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?

friends without money

My visiting friend isn’t worried about money, she tells me.

She’s working part-time, the night shift, at a resort. She mans the desk and does some paperwork/payroll stuff. Pay? $9/hour.

She’s about to take add on another part-time job, for which she is willing to stay in her hometown. It isn’t her dream job or anything; it’s not even in the field she’s interested in. But, she says, the people are nice. And it’s something. Pay? $8/hour, with a chance to move up to $9 after 90 days.

I’ve tried to talk her into a move to Chicago, where I’m convinced she’d make much more than that, even in a low-level office job, but she wants to stick with this plan. I think in part she doesn’t want to move away from home again, and in part I think we’re both silently wondering if we’d still love each other after living together not in college.

I’m happy for her, in the sense that I think she’s made this decision and I support her. But I’m worried for her, too.

She just spent the last year living in New Orleans, making around $12.50 hour and having few expenses beyond rent, food and entertainment. She’s still enjoying the money she saved, in her bank account, then.

She has no health insurance, no savings, no back-up plan outside of family.

Today at lunch, I asked her if this is what she really wants or if it’s what she’s settling with. She said she didn’t know. We talked about money—about the future. She knows what I think.

But I don’t plan to bring it up again. At some point, you have to realize you can’t make someone else’s financial decisions for them, as much as you love and want to help them. You have to let go. What else can you do?

Weekend Plans

My college roommate is visiting for the weekend. Tonight we’re vegging out, watching television (i.e., The Office) and eating monkey bread. Tomorrow I’m taking a half day, and we’re headed downtown to see the musical Wicked. Have you seen it? I’m very excited. We’re also hitting up a delicious Italian restaurant ahead of time.

Saturday is apartment-hunting day: we’re touring three places, which I have no idea if we’ll really go with. Mostly likely, Friend is staying in her hometown, where she was just offered a job. I think it’ll be fun, though. We’re also going to visit a super-cool thrift store.

Total expected costs:

Wicked ticket: $48. Dinner: appx. $15. Various shopping/etc.: $50.

Let’s see how closely I stick to this.

Open letter to my best friend’s son

Happy first birthday, buddy! I heard all about your party last week, and it sounded like so much fun. Your mom and dad definitely love you a lot.

I guess you probably know they love you, because they hug you and feed you and make you feel safe. They take such good care of you, and I know they prayed for you for a long time before you were born. I was praying for you, too. Did you know that the first time I met you, you hadn’t been born yet. We went to a baseball game, and I got to feel you kick; I’ve always felt like we were friends since then. Last time I visited, we went for a long walk in the woods. Well, your mom and I walked; you rode on her back. We played with Maddie and sat outside in the sun and went to the mall. I took your picture when I came and I have it up in my office at work now. My boss said you were the cutest little guy he’s seen.

I’m sad I live too far away to visit you more often, but I look at your pictures all the time online and I hear about you every week. I’ve been watching you grow up this past year, from when you were a tiny baby coming home from the hospital to when you were sitting in a high-chair mimicking your parents’ noises to when you were standing up on your own and looking like a little man. I’ve been hearing about all the cute things you do, like making funny noises and repeating things Mommy says and shoving birthday cake on your face. You get more adorable every day, and now you’re crawling, sometimes walking, saying words, and sleeping through the night.

You’re a special little guy. I’m so glad God brought you to your parents and that He’s got your whole life planned out (and my life planned out, come to think of it). You don’t know this yet, but God made the whole world—the pretty fall leaves outside, the tall trees, lakes, animals, amazing babies like you. There are all sorts of great stories you’re going to learn about him: how He sent a flood and spared Noah, how He used a little boy to bring down the giant Goliath, how he made a great nation of Abraham, who didn’t think he’d ever have kids. I get excited just thinking about all the things God will teach you, and I’m happy I know your mom, who’ll tell me all about your latest updates. Your mom is the best friend I’ve ever had, and she’s so kind to let me in on your life.

Lots of love.

