Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Sunday, September 22, 2013
"I got the golden ticket!"
Three of my friends (who do not know each other and live thousands of miles apart) posted that jubilant announcement on Facebook yesterday.
They are referring to their new iPhones. One waited in line for 10 hours. The other two paid someone to wait in line for a couple days to ensure golden phones.
As of this morning all but four of my friends/family on Facebook have posted photos of themselves (and their spouses, children, and in a few cases cats and dogs) showing off their new 5S 64G iPhones. One of my friends who scored a gold iPhone bought new iPhones for the entire family: Her, her husband, their three children (aged 6, 8 and 11*) and her parents and in-laws. That's nine iPhones at one go. At $399 each that's $3,591. Plus tax.
One of my friends, who never figured out how to fully use her last iPhone made the cloy comment, "What can I say? We're early adapters!"
Meanwhile, at chez Trill, I had a sloooooow month freelance-wise. I had to borrow money from my mother to pay my phone bill. I've been rationing a bag of apples, Tupperware tub of cherry tomatoes from a friend's garden, two boxes of cereal, a box of crackers, a bag of rice, a half box of Bisquick (that expired four months ago), a half bottle of mustard and a jar of peanut butter for the past week...and it has to last me until a client pays me the $150 they owe me for a small project I did for them last week. I borrowed two eggs from a neighbor so I could make pancakes from the Bisquick. She also gave me a bag of laundry detergent pods because she didn't like the way the smell. I don't either, but I'm nearing my clean underwear threshold and I have an interview next week, so, any overly fragrant port in the laundry room. She has no idea was a huge deal that laundry detergent is to me. I've been washing my underwear in the kitchen sink with dish soap.
Noticing a huge stockpile of toilet paper in her pantry, I asked a friend if I could take a couple. I lied. I tried to sound all casual and impromptu, "Oh! I was going to have to stop at the store on the way home - but can I snag a couple rolls? I'm not sure I'll make it there before they close and I'm almost out..." Poverty is a series of compromises. I don't like lying. But I also didn't want this particular friend to know I don't have money for toilet paper. She's not the most empathetic person and has been critical of me and my lack of ability to land a full-time job since day I was laid off. I don't see her very often but she asked me to meet with the party planner for her son's birthday party. Yes. She uses party planners for her children's birthday parties. She wanted me there because the last meeting with the party planner resulted in ideas the birthday boy hated. She thought I could offer insight into the mind of boy on the cusp of his eighth year. She offered to buy me lunch. I had money left on a train pass. So. It was a free meal.
Yep. It's come to that. Helping my friend decide how to spend thousands of dollars on a birthday party for her soon-to-be eight-year-old so I can get a decent meal.
I'm not trying to garner pity. I'm dealing with poverty. Most days I can find something humorous about it, or at the very least, not cry about it. Most days I'm consumed with finding a job: full-time, freelance or any other way to make money.
And I'm not jealous of my friends' and family's things. I do not want a gold iPhone. A gold iPhone is not my equivalent of Charlie's golden ticket. My big dream, my golden ticket, is a steady job. With a steady paycheck. After that...fresh produce every week would be nice. Money to buy toilet paper and laundry detergent would be super cool. Paying my phone bill with my own money would would make me pretty darned happy. Working, giving my experience, knowledge and dedication to an employer would bring me Charlie Bucket and the golden ticket joy.
The contrast between my life and my friends' and family's lives continues to be a source of fascination for me. It's not so much my personal experiences, but that my "situation" mirrors that of millions of other people. Educated, experienced, dedicated professionals who were living the kinds of normal lives that a steady paycheck brings, maybe not keeping up with the Jones', but not worrying about food, shelter and toilet paper. And now they, we, are deeply grateful for a surprise bounty of laundry detergent. The fact that there are millions of us living in such high contrast to our friends' and family's lives (full of new iPhones and new cars and lavish birthday parties) is what fascinates me. I don't dwell on it, but the obvious parallels to pre-revolutionary France are interesting. Except instead of out-of-touch nobility apathetic to a nameless mass of peasants, it's out-of-touch friends, friends, and family who are apathetic to their own friends and relatives. Did I mention one of my cousins just bought his second Porsche? He'll take delivery on it when he returns from his vacation in Switzerland. He showed off his new 5S iPhone on Facebook, too. I'm happy for his success, truly I am. I don't want his money or cars (or iPhone). But I find it socially interesting that no one would ever expect a guy "like that" to have a cousin who can't afford food or toilet paper...and yet...here I am.
