On the Thing That Has Nothing to Do with Money

My best friend and her family drove down Friday. Their son, 18 months old, threw up after they’d left their house–all over his seat, the car, himself. So they turned back, cleaned him, cleaned the car, cleaned the seat, repacked, restarted. Five-and-a-half long hours plus one. The directions, which I’d e-mailed her in a hurry, didn’t account for construction, so they ended up an extra hour out of their way. Five-and-a-half long hours plus one plus two.

5 PM, Friday. A little growing family walking up to my house. Their son has her eyes–crystal blue with the longest, darkest lashes you’ve ever seen and the roundest, sweetest cheeks. We hug. Son meets my dog, family sees my family, we go get dinner.

I haven’t seen them for a year–one whole year. When Son was just six months old, not walking, not talking, not playing with his new giraffe truck or throwing chew toys for the dog. I love them. Love her, who was my instant friend when we were roommates almost seven years ago. Love him, who is her match in every way–kind and patient, hard-working and strong. Love their son, who is not only beautiful but to me perfect–perfect in the way that only your best friend’s first child can be.

Funny things happen when you see old friends, especially old friends that you don’t get to see often. You remember them, you remember yourself with them. And, this is important, you see yourself now in terms of how it compares with you then, as they knew you.

I’m not where I thought I would be by now. And I don’t even mean the living-at-home thing or the working-in-my-industry thing. I’m just, not.

I want to make decisions that I know will be the right ones. And when I think of things that I just know are right–when I’m being as deep-down honest with myself as I can be–I think I want to do something for someone else.

What does this mean, exactly?

The best answer I can come up with is simple but vague: loving. I want to be a true, honest-to-goodness lover to the people I know. I want to sacrifice in ways that are uncomfortable and not immediately rewarding. I want to invest in more than the stock market–in people, which are the only things that really matter. I want to remember, when I think I need more money, when I want something I can’t have, when I’m discouraged: true joy isn’t in things, no matter how beautiful or wonderful they are.

It’s in relationships.

Because when I have friends who will spend seven-and-a-half hours in a compact car with their little son to see me, who will drive through the night the next day and arrive at home by 2 AM, who will value me because of things that have nothing to do with my job or my money or my goals, I feel really, truly, remarkably blessed.

Money Story: Why Does She Get Presents?

There are these two people I know, both female, both planning their upcoming weddings, both their first.

R is middle-aged and well-established in her career. K has been working for three (four?) years. They’re both in education, both at the same school.

Despite the huge age differences and despite what many people would say, these ladies both live with their parents right now, which is only relevant because it points out that for both of them, getting married will be putting them in their first “own place.”

R is marrying a man with three children. Obviously, he’s pretty established, financially speaking. He has a house and all the things that go with that: the towels, the appliances, the bedding, the toaster, etc.

K is marrying a man who, though he lives on his own, has lived pretty bachelor and lacks all those little niceties people love to register for.

So in light of this and the upcoming showers and gift-giving they both expect, K feels the playing field is unlevel. “It’s not really fair,” she says. “R will already have all those things, while (husband-to-be and I) have to start from scratch.”

Kind of reminds me of the graduation announcements.

Raise Your Hand if You’ve Tried Online Dating!

You know, no matter how many times I see those smiling couples on eHarmony or match.com commercials, I still hang my head in embarrassment and shame when I admit I’ve tried them. Yes, I’m serious, both about trying online dating and about being humiliated. In fact, in the interest of full disclosure: I am mentally deleting and rewriting this post, wondering if I’m even comfortable admitting this to the PF-blogging public.

My second cousin met his wife online, after 40+ years of being a bachelor. Unfortunately, they’re now divorced, but I could name a handful of other people who I know successfully found a match on the Internet. Different social spheres, different values and interests; one thing in common: looking for love.

I just don’t know.

A friend of mine is a new tester of the online systems. She’s been on two dates so far and is choosing to be very selective. “I narrowed all my criteria as far as I could,” she told me. The second guy, whom she met last week, seems promising. “I signed up for six months, even though I might be someone sooner. I figure, if I meet someone, it would have been a small price to pay.”

What’s your opinion?

Is It OK to Hide Money from Your Spouse? (and other such questions)

Lately, every radio station I click has something to say about money, from telling me 55% of women in my age bracket don’t have $500 in their bank accounts to advising that getting out of debt is financial priority #1. This morning on my way to work, I caught a call-in session regarding the question that provoked this post’s title: Is it OK to hide money from your spouse or significant other, and, what’s more, do you do it?

 Turns out it was provoked by this recent article in USA Today: “Money, fidelity go hand in hand,” which, essentially, likens physical fidelity with financial. It quotes a relationship therapist who says all the people in her practice commiting adultery are also financially deceptive, from hidden charges to fund the extra relationship to other things. And it goes on to cite all kinds of statistics: 62% of married respondents feel a secret credit card is a major violation of trust, and 6% of marrieds feel it’s grounds for divorce.

I found it interesting, if fairly unapplicable to my current situation. It got me thinking about the root of hiding money issues from the person one is closest to, the person one shares everything with. Why would someone want that?

Then I thought maybe it stems from the same reasons I like to have new clothes and enjoy spending money when I want to–there’s something in all of us that wants to decide autonomously, without judgment.

Incidentally, on the way back home tonight, I caught another talk show while flipping stations. This one, I don’t even know who the hosts were, had a man call in to discuss the discrimination in our current divorce system, while he sat outside his own home, holed up in his car.

“Why do women get more money?” he wanted to know. “I mean, what makes them deserve that?”

Let’s Get Something Straight: Is It Just Money?

My 47-year-old coworker K tells me her husband is the cheapest man alive. He’s the one making her work part-time and he’s the one worried about their income. He’s in sales, she hasn’t said in what industry, and commands a high salary. So when she’s angry with him, she tells me, she spends his money.

“The kids had a great Christmas this year because I was mad at my husband,” she says. “They got all sorts of stuff.”

The rest of us laugh like crazy when she shares these stories. She’s a wonderfully sweet woman who loves her children, you can tell, and she is easy to work with, easy to laugh with. We split our sides at the thought of her, crazy with a credit card, packaging purchases to make a point. We laugh too, I think, because we are shocked and surprised and maybe a little jealous that she can be so open about her financial habits. Who admits, out loud and without embarrassment, that she spends in frustration? Who admits she does something a little unwise with her money?

I, for example, don’t tell my coworkers that for a first date I almost always want a new outfit. I don’t say that I could probably shop every weekend without getting bored or that right about now I’m itching to take a trip somewhere. My other coworker T avoided for weeks telling us that she used to eat on $3 a day, back when she was starting out, that she has been living under a drug-dealer in order to keep her $425/month rent, that her parents practically threw her out the door at 18.

It’s hard to talk about money.

I submit that one of the big reasons we don’t talk about money is the same reason I love to PF-blog. It’s very, very personal. And because it’s personal, there’s big opportunity for approval, intimacy, judgment and, largely, rejection. I love the anonymity of my site (which I’ve questioned sometimes and truthfully still catch myself worrying about and then censoring my words) because I can, in theory, say anything without being judged. Or, if someone does judge, he or she doesn’t really know me anyway.

Money is hard for people to discuss because it affects so much of life: where you live, how you live, potentially how you feel about yourself and your friends.

I’d like to change this, sometimes. I’d like to out-with-it and tell the world my financial status. I’d like to start a trend of it’s-just-money thoughts among my friends. But I fear that’s not possible. I fear what would really happen is I would bare all and regret it.

I guess, bottom line, is there’s a part of me that fears what it would do to my relationships and how it would hurt them. Because while it is just money, and money’s not life, my friendships are valuable and delicate and worth preserving.

Friends and Money

My best friend and I talk on the phone every week, sometimes more than once. She’s married and lives in a new-construction house far away from me, with a one-year-old boy and a cute puppy.

We met as living mates in college, back when neither of us had any real money to speak of and lived in a trailer with seven other girls. She’s one of the only people in my life that I automatically clicked with: there was no getting-to-know-you period. I think she asked me to grab dinner with her, and we were friends forever after.

Over the past few years, I’ve stood up in her wedding and visited her family a few times, but it’s our phone calls that have kept us close. It’s funny how someone so geographically far away can feel closer than someone in the same room.

So here’s the funny (or maybe typical) thing: About most issues, it’s and-he-was-wearing-a-white-sweater-when-he-came-over conversations; it’s so-then-I-said details. But with money, it’s more I’m-making-good-money, Husband-got-a-great-job, don’t-you-hate-when-you-get-ripped-off? I know she nannies part-time to add to their vacation fund. She knows I went to Boston on credit card points.

But that’s kind of where it ends.

When I got a raise at my three-month review, I didn’t tell her. I felt like it’d be bragging, even though she doesn’t know what I make. When they were given a large chunk of money in return for some poor business practices, she said, I won’t tell you how much, but it was a lot.

We tip-toe all around finances but never quite come out with it. I don’t because she doesn’t, and, probably, she doesn’t for the same reason.

Truthfully, I think it’s better this way. Money changes things between people, I’ve found. Not between some people, but between most people. Money’s personal–it’s sensitive.  Everyone has an opinion on it, and most of us don’t want to justify our decisions with all our close friends. At least that’s what I think.

So tell me: Do you talk about money with your friends?

Happy birthday, Dad.

Today’s my Dad’s birthday, and we’ll be taking him out for lunch after church. My brother and I will split the check, and we’ve gotten him a book and some snacky food (he’s a big muncher).

My dad is an incredibly wise, financially savvy investor. I’ve written about him before, but especially on his birthday, I’m reminded of how blessed I am to have him. Happy birthday, Dad.

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.

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.

things

During the same week that we broke up, just a day or two after actually, my ex gave me a bracelet from Tiffany’s. He wrote me a nice note about how he wanted me to have it, and when I thanked him he said he was glad he gave it to me. I looked online; it cost over $300.

I was wearing it today, thinking again how while the idea behind his gift was very sweet, the gift itself was so far from who I am, it makes sense we broke up.

He was all into price: our first Christmas, we’d been dating just a month or so, and he bought me an enormous (three trays full!) box of Godiva chocolate.  He reasoned that price = level of relationship. If you sort of liked someone, buy them dinner. If you’re in a relationship, buy them $150 worth of chocolate. And when you break up but agree to stay friends even though you know you won’t, send the robin’s egg blue box.

Like I said, it was sweet, and his heart was in the right place, I think.

But if he knew me, he’d know I’d much rather have a four-piece $12 box of chocolate than a giant one. I’d much rather sit and talk than receive an extravagant gift. This isn’t so much an I’m-so-unmaterialistic thing. I like presents. But I like presents that show thought more than expense. I’d rather get a $20 bottle of shampoo I want but never buy for myself (because it shows you know what I wish for) than a corral of designer perfumes worth hundreds. Anyone can buy the chocolate, the flowers, the Tiffany’s.

With Christmas coming, gift-giving is on everyone’s mind, it seems. I’m wondering what to get my parents, who have everything, or my brother, who likes nothing. Should I get my employees something? What am I giving my Sunday school kids?

And in the rushing, hurrying, planning, I forget what I’m gifting for: to show I care about them specifically. I think the holidays could use a few more heartfelt letters and a few less generic boxes.

How are you combating the commercialism of the holiday? Do you have any strategies for gifting to share?