I mean, no, of course I'm not actually poor, I realize what a great situation I do, in all reality, have, with my job and roof and groceries and health insurance. I also realize I got myself here all on my own: it's my swirly little signature on all those student loan papers, and it was 100% my own decision to walk away from any sort of stable, lucrative career path. So it's more like...luxury poor. Something I should feel bad complaining about.
I've never been good with money. I am an alarmingly impulsive person, which means that everything makes sense in the moment. I figured those two conditions would reverse themselves with time, but that does not appear to be the case. I've also always been of the opinion that faced with a choice between having fun, and not having fun, you should probably go ahead and see what's behind Door Number Fun, because we're not here for that long, man, and you could get hit by a bus tomorrow. You could! People get hit by buses every day.
A few years ago, I was walking down Newbury Street, talking to my dad on the phone. It was January, and I'd just gotten out of work. It was dark, but warmer than I expected, and the lights along the sidewalks were on, and twinkling, and sometimes Boston at night in the winter is just exactly the way a city is supposed to look. I was on my way to see the Roots (and ?uestlove DJ set!!!), and everything was perfectly right with my world, if just for that moment. And my dad said:. "You know, it's something I've always admired about you. No matter what's happening in your life, you always manage to have a good time." Which seemed like an odd thing to say, but I get the juxtaposition now: I couldn't have afforded a meal in of any of those Back Bay restaurants that Tuesday night, because I'd spent all my money on concert tickets and a new dress. And I wasn't concerned in the slightest.
Because really, what should I have done that evening? Sat home and ate soup and watched television until a reasonable bedtime? I will always remember that show, that night, the music, my friends, and yes, the dress I wore. I have scores and scores of these memories: nights when I did not do the responsible thing, and in a thousand tiny ways that have all added up: I am so much better for it.
There's all kinds of odd happiness on this track: I don't get paid much, but my job is relatively easy and rather pleasant and I get to walk around and look at old buildings, which is one of my forms of therapy. I get to write all the time, and no one really cares how late I am in the mornings (a source of not-insignificant strife at my last job). My apartment is hilariously broke-down in a lot of ways, but there's a ton of space and a porch and Baylor likes it, and though I never would have guessed it, I've grown to love my neighborhood a little.
That's not to say there aren't days - LOTS of days - where I'm like 'this paycheck-to-paycheck nonsense needs to STOP, you need to get your shit together and get an adult-paying job and an apartment where the doorknobs aren't constantly falling off and maybe a car. At least a bed frame!' So then I look for jobs, and there either aren't any, or aren't any that pay substantially more. Or, like today, I find one that does pay really well, and I'm probably super qualified, but it's in Alexandria. I GoogledMapped that shit, and the trip takes over an hour and involves a bus AND a train. The tiny, rational adult part of me is like 'Come on, Katie, you could do --' then the part of me that inhabits my actual reality is like 'OH HELL THE FUCK NO' and I close the browser window in disgust.
So I guess...luxury poor it is, for right now. Have as much fun as you can, make the best memories, and appreciate the freedoms you do have, how lucky you actually, truly are. Oh, and look both ways when you cross the street. Those city buses do not play.
ps: That said, anyone who knows a really awesome, non-gross rich old dude....we can talk, is all I'm saying.
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