And no, it's not that I expect anyone to help me. I do not want friends and family to help me. I certainly do not expect them to help me. I probably wouldn't accept money from friends or family. Not because of pride, but because money brings an uncomfortable dynamic into friendships and family relationships. But so far it's a moot point because no one other than my mother has offered to help financially. Well, okay, there was that box of handbags and sweaters my friends sent me. They tried, they made an attempt to help a down-on-her-luck friend.
My friends and family are charitable. Ish. They're charitable as long as there's a tax deduction in it for them. I presume other people in my situation have noticed the same thing.
The bigger picture, the real nagging issue, is that I don't want to be in a position of needing help. I want a job. I want an income that will cover food, shelter, toilet paper and the occasional fresh green vegetables.
Here's my haiku summing up the whole thing:
I can't afford food.
My friend got a gold iPhone.
Two Americas.
*Apparently 8 and 11 year old children not only need phones, they need the most current smart phones. My friends often stress how necessary it is, imperative, even, that their children have smartphones. Most of the reasons they cite are things like "to let me know when to pick them up from la crosse practice" or "it keeps them busy and quiet in the car." Which seems more of a conduit to make the parents' lives easier than the children. The more honest of my friends admit that they buy iPhones for their (very) young children because of peer pressure: Other kids at school have them and they don't want to their kids to be left out or teased because they don't have an iPhone. Which is part of the reason why my friend bought one for the 6 year old - they didn't want the child to "feel left out of the family dynamic." By that reasoning the younger children will have a drivers' licenses at the ages of 11 and 13.
"Family dynamic" is a thing, now, in case your friends with children haven't been tossing the phrase around. Just wait, they will. Phraseology like that spreads like wildfire in parental circles. "Family dynamic" is nothing new, of course, but it used to refer to things like how many children are in the family, married v. divorced parents, step parent situation, grandparents living with the family, the work routines, how money is spent, urban or rural, you know, the basic demographics of the family. Which is why I was kind of confused when my friends started tossing it around in terms of things. Things they all have because if one person in the family has something, they all have that thing because it's part of the family dynamic. Certain types of sneakers, brands of clothes, soccer balls...you name it, if one person in the family has it, the rest of them do, too. Not a lot of sharing going on in these households, by the way. Not a lot of autonomy, either. I suppose since technology is an extension of ourselves it's not a big leap to extrapolate it to the family dynamic, but the misuse and overuse of the term, especially by people who know better, bugs me. A 6 year old getting a 64G 5s iPhone solely to keep him in the family dynamic pushed me over the edge on this issue.
Just once, just one time in my life, I would love to hear a parent say, "I give my child (age-inappropriate gizmo) because he's a spoiled brat, a monster of my own making, and he will cry, whine and make my life miserable if I don't give him what he wants. I can't stand the sound of his voice when he whines and I just want him to shut up, and the only way I can do that is by giving him whatever it is he wants, no matter how expensive or inappropriate. I fully realize I'm instilling disturbing values, but I really don't care. I just want to make my life as cushy as possible, and that includes not listening to a whiny brat of a child."
Friday, May 17, 2013
My friend who had all the plastic surgery is now sending me weekly before/after photos of her friends and relatives who had a "little work done." Her messages all run along the lines of, "See, Trill? It's subtle and it does wonders for confidence and self esteem." My personal distaste for plastic surgery aside, the cost of these procedures my friend and her friends are undergoing brings a lot of stark lifestyle contrasts to the fore. My friend spent thousands (and I do mean tens of thousands) of dollars on what (to be fair) were relatively minimal "adjustments." How she (and other people) spend their money is none of my business, and it's certainly not my place to judge their judgement or their finances.
But since there's so much talk about the widening financial gap between those with money (and lots of money) and those without enough money to cover basic human essentials, me and my friends and family make an interesting case study.
I'm not looking for pity or sympathy. I am not envious of the things my friends and family are buying, even if I had "that kind" of money I wouldn't spend it on the things they do. And I do not want (or expect) my friends or family to give me money. And I do not want anyone to feel guilty about having money to spend however they want to spend it. And I certainly do not wish my situation on anyone, so there's no, "spend a day in my shoes, why dontcha" sour grapes.
