Money Money Money
Something interesting has happened with my relationship with money since Garrett’s birth. All of life I have been fairly indifferent towards money. Or at least unimpressed by large quantities of it. I was quite skilled at getting by on very little.
There was a time when I was nineteen that I was living on the streets in Europe (okay, I was staying in cheap hostels, but it sounds so much more dramatic to say I was living on the streets) I had recently left a job in Austria as an Aupair, but didn’t want to come back to the States, so I took my flute to the street and tried to earn my keep. Being a rather skilled flautist, and being in the country of Mozart, I made a decent amount of change in my flute case, as tourists and passersby walked along the various monuments I was perched beside, tooting away. So long as I made enough money to buy my food for the day, and pay for the hostel at night, I was a happy girl. In a way, having less money made the small donations I received more significant and exciting and meaningful. It was thrilling to feel like I was ‘making it’ as a street musician- even if making it meant I earned no more than 50 dollars a day. (sometimes it was a LOT more though) I ate very cheaply, wore only the clothes I had in the small backpack I traveled with, and traveled around Europe by train, trying my luck in various countries. (I had the most luck in Austria, the most fun in France, and was miserable and cold in London).
A fellow hostel guest took this picture of me playing in Vienna, and sent it to me YEARS later on social media. Pretty Cool!
Then later, in St. Paul Mn, paying rent and living with a roommate like a normal 20 something, I still had little concern for money. Yet again trying to “make it” in an unlikely field I was earning keep as an actress, taking whatever gigs I could, auditioning all the time, facing rejection most of the time, having success occasionally- definitely living paycheck to paycheck. Some days I would preform in a morning matinee, go to an early afternoon audition, a late afternoon rehearsal, and a different evening performance. Those were the good days. Others I’d do nothing creative at all and just try to pick up hours at my waitressing job. I owned my car, but nothing else. I probably still wore a lot of the clothes that I had from my Europe days. Anything “new” was simply “new to me” purchased second hand. My roommate and I figured out which restaurants gave away free food during happy hour, and then we’d go to those places and drink water and eat the food. (though I must confess it wasn’t a rare occurrence that some gentleman or another would treat us to a paid beverage) I did not feel ‘poor’ at all. I did not worry about money at ALL. In fact it wasn’t until some political activists knocked on my apartment door seeking my signature did I realize I was poor. The young people outside my door spoke with me briefly about the rising rate of poverty in America, and how ____ per cent of people (no idea of what it was) are living below the poverty line, and we need to raise minimum wage to fix this problem. I was totally on board. It seemed awful that so money people were living in poverty! I was ready to sign when I caught a glance at the numbers- I don’t remember exact amounts, but the poverty level for a single person was in the low 20,000s a year. I had made 12,000 dollars that year. It was my most lucrative year as an actress. I felt so successful, and SO not poor. I don’t remember if I signed the petition thing or not, but I do remember feeling very very surprised that I was one of those “single people living in poverty” I think I was amused. It did not bother me in the slightest that I didn’t have a savings account, a 401k, and that I always had my fingers crossed I’d be able to pay rent that month. (I always did, which is probably why I wasn’t overly worried) I didn’t care at all about owning an expensive car, or having a nice phone plan, or going on vacations. I couldn’t afford any of that, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t saddened by it at all- in fact it was kind of exciting living paycheck to paycheck, and a fun challenge to figure out how to live frugally. (and who doesn’t like free happy hour food?)
It seems like a lifetime ago that I was so carefree and unattached to money. Far from being a homeless street musician, or someone who relies on the happy hour bar food circuit, I am the mistress of a very large home, on a large piece of land, and I belong to a variety of fairly expensive food services that deliver high quality food to my door. I think about money ALL THE TIME. Do we earn enough? Have we saved enough? Are we spending wisely? What else do we need? With Garrett’s severe needs, living whimsically and paycheck to paycheck is simply not an option. We need (oh so desperately need) health insurance. We need money to help pay for Garrett’s nurses. We need a big house to live comfortably, because of Garrett’s medical equipment/and the fact that there are nurses living in the house with us/and the fact that we homeschool here because the ever present germs that abound in schools are just not okay for a trach family. I do worry about the 401K. I am anxious about the amount in the savings account. My relationship with money has significantly changed.
I brought this up to my priest recently, upset that the “evils of monetary attachment” that had never ever been a problem for me were perhaps gaining power over me. While there are plenty of worldly temptations that enhance my relationship with sin, money was never one of those things. Until now. Until lately. Phooey! My wise priest offered me this advise: That rather than being concerned with sin, I be overwhelmed with gratitude. It is wonderful to have a big house. Be grateful. It is excellent that we have health insurance taking care of us and Garrett. Be grateful. Yes, it is prudent to have savings for unknown medical/service costs of the future. Be grateful. So. In addition to trying to become less attached to money, I am going to try to become less fearful of being attached to money, and to simply be overwhelmed with gratitude.
These pics don’t correlate much to the blog posting… except that this was a fun moment that I am indeed grateful for. Garrett had completely soiled my outfit in the picu, and I though I was a pretty big deal in the surgical scrubs the docs provided me with!
I don’t mean to brag… but I’ve got some serious stethoscope skills.
We certainly got used to his room in the picu. So bizarre to think Garrett spent his first 5 months of life in the hospital!
