, she knows. But she has to have money to pay for food and things, she has to work for the money, and so she has no time, so she is alone. And she’s tired. Tired and lonely and saving more and more money. And for what?

How can she be getting what she wants and not getting what she wants at all?

I’m thankful for a holiday.

When you have a small family, and when you only get one day off for a big holiday like Thanksgiving, the day becomes more of a day of rest than anything else. I’ll be eating a delicious, home-cooked meal that will rival Food Network fare, and I’ll be staying in my pajamas a little later and just chilling. Frugal Foodie Thursday will get pushed back a week, since I figure most bloggers aren’t playing online today anyway.

Since stores are closed, I don’t have to feel bad about not running errands, and I can just enjoy my home. I stayed up super-late last night cleaning and watching movies, and now I’m deciding whether to get some more sleep or begin organizing my closet or bathroom.

It’s not super festive, but honestly I will enjoy myself so much. Here’s to the wonderful, paid-time-off holidays that give you time when you need it and that remind you to be thankful for your blessings.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

I am thankful for my family.

Well, I’m going to try to make this as non-cliche as possible because I hate being cliche. At the same time, is it even possible to talk about being thankful for your family at Thanksgiving without sounding completely trite?I am, though. I’m thankful that my parents are not just my parents but my friends. I’m glad they give me advice when I ask for it but give me space to make my own decisions. I’m thankful they put me through college, both undergrad and grad school, because they wanted me to pursue my dream.

I’m thankful for my younger brother who’s really the best friend I have. I love hanging out with him more than almost anyone: we just get each other. I’m thankful he listens to me go on and on about my latest crisis and calmly gives me his thoughts. I’m thankful he has better taste than I do and helps me pick stuff out.

Most of all, I’m thankful that my family’s not perfect but that they’re perfect for me. I’m thankful they bring out the best—and sometimes worst—in me because I need that. I love them, and I’m glad to share Thanksgiving with them.

I’m thankful for my dog.

A little background: I was chased by three attack dogs when I was a toddler, and I remained terrified well into my teens. I wouldn’t go to someone’s house if they had a dog, unless they swore up and down that they’d keep the dog away from me. I was scared to go for walks, in case an unleashed dog might appear. No amount of reasoning, counsel or helpful advice made a difference: I was determined to be scared forever, and there was nothing you could do about it.

When I was 20, in college, taking a counseling class (that was part of my major), I learned something about my fear that I’d never seen before: it was crippling me from helping others. I wouldn’t go visit someone who was hurting if they had a dog. I wouldn’t pass out flyers for Vacation Bible School. I wouldn’t do those things and others, and I didn’t care what anyone thought about it. I felt I had a right to be afraid (and in some sense, it was a very normal reaction… just not the extent to which I took it).

I really believe God gave me the victory over this fear (it’s a LONG story that I’m happy to share via e-mail with anyone who’s interested). Short version? I now have my sweet, cuddly Peekapoo puppy who falls asleep on my lap while we watch T.V. and lets me twirl his ears for hours.

I’m thankful for my job.

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you may remember my job search, along with its stress, the questions, the uncertainties. I spent many an anxious afternoon wondering where’d I’d be over the next few months, job-wise. When I look back on that time now, I think how blessed I am to now have a job I really do love, a job I don’t dread going to, a job I don’t want to leave any time soon.

Specifically, I like my job because:

1. It’s a short commute.
2. It allows me to do what I always dreamed of doing: write.
3. It’s a career-building opportunity.
4. It’s more money than I expected.
5. I work with nice people.
6. I get to be creative.
7. I have a window view.
8. I got a raise 3 months into it.
9. My boss doesn’t micromanage.
10. It’s a specific, direct answer to prayer.

Thanks Giving

In honor of my almost-favorite holiday this week, welcome to an uninterrupted week of thankfulness at This Writer’s Wallet.

I feel bad sometimes, making the blog a little more personal than finance, especially with my recent “open letters” series. But you know sometimes certain things are worth doing. Thank you in advance for indulging me.

Saturday and Life

Earlier this week, I had a lot of plans for Saturday: sleeping in, going for a walk, shopping, cleaning, going downtown. I haven’t done any of those things, it turns out. I haven’t even balanced my checkbook or recorded my weekly pay.

Instead, my morning looked like this: woke up an hour later than usual, got ready, went to a funeral, came home and ate.

The funeral was beautiful, a true celebration of a life lived. It was also terrible, in that I cried through most of it as I watched the family members remembering and missing. X was 75. She died of cancer. She had four children, six grandchildren and a loving church family that she just joined 4 years ago, when she became a Christian.

A lot of parents of friends have died recently: my pastor’s dad, his wife’s mom, a friend’s dad, X (a friend’s mom) just this week. It has me thinking about life, about its brevity. It has me realizing my parents, my brother, my friends, everyone will die. I will die.

Personal finance is important. I know that. I intend to keep earning, spending and saving as long as I can. Yet. Money is not what is most important. I will not take it with me, and what will really matter in eternity is not how much money I had but what I did with it.