I am just using my life to illustrate the chasm between those affected by the recession and those who remain unscathed. The interesting angle (I think) to my story is that my friends and family and I had the exact same background. We come from the same societal place. So, I find the contrasts in our lives interesting. We were all raised in similar economic situations, all similarly educated (college degrees), similar social morality...you get the point, it's not as if I was raised in poverty and crime or that they were raised with excessive wealth and cloistered from reality. I have no idea what, if anything, this might mean, but I'll note that with only a few exceptions we are all first generation Americans whose parents arrived in America as children or young adults who then seized America for all it was worth, attended college and worked hard at professional careers - and that includes many of our mothers. We were all raised in law-abiding, charitable, church-on-Sunday families, we were Scouts, we went to summer camps, played in the school band, got good grades (because college was not optional, our parents didn't give us the choice of not going to college), held bake sales for local causes, and we knew if we did something wrong our parents would find out about it from other parents or neighbors - so we followed rules and stayed out of trouble.
The only difference between my life path and that of my friends and family is that they got married and had children. Only a few of my female friends still work outside the home. Most gave up their careers about 10 years ago to be stay-at-home mothers and they are completely reliant on their husbands' income.
I am now, of course, on the poverty side, while my friends and family are on the, well, blissfully wealthy and unaware side. While my friend (and her friends) are spending thousands of dollars (really, tens of thousands each) on cosmetic plastic surgery...
I don't have health insurance and do not qualify for MedicAid, and so far I've been laughed out of the doctor's offices when I inquire about Obamacare. So I aam struggling to scrape up $20/month to pay off $1,900 in medical bills from my pneumonia and ovarian nightmares last winter. That $20/month is not easy to find. My grocery budget is $20/week, so the $20 medical bill payment means: No groceries for a week. Which means even my poverty diet of potatoes and beans and rice gets cut for a week. The medication I have to take for my ovary issue costs me $22/month (yay for Costco pharmacy). I have sold my plasma to pay for eye exams because I'm pre-glaucoma and I have to have twice-yearly advanced testing to follow the progress and catch it before it advances to the vision loss stage. There is a surgery, now, that "cures" my type of glaucoma, and there is a glaucoma association that offers financial assistance to low income patients, but until my "situation" advances I'm on my own for the screening expenses. The tests cost $650 - twice a year, so I have to budget $1,300/year for glaucoma tests. I'm developing carpal tunnel, but treatment is out of the question. I have not been to a dentist in two years.
Other friends are complaining about the hassle of renovating and expanding their house. My friend feels the already 6,500 square foot house they built four years ago needs updating and a "little more" space. When the renovation is complete their house will be 8,000 square feet and the pool area will be "more current." Oh. And. They (more accurately her husband) just bought their 15 year old child a brand new car - and not just any car - a $38,000 car. The child takes driver's ed this summer so they want her to have her own car to learn and practice with so when she gets her license she'll be familiar and comfortable driving her own car.
Meanwhile, I'm in foreclosure on my 970 square foot condo that is worth less than half what I owe on it. I can't even afford the insurance on a used car from the "as-is" no-warranty section of the sleazy used car lots. That's if I miraculously had the money to buy an as-is no-warranty car from a sleazy used car lot. I do not have that money, so I do not have a car.
Two of my close relatives are spending all of May in France because they wanted to be there for Cannes. They "always seem to plan" wrong and miss Cannes by a few weeks, so this year they decided to spend their French month, as they call it, in May instead of April. They were bummed because their first class plane tickets cost $1,500 (each) more this year. They did snag a "great deal" on a hotel in Monaco, though, because they negotiated a four week rate for a suite.
Meanwhile, I'm thankful that I have frequent train miles to cash in for a 200 mile train trip to help my mother after she recovers from surgery - because I don't have a spare $45 for the one way train ticket.
Another friend, well, friends, a couple, was recently featured in a huge prestigious financial national publication that has a monthly feature about financial success stories. The four page spread shows their lovely home, her lavish jewelry (gold is a great investment!), their five, count 'em five luxury cars, and, oh yeah, their financial particulars. To be fair, this friend married a man who was the only living relative of a distant uncle who happened to die exceptionally rich and without any other heirs. They stumbled into their wealth and they are enjoying it and investing it. The kind of investments that require thousands of dollars just to discuss. The "if you have to ask, you can't afford it" type of investments. And I laud them for all they've learned about their new hobby of investing. But they are not "help America recover" investments. They are making so much money that they are going to renounce their American citizenship, move to and become citizens of another, more tax friendly country. Oh, and, ironically, both were laid off from their jobs a year before I was. The inheritance hit a couple months into their unemployment and neither has worked since, and there are no intentions to ever work again.
