The old adage holds that the love of money is the root of all evil.
And that’s cool. That’s fine. I don’t love money. I just have a really deep, profoundly intimate, slightly cosmic respect for it. In all seriousness, cash is king, and never more so than when your post-graduate debt starts rising like the d*mn flood. You may end up wishing you’d majored in something other than the Humanities (English majors, where you at). I corner myself nightly wishing I had studied something a little bit more lucrative. Regardless of your personal beliefs concerning money, you probably need it. We aspire for monetary success so greatly that we end up stunting for each other: expensive trips, bills, eating out, bills, shopping sprees, bills, and nights out all add up. Also, bills. They can leave you suffering in silence, wondering why you can’t keep up with your friends. What you don’t know is that all the while, your friends are wondering why they can’t keep up with you. There you have it: nobody getting to the money. Everybody mad. It’s easy to claim that this is because of the culture. Sure, there’s a certain expectation of lifestyle and fashion that we all hold each other to. But, we’re really flexing for our own egos. Why? Because we know we don’t f*cking deserve this sh*t. Your bank account does not reflect your worth. You deserve happiness. You deserve health care. You deserve a free education. You deserve the job you studied for. You deserve to be able to go out with your friends. You deserve to experience the world without them pending transactions “coming to you as an individual.” I try to prepare for this by paying myself as well as every other bill. Whether it’s $50, $30, even $5 out of every check, it will add up. Anything is better than nothing. I try not to overextend myself with the extracurricular activities, too. I give myself no more than two nights a month for accepting invitations to go out. Ion even be using them nights all that much because? I’m depressed?? Both financially and emotionally, socializing costs a grip. You never really have to pay to go out when you’re in school. I was a pretty happy b*tch when I was dancing, and so I know that I can be again. It’s easier and a lot less harmful with just a little preparation. You feel like you’re turning into a miser, but protecting your finances just means you’re *gasp* turning into a functioning adult. And I love that adult, just like I love that happy b*tch. While I can’t say that I love money, their comfort and security is what causes me to respect it.
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You think it’s a door. But it’s not.
You think there are walls, frames, bells, knobs and rules, but there aren’t. All your life, you’ve been preparing to step through a portal that’s been prepared for you — only to discover that it never existed in the first place. Post-graduate living is not easy, quiet as it’s kept. You expect to embark on some fruitful and fulfilling adventure, mounting with the intensity of a Netflix binge, but that’s all false advertisement. Whether you’re travelling far or returning back to home, an intense and characteristically silent struggle may await you. And it can get pretty ugly. That unemployment sh*t sure ain’t cute. First (and arguably worst) is the application process. Whether you’re using LinkedIn or Glassdoor, WayUp or Indeed, the majority of application legwork is done online. It makes it extremely easy to start hamster-wheeling through upsetting cycles. Mine is sleep. In undergraduate, I always prided myself on being a self-starting, ambitious, and collaborative writer (@jobrecruiters). I loved being able to showcase my intellect and develop impressive projects. Being idle so often, and for such long periods of time, left me in a serious rut that grows deeper and wider with each passing day, when I let it. It’s terrifying how easy it is to let your days bleed into each other, consistently trying not to think and praying that the next time you open your e-mail, one of your fleet of applications will have returned with positive results. Compared to that? Them depression naps slap. It’s hard enough, trying to break that cycle. What makes it harder is thinking that you’re alone, and that’s the most I’ll write about that, because you’re not. Social media is a rapid-fire deception; a highlight reel of successes. Only in your room, in your bed, in your mind are you completely exposed to your truth. Mