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.

Open letter to the family of X

I am so sorry to hear about your mom (and grandma). The thing about death is it makes you realize this life doesn’t last forever. Sometimes we (I) forget, but when someone we love dies, we remember.

Imagine what she’s seeing!—hearing!—doing! now. Imagine no tears, no sorrow, no pain. Imagine being with Jesus and worshiping him forever.

Sorrowing and rejoicing with you.

If you’ve never been a waitress

If you’ve never been a waitress, imagine what it feels like to work long hours on your feet, waiting on table after table. Imagine preoccupied customers who ignore you when you stand in front of them or belittle you when you walk away. Imagine sloppy tables, rude demands and frequent complaints. Imagine being the brunt of anger when someone’s meal isn’t the way they wanted it. Imagine constantly apologizing, smiling, saying “No problem” and “Have a Nice Day!” Then imagine how one kind customer–one generous tip or one genuine “Thank you” makes you feel. Imagine how it takes so many good customers to make up for one bad one, and resolve to be the good one.

If you’ve never been a secretary, imagine answering someone else’s phones and getting their coffee. Imagine being responsible for tasks big and small; being overlooked by those who hold titles; being yelled at or harassed in lieu of your boss. Imagine making everything run like clockwork–from the daily reports to the scheduled meetings to the mailed forms/packages. Imagine doing all these things day in and day out, while being talked down to and made little of. Imagine being called “the secretary,” instead of by your real name. Then imagine what it’s like when a V.I.P. talks to you. Imagine when he/she remembers your name, your personal interests, your family. Imagine how it takes so many kind people to make up for one obnoxious one. Then resolve to be one of the kind people.

If you’ve never worked in customer service, imagine being the sounding board for everyone’s complaints. Imagine being cursed at, yelled at, verbally assaulted and attacked. Imagine being called an idiot, a jerk, a fool, a thief. Imagine hearing this every day, all day. Imagine knowing this is part of your job and knowing there’s nothing you can do about it. Imagine being threatened and criticized, personally, for something you had little to do with. Imagine people think they can do this because they’re paying for your service. Imagine they think they have the right to act this way. Imagine you’re being paid under $12/hr. Then imagine what a difference it makes to talk to a calm, rational customer; imagine how it takes so many of these calm customers to make up for the mean ones. Then resolve to be that customer.

I’m reminded all the time lately how the people who make the lowest wages are often completing the hardest tasks and being treated the most poorly. Why do we think it’s OK to yell at the agent on the phone but we’d never do that to the person at church? Why is it OK to stiff the waitress when we’d never want someone to do that do our son or daughter? Why do we only think of ourselves and not put ourselves in someone else’s shoes once in a while?

Biblical finance 5.1: specific ways to help the poor

A while ago, I wrote about the Biblical principle about helping the poor.

Today, a new friend gave me a large list of organizations to look into:

WorldVision
US Aid
Samaritan’s Purse
EQUIP
TearFund
CharityWater
AfriCare

need to simplify

A few days ago, I heard a speaker describe the current economic conditions in the world, claiming that everyone in America is rich. Maybe you don’t have a house or an extra car or spending money to travel, but you probably have clothes on your back and food to eat and a place to lay your head each night. At least I do. And that’s more than a lot of people.

Ever since, I’ve been shockingly aware of just how much I do have. How many pieces of clothing in my closet. How many extra, unused beauty products under my sink. How many books, how many luxuries, how much food wasted in the pantry.

I long to simplify. Step One, for me, was going through the “old clothes” closet where I house items I no longer want or need to wear. Today I took the boxes to Goodwill. My entire trunk was filled with stuff, yet no dent has been made at home. I could do this weekly and still have more than enough to be comfortable.

How can I be a good steward of my resources, minister to people in need and provide just enough for myself? How can I recognize my own overabundance in comparison to glossy billboards and beautiful models and shiny ads? How can I not, for example, get addicted to weekly $25 pedicures (like the first one I had last week)? How can I not want to go shopping and buy new, new clothes? How can I turn my insatiable wanter off?

It’s not personal; it’s business.

I don’t have a mantra for my job, per se, but if I had been given one as a new hire, this would probably have been it: It’s not personal; it’s business. Remember that part in You’ve Got Mail where Meg Ryan chants it to herself over and over again? I believe she’s jumping and punching the air, too. The thing is: that was just a movie. And too, Meg herself admits (as Kathleen Kelly) that everything in life is personal. “All you’re really saying is that it’s not personal to you,” she says. “Well it was personal to me.”

Since starting my managerial role already-eight weeks ago (!) , I’ve learned a lot about the tough side of business. I’ve learned it the hard way, I’m afraid. I’ve learned it through trial and error and mistakes and bumps in the road. Each day, I get a little tougher, a little more calloused. Is it possible, I wondered yesterday, that this job is chipping away at my soul?

Example 1: My first crisis was a freelancer who wanted to push me around. I was new. I knew little about the company, my role, the style of writing. This freelancer (FF, let’s say) had been doing this type of writing for quite a while. This led to problems. FF was demanding, accusatory, suspicious and high-maintenance. She tried to go over my head when she didn’t like my decisions. She wanted special treatment, more money, more work. If she didn’t get what she wanted, I’d be e-mailed and called. My co-worker would be e-mailed and called. Other company employees would get involved. A lot of drama that I didn’t need= my asking Boss what I should do. His advice? cut her loose.

The only problem was that FF needed the income. She told me she needed the income. Repeatedly, she told me. I was hesitant because I did feel bad for her. But I genuinely couldn’t handle the stress, on top of everything else that comes with this job. So silently, passively, I decided not to use her again. More drama came. More letters, more calls. Yesterday, the (I hope) final hate mail came. She said I was unfair, a bad manager, a poor editor. She corrected my grammar (incorrectly, I have to add). She told me, in bold and italics, that she hoped this would wake me up to the error of my ways.  Closing with “God Bless You,” she ended the note.

I’ve been wondering why this bothers me so much. I don’t even know FF. She’s been a jerk to me from day one. Why do I care that she dislikes me? Why does it matter? This is business. It’s not personal.

But it is, though. When FF says her family needs the money and her son is sick and she depends on this work, it’s personal. When I’m called a bad manager, it’s personal. When my co-workers get involved and form opinions about me and my decisions, it’s personal.

My boss backs me up every step of the way. He is encouraging and helpful; he even goes to bat for me with situations like this. I like my job; I like what I do… but I wonder what the price is of my slow process to grow thick skin.

What happens to my heart?

the other half, of me

Someone I now work with introduced himself by asking me for a brief bio. When I finished, he told me how he never went to college, still turned out OK, makes tons of money and people know it. (really.) Our conversation actually lasted more than an hour, and we talked about a project neither of us has final say on, arguing about particulars. He wanted me to know how much he knew about something, if that makes sense: he’d go on and on about certain aspects of a very specific industry, seriously talking without breaks or pauses. In a conference call between us and another manager, this new guy asked me if I owned a home.

“No,” I told him.

So he took the chance opportunity to one-up me again. He asked if my parents owned a home then (relevant? I’m not sure how). He mentioned the Chicago suburb he used to live in, and he went off on another tirade.

To him, it’s clear, money=status. He believes he’s valuable and important because of his financial success.

And I get that; I really do. Money makes you feel in control; it makes people who normally wouldn’t treat you nicely treat you with respect. I grew up in a very financially successful home, with professional parents who worked hard and were very blessed. But there’s a difference between the way new guy and I see things: To him, money is the goal. To me, money is the tool to get to the goal.

I’d like to think I’m so philosophically above him… that I’m not over-in-love with money like he is. But the worst part of our conversations is the reaction it provokes in me: I want to tell him about my savings or my parents’ success. I want to let him know I’m not just some stupid 20-something who he can talk down to. I want to tell him off, so he can know just how fabulous I am, how my education was more valuable than money, how my life doesn’t revolve around my bank account.

And in wanting to defend myself, I reveal we’re not that different. And that’s why I don’t like him: I’m terrified I am him.

Lessons I learned from my father

A few nights ago, when my dad and I were watching CNBC together, I made some comment about stocks to him. My mom, walking by, blurted out, “Boy, you are just like your father.”

And, at least when it comes to finances, that’s probably the best compliment she could give me.

He’s the most successful, humble, financially savy person I know. So in honor of Father’s Day, here are a list of six money-related things my dad has taught me:

1. College is worth its tuition.
No one was more excited when I got into grad school, even though he’d be the one largely footing the bill. Convinced that this degree would change my job prospects, Dad’s been my biggest cheerleader and proudest friend. And, by the way, turns out he was right about the job stuff.

2. Hard work pays off.
A business-owner, Dad has a master’s in English Literature and was a college professor before he moved to America, worked as a grocery-cart pusher and janitor, married my mom and started this company. When I was growing up, he worked most nights, but now he really reaps the benefits: a completely flexible schedule allowing him to sleep in sometimes and go on vacation any time he wants.

3. Invest young.
He started a stock portfolio for me when I was a sophomore in college, when I had no idea what he was doing. His $7,000, coupled with the thousands I’ve added since, is up to $28K now, just a few years later. Lesson learned, Dad.

4. Help people when you can.
If you need a job, an apartment, advice… Dad will help you. He seriously, genuinely cares about whatever struggle you’re dealing with, and he’ll go out of his way to connect you with someone who can help, to put in a good word for you somewhere. Example: a guy at our insurance office is making barely $1000/month in his sales-based job, and now he’s going to have to quit and move home because he can’t afford his apartment. Dad is talking to the guy’s bosses, campaigning for a raise or way to help. He gains nothing, but he believes in helping.

5. Manipulate the system.
He bought my brother a car, at a special 0%APR two or so years ago. This way, Brother used the car for, I think, twelve months before anyone paid a dime. No interest, Dad said, so why not use their money.

6. Do something you love.
This has haunted me sometimes, when I was editing in a cubicle and when I was cold-calling as a temp. I know how happy I could be; Dad showed me firsthand.