Meanwhile, my 401K was completely drained in an attempt to pay my mortgage and medical bills.
One of my friends had to go through a long IVF saga to conceive a child. She felt sorry for couples who can't afford IVF treatments so she became very involved with a charity that raises money for couples who can't afford IVF. She recently chaired a fundraising event. The cost of the event? $400/person, $700/couple. She invited me. I declined the invite, she pressed me, then pressured me to attend. "It's a great networking opportunity for you! You have to attend. You'll meet people who can get you a job. Everyone attending has a C level title." There was a silent auction where the least expensive item bid started at $200. Someone "won" a condo - an actual home - in Aspen for $65,000. I'm sure it was a good deal, but who the heck goes to an IVF fundraiser and bids $65,000 on an Aspen condo in a silent auction...for IVF?! I'll tell you who: My friend's friends.
Meanwhile, I had to borrow the $12 commuter train fare to get to the suburb where the event was held. I met a lot of people and I worked the networking angle hard. But no job offers have yet to come of those introductions and I regret the $12 I spent on train fare.
I was recently out with a friend, we were running a few errands before I spent the evening babysitting her children. One of her casual Friday errands? Purchasing three 50" televisions, three DVRs and three sound bars, one for each of their children. Their under-the-age-of-10 children. It wasn't anyone's birthday. There wasn't a recent lottery win or inheritance. She was just sick of the kids fighting about who got to watch their favorite show on the good television, so she bought them all their own good televisions. She had the televisions, DVRs and sound bars delivered and set up that afternoon (a premium charge). That evening all three children had their own home theaters in their bedrooms.
Meanwhile, I have the same enormous clunker of a television I've had for 10 years. It has white lines across the top of the screen but I'm used to it, now. I have a DVD player that averages a 36% function rate.
Speaking of technology, most of my friends and especially my relatives all routinely upgrade to the most current smartphones. This often costs them a lot of extra money because their plans only allow for one or two phones in a two year period of time. They don't care about the upcharge, they want the latest phones the day they hit the market. I know people, I am related to people, who pay other people to stand in lines to buy new phones for them the day they're available. I am related to someone who paid a kid $300 and a new iPhone to stand in line at an Apple store to purchase two iPhones - one for him and one as payment (along with the $300) for standing in line on debut day.
Meanwhile, I'm still using the dumbphone that was a cheap temporary phone I bought a year before I was laid off. If someone sends me a text more than 160 characters I don't receive the full text. I frequently drop calls and I'm told I sound like I'm trapped in a tin can.
The same friend who bought the televisions lamented that her salon just raised their rates. She has a standing six week appointment wherein she will now spend $215 plus tip for a hair cut and color. She uses $63/9 oz. bottle shampoo and conditioner.
Meanwhile, I've let my hair grow and I trim it myself. A friend was cutting it for me but she stopped offering to cut it last year and avoids the topic of hair altogether, I'm taking the hint that she is no longer willing to cut my hair. I buy the enormous keg-o-shampoo from Costco. $5.99/40 oz. bottle, with a coupon, and I water it down to extend get more shampoos out of a bottle.
Another friend enjoys cooking and recently decided to try more vegetarian meals. Her enthusiasm is admirable and she shares her recipes with me. Most of the recipes are the kind of recipes that have a long list of ingredients no one usually has on hand. The type of ingredients that can only be procured at specialty grocery stores. One of the recent recipes looked interesting so I made a shopping list of ingredients I need to procure. I only had two of the ingredients so I had to buy 12 other ingredients. By the third ingredient it was clear my $20 weekly grocery budget would not allow this recipe. Just for kicks I added up the cost of those 12 ingredients: $32.38. For one recipe that will feed two people who, if they eat miserly, might have leftovers for a light lunch the next day. Oh. And. She cooks two sets of meals: One for her and her husband, one for her children. Sure, she enjoys cooking, it's a hobby for her. A very expensive hobby.
Meanwhile, I budget $20/week for food and very often I have to scrimp on that (see above, medical expenses). Which means: Potatoes, beans & rice, mac & cheese, and peanut butter. Fresh produce is a fantasy for me.
My friends like to take shopping trips. I don't mean a day looking for bargains at the mall. I mean week long vacations to New York, Paris or Milan. They are dressed in the latest designers and styles, and so are their children and dogs. I like shoes, but these women take it to a level even I find, well, weird. Possibly psychotic.