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?

chugging along

Aside from the first-date blues and a busy workweek, life’s been pretty good lately. Probably any one of these things could be individual posts, but, for the sake of time, I’m lumping them together: First off, I’m happy with my budgeting software (thanks to everyone who offered input!). I was pleased to find that most programs offer free trials, so I experimented with a couple before landing on the right one for me. Right now at least, I’m using Budget. I like allocating my money pre-spending. It makes me feel free to spend, rather than scared to spend.

I saw No Reservations this morning, for only $5. My local theater offers the discounted rate before noon, even on Saturdays! Good thing, because aside from the inspiring food and envy-producing real estate of the main character, the movie was altogether predictable and cheesy.

The Boston plans continue. We’ve managed to book three nights in hotels and our airfare for a total of $91 each. My brother’s scoped out restaurants and sites to visit: we’re making the rounds downtown, at Harvard and at some other places. I love that he has the time to plan it, and I love that it’s only five weeks away.

Work’s busy, but good. I’ve officially hired two assistants, and they’re starting next week. (Yet another new experience for this novice manager.) I’m leading a team of a few dozen freelancers, and that’s already come with its fair share of heartache. Freelancer K, for example, has a lot of experience and has connections in the company. She was the first one I set up to use. K’s writing is fine, but her personality is hard to handle. For one small $20 assignment, she called/e-mailed me five times. She has since left me voicemails with “Hi. This is K. Give me a call.” This week, she got through to me and demanded to know why I’m not using her. The woman is pushy, assertive and obnoxious. My boss told me to stop using her; he says I need to toughen up, and he’s right, I know. But K tells me about her financial problems and how her son just had surgery. Then she has her friend call another manager to put in a good word. Drama, drama, drama.

Overall, I’m happy. Work’s good, the weather’s good, my savings are good. Just chugging along.

The Cost of Dating

I know, I know: this is supposed to be a personal finance blog. I should be writing about money and spending and 401Ks.

Well, this post is a little different. Indulge me this one time, will you? I promise to return to topic soon; in fact, I even promise to tie this in with money, in a way. Tonight, I just need an anonymous outlet, so here goes:

I went on a blind date Tuesday. I say blind, but actually, we’d both seen the other’s photo. We’d e-mailed a few quick times–short, little notes of “How does 6 sound?” and so on. We’d decided to meet for coffee after work. He drove over an hour to meet me; I drove two blocks from my building. I got there first; he’d hit traffic. When we’d both arrived, we shook hands, introduced ourselves officially and walked to the counter.

Girls, how would you handle this situation? Do you assume the guy will pay? Do you get out money? One doesn’t wish to seem a gold-digger, but making the guy feel like you’re too independent to let him pay is weird too.

I pulled out my wallet. He didn’t stop me–not that he should have–and I ordered a tea. Taking our drinks, we sat down and settled in to chat. Two hours went by pretty quickly. About an hour in, I said, “Well, this was fun,” and picked up my purse, thinking he might want to go. He didn’t budge. I’m in no hurry, he said.

We talked about our families, our backgrounds, our jobs. He asked lots of questions: he wanted to know what kind of food I liked and what my favorite restaurant was. (All, I assumed, for future dating purposes.) He said the commute was worth it to meet me, and he’d had a great time. Then we said goodbye, and we left. I had a good time; I liked him.

Today he sent me a note: Thanks for the great talk yesterday. I think you’re a wonderful person. Enjoy your summer!

Or something like that. The last sentence, at least, is an exact quote.

What am I to make of this? Not to sound like one of those old, bitter types, but this minor rejection hurts a little. Maybe everyone experiences something like this, but I’m left questioning all my actions. Should I have let him pay? Should I have talked less/more? Maybe he didn’t think I was pretty enough–but then, he had seen my photo–was he disappointed with the real-life me? What else can I assume when he says I’m a “wonderful person” but then wishes to not meet again?

We just had one date–not even a date, really. We don’t know each other that well. This is not the end of the world, I know. But it’s a taste I dislike. Putting yourself out there, dating, being vulnerable enough to talk about your life with someone you just meet, and then knowing the person may never speak to you again.

I just wanted to tell someone.