Meanwhile, the only clothes I've bought in the last three years are a few basics from Target my mother bought me for Christmases and birthdays. I have two pair of three and five year old shoes I keep as pristine as possible for interviews. I have bras that are functioning only because they're held together with safety pins and some clever sewing and mending. My mother gave me a package of underwear for my birthday last year, but other than that my underpants are all more than 3 years old, as are my socks. My sneakers are five years old. Yes, they were expensive when I bought them (after my foot/ankle surgery) and they've held up well, and from the outside they don't look too awful. But the tread and the inside are embarrassing and probably not doing my foot and ankle any favors.
My friend's IVF fundraiser was black tie only, so I wore the only real black tie worthy dress I own, which is seven years old. My friends were visibly "troubled" that I showed up wearing it. One of my friends said, "You should have told me you didn't have anything to wear, I would have loaned you something." She said this not with sympathy but with dismissive annoyance. Another said, "I told you everyone here has a C level title, you have to look like you fit in if you want them to take you seriously." I was an embarrassment to them. There were lots of group photos taken, "the old gang" kind of shots, the old gang of which I was a key member. I was asked to be included in one shot and my friends said, "Trillian's tall, put her in the back." Which is fair, I am tall and I am often in the back of photos...except I'm the only one in the back of this photo so it looks like I photobombed my friends. I might be overly sensitive about this, and in reality I don't care about the photos, but I do care about embarrassing my friends - I don't mind embarrassing myself, it's the one thing I do well - but I don't want to embarrass other people. Several photos of the evening were posted on a couple social pages and on websites, and the group shots of my friends feature prominently in all the public displays, however the one shot we me in it was not used. Which is fine, I didn't pay to be there and I certainly do not need or want my photo plastered on society pages. But it was clear to me that I was an unsightly embarrassment to my friends. I found the Cinderella without a fairy godmother aspect kind of funny, my friends in their glorious new gowns, dripping in multi-carat jewelry, handbags that cost more than my mortgage payment, hair, nails and makeup all professionally done, breasts all newly augmented back into their perky position, complexions dermabraded and filled, Riviera sun kissed shoulders bared...and then there was me. But I also feel bad that I embarrassed my friends at what was an important event for them. It may sound silly and inconsequential to me, and to you, but it was a big deal for them. As a friend, you support your friends, you do things you might not want to do because it matters to your friends and you are a loyal and supportive friend. That's my take on friendship. So I feel bad that I dropped the ball at the event and brought shame to their otherwise very posh and lovely event.
Apart from that one group photo, they ignored me the entire evening. A few weeks after
the event a box arrived. It contained a couple gently worn expensive handbags,
a few gently worn cashmere sweaters and a gift card at a posh salon and note
from two of my friends saying, “We cleaned out our closets and know you love
these colors, enjoy! AND GO GET A HAIRCUT!!!!”
Of course it was a nice gesture and I was (and am) grateful,
but I don't want to be their new charity project. They never offered me any of their cast off handbags or
clothes in the past…and certainly never bought me a haircut.
I know it sounds
like I’m ungrateful and sullen and resentful and bitter and jealous and need a
stern talking to about graciousness. I was not, and am not, any of those
things. But let’s be realistic: At that point I’d drained gone into debt for train fare to
get to the gala and home again, I was squeezing the last vestiges of my last
tube toothpaste, I hadn’t eaten any kind of produce in weeks and my $20/week
budget was spent. Last year’s Dooney and Burke bag and a Fendi sweater were not
exactly what I needed. Yes, I appreciated the hair cut, but realistically again, it was at a salon I would never frequent, even when I was
employed, because haircuts start at $85 there. The gift card was for $50. Add a
$10 tip (minimum) and that haircut would cost me $45. Not. In. The. Budget. A
train/bus pass, a bag of apples, a giant bottle of shampoo from Costco…those
would have had me squealing with glee. I realize my friends have never been in my
situation so they don’t know how unimportant fashion and luxury items are when
you’re unemployed. They don’t know what it’s like to worry about running out of
toothpaste and deodorant the day before a job interview. One might think they
could figure it out, and one might think they would be embarrassed to give a
cast off designer handbag to an unemployed friend. But in their minds they were
helping. There’s an innocence to their (albeit misguided) attempt to help me.
At least that’s what I tell myself. I tell myself this
because I do not want to resent my friends or be angry with them merely because
they’re fortunate enough to remain unaware of what losing your job does to your
life. I wouldn’t wish unemployment on anyone and by extension, I'd like to spare my friends the harsh realities. Once I realized how truly unaware
my friends were, I came to a mindset that I didn’t want anyone to know how bad
it is. I didn’t want sympathy or charity. I wanted to allow my friends remain
innocent. They are, essentially, the girls we were when we were growing up in
the suburbs. Innocent, idealistic, carefree and happy. Enlightening them to
what unemployment did to me and my life would be a buzzkill the likes of which
they’ve never experienced. It would shatter lifelong illusions and potentially
scare the crap out of them.
They are clinging to the quickly antiquating notion that things like this aren't supposed to happen to people like us. It goes against the grain of everything we were taught and shown about life - get good grades, stay out of trouble, go to college, get a good job, make a decent living, lead a happy life. It's a formula that can't fail...except it is failing for millions of us. Yet millions of other people, our peers, no less, don't realize or don't care that millions of their peer group are living in poverty due to a failure in the same formula we all followed. I don't think they're in denial. I think poverty in America, in their peer group, is just such an abstract concept for them that they can't believe it exists. What I hear, almost daily is, "You're intelligent and creative and highly educated and you have fantastic professional work experience, you'll get a job any second!" The people who say this are trying to cheer me up, buoy my confidence, but, more than that, I've discovered they're trying to bolster their own confidence, they feel a need to verbally reassure themselves that their deeply ingrained beliefs that educated/intelligent/creative/professional people do not end up in poverty. They are essentially dismissing me and the notion that anyone like me, and by extension, like them, in America, could end up with nothing but job rejection notices, no health insurance, living on potatoes and beans and rice and facing homelessness.
I could enlighten my friends, present the harsh truths, and I've thought about doing just that. But it wouldn't alter their perspective because I'm the only one they personally know in this situation, and they blame my lack of a husband rather than the economy. It's not worth the exhausting conversation I would have to have with them. And if I managed to get through to them, they'd be petrified at the realities that they didn't realize. They'd be scared. I can’t do that to a friend. And I don’t want to
embarrass them, as I probably did at their gala fundraiser.
And I especially didn’t want anyone to be burdened with
worry about me.
Lest you think my friends and family are a bunch of unaware, small minded snobs, I feel duty bound to defend them. These are not snobbish, selfish dolts. They are all college educated, most have masters degrees. They love a good cause. These are people who run in cancer
fundraising marathons, make cookies to send to troops in Afghanistan, volunteer
to help build playgrounds for inner city kids, whip out the credit card for
whatever Bono tells them to buy for a good cause (ironically, that cause is poverty and debt
in countries other than America), and donate last year’s clothes and
electronics to Goodwill and the Salvation Army. They plant trees, drive hybrid
cars, eat local organic, use reusable grocery bags, don't smoke and don’t litter. They set aside one week of their vacations a year to volunteer in underprivileged or developing nations so their children understand charity firsthand. They put their children in language immersion classes so their children have a global awareness and communication skills to travel in China, Africa, India and South America.
They are good, charitable people. They have the receipts and
itemized tax returns to prove it.
I just happen to be a fluke freak for whom the tried and true formula didn't work. Like I said, my friends blame my inability to "snag a husband." In their minds, that's where it all went wrong. I followed the formula to a point, but didn't complete it and therefore the formula didn't work for me. I missed a crucial factor in the equation: A husband. They feel that everything that's wrong in my life can be blamed on that one crucial missing factor. And maybe they're right. Even though I never saw myself depending on a man financially - I never saw myself not earning a living in some capacity - I did see myself as part of a married team, an equal financial, emotional and life planning contributor. Perhaps being part of a team like that would foster more employment opportunities. At the very least it would potentially provide an income during my unemployment. (Although I know couples who were both laid off in the last three years, so...that kinda shoots holes in that theory.)
Whatever the reason, me and my friends and family who started at the same place and followed the same life path have ended up far, far apart on the social and economic scale. Social Darwinism, I suppose, survival of the fittest, and since I have been deemed unfit to mate, it stands to reason I am unfit to survive in other aspects as well. I think it makes for an interesting social study because it brings both ends of the economic spectrum into sharp focus.
Here's another tip on what not to do to an unemployed/underemployed friend.
We'll run a hypothetical and role play. I'll be me. You'll be one of my friends.
Let's say you are married to a man who makes a lot of money. You have not worked in almost 15 years and spend your days at country clubs (plural), spas, salons, with your personal trainers (also plural) and shopping. You live in a mansion overlooking an ocean. Your children go to private schools. You take several vacations a year to places featured in Traveler magazine.
You are embarking on another of your extended vacations, 10 weeks in some of the more exotic locations you've been meaning to visit or revisit. You have a decent camera but are in the market for something a little more professional because you want to see if you have a flair for photography and this vacation seems like the perfect time to explore the option of becoming a fine art photographer. The kids are getting older and you think you want to "do something"
that's "fun," not a real job, like in an office and with stress and
stuff, one of those dream jobs. (Heavens no, not a real job, I mean,
really, use your 7 years of college and grad school education for their
intended purpose?! Pluheez. How gauche.) And you certainly do not want to do anything that would require you to return to a classroom. (You do not have time for that. You have your spring fling dance committee at club one, the holiday silent auction committee at club two, your sessions at the gym, your shopping...and you have to take the kids to all their activities...you do not have time for school.) You're not particularly creative and are known to wear a lot of navy and khaki because you have a horrible eye for color. You had an interior decorator choose and purchase almost every item in your 6,800 square foot home, including paintings and photographs, because you "can't be bothered with trying to figure 'all that' out." But for reasons known only to you, you now think it would be fun to be a fine art photographer. Your friend used to spend a lot of time in darkrooms that smelled funny and were lit with a red light, and you never understood how she could tolerate it. But now that everything's digital, no more smelly darkrooms and the whole photography thing is a lot more attractive to you. And so, you need to buy the very best camera and lenses money can buy. But you know absolutely nothing about cameras or photography. Lucky for you, you have a friend who has been using cameras and taking photographs and until a couple years ago was advancing through a career as a creative professional. This friend is super savvy with all those computer programs for photos, too. She's handy with a computer, too. Which is good, because you want a new one of those.
You ask your friend (me) to compile a list of everything you'll need to be a fine art photographer. Spare no expense, just make a list of everything fine art photographers use.
For some reason, your friend gagged a little when you asked her to do this. Her allergies must be acting up again.
Your friend (me) who is not married, unemployed, gone through all of her savings and 401K and squatting in her home until the sheriff comes to kick her out, has nothing better to do with her time than compile a list of everything a fine art photographer needs, and this will give her a little project. It will help her feel viable and needed. (You are so thoughtful and altruistic!)
A couple days later your friend emailed you the requested list. She was so thoughtful, she even included links to sources where you can get a good deal on some of the items.
But you're not going to bother with the internet, that's too slow! You want to buy the stuff and have it right then so you can embark on your fine art photography career that very day!
So you take the list to the local camera store. Lucky for you, you live in a nice town that caters to wealthy people and there is still a store dedicated to cameras. You browse through the store and locate the camera and lenses your friend suggested. And it's on sale. $1,900??? That's all? That can't be right. There are much more expensive cameras in the store, and many more types of lenses than your friend suggested. Oh no, this will not do at all. You talk to the guy working there and he concurs with your friend's suggestion. Hmmmm. Maybe....but...why is this camera so much less expensive? Why is it on sale? No, this doesn't feel right. Midway through the conversation, the shop owner appears. The guy working there relays your intended uses for a camera. The owner steers you over to another area of the shop. There are lots of lenses only a couple camera bodies. The camera bodies alone are $6,999. Yes, this is more like it. A fine art photographer must have expensive equipment. You feel more comfortable with that equipment, so you take the camera shop owner's advice. After all he owns a camera shop. Your friend only uses cameras. (A few days later you return to pick up another little item the shop owner showed you - an underwater camera because you booked a few SCUBA dives during your stay in Fiji. You were just going to get a watertight case for the camera you purchased, but after thinking about it, you decided you want to have a camera dedicated to SCUBA and snorkeling.)
Next stop: Computer store. You go in ask to see the computer on the list. Your friend suggested a 15" laptop, but the kid who works at the store learns that you're a fine art photographer and insists you need a 17" with an additional You spend $7,000 on the laptop and a 27" display for home use, when you'll really do a lot of photo editing.
You get home and don't have a clue how to use your new computer. 34 phone calls to your friend later, you're able to turn on your laptop and go online. Yay! Time to buy software! You don't know what is actually in a creative suite, but it sounds cool and the images on the website are super cool, so instead of taking advantage of the inexpensive one-month-at-a-time option for PhotoShop as your friend suggested, you buy the entire Creative Suite, Master edition. $2,599. You probably won't need all of it, but it'll be nice to have it in case you do. You're going to be a fine art photographer, after all. And this stuff can't be that complicated, right? I mean, your friend is clever but she's not that clever, and she learned how to use all of it. You'll invite her to stay with you a few days and have her teach it to you. Done and done! You're in business, now! Nothing left to do except pack for that 10 week vacation!
Oh wait! Your friend's birthday is right around the corner! Better send her a gift! How about a necklace from that boutique in town! That'll be a nice treat! Oh, and throw in some of those Twizzlers she loves! She seems so down lately. That'll cheer her up!
You need a box to send the Twizzlers and necklace. Hmmmmm, well, let's see, there are a ton of boxes over in the corner from your shopping trip to the camera store, use one of those! You wrap the Twizzlers and necklace into the box your underwater camera came in. Perfect! She likes photography and she loves to snorkel and fish and all that. She'll love the box!
Your friend receives the box from you. She gets all warm and fuzzy when it arrives. "Oh, even with all she has going on she remembered my birthday. That's so thoughtful of her." She tears open the outer layer of wrapping and sees the pristine new underwater camera box. She's reasonably certain there's not an underwater camera in the box, that would be an uncharacteristically lavish gift. But. She didn't know you bought an underwater camera along with all your other gear, so she's a little surprised to see that box. She digs into the box and finds Twizzlers and a necklace. She thinks that's very nice. She likes Twizzlers. She likes necklaces. Happy birthday.
Her condo is barren, just a bed, a desk and a couch remain because your friend is waiting for the bank to finalize the foreclosure and evict her. The underwater camera box looks oddly out of place, the room looks like someone bought a new underwater camera and deserted the place, taking everything except the large furniture with them. This amuses your friend. But then that box and all it stands for starts to fester. And though she doesn't resent you or your husband's money, it does occur to her that it was a little insensitive of you to send a package of Twizzlers and a necklace in a box that contained something she has long wanted.
The afternoon turns to evening, your friend occasionally glances up from her laptop, giving her eyes a break from reading dismal job descriptions. The box looms in the corner, and as the dusk turns to night and moonlight and the glow of the laptop screen illuminate the Spartan room, the underwater camera box anthropomorphizes into a snobby mean girl bully, taunting your friend about her inability to find a job, keep her home, go on vacations and own an underwater camera of her own. She imagines that the taunting box would speak in your voice with an underwater sound effect, "I asked you for advice and ignored it, and I bought two new very
expensive cameras! You like cameras and photography! Here! You can have
one of the boxes to play with!"
Your friend knows she's being immature and silly and envious and that she needs to get over it. But. Still. It was kind of callous to use that particular box to send a birthday gift of a package of Twizzlers and a necklace to a friend who's unemployed and soon to be homeless. It is flaunting your wealth and possessions at her. Even if she had a job it would be a little, well, tacky, so send a gift in a box that contained a very expensive item you just bought for yourself.
That night your friend dreams she's SCUBA diving. The sealife is stunning, the colors are new colors, colors she's never seen, and in her dream she is slack jawed with awe and wonder wishing she had a camera to record all that she's seeing. The camera box floats into into view. It's wearing a SCUBA tank and mask. Your friend has a lucid dream moment and laughs at the psychology of the visual in her dream. She drops back into a deeper sleep and the dream continues, but turns from pleasant and beautiful to scary and dark. She's running out of air in her SCUBA tank and is trying to surface but something's holding her feet, or her feet are stuck, or she's paralyzed...whatever the reason, she can't move her feet and propel herself to the surface. She's gasping for air and looks up at the surface just out of reach, and a family of underwater camera boxes floats by, two large and two small, all wearing snorkeling gear. In her dream, you friend tries to get their attention, waving and screaming underwater, but the camera box family doesn't hear her. They just snorkel overhead as if she doesn't exist.
Yeah. I know. This might be a bit of an overreaction. And someone, your friend, perhaps, might want to consider some counseling.
But.
While there's no shame in being wealthy, and you shouldn't feel guilty or embarrassed about your financial success, don't flaunt your swutting wealth in front of your unemployed or underemployed friends. They're happy for you, truly they are, and they're not jealous of you. But. They feel like crap and doubt that they're ever going to live any kind of a life worth living and struggle, daily, to find convince themselves there are reasons to not kill themselves. Go, do what you want to do, enjoy your life and your money, but use a little sensitivity when showing off your possessions to your impoverished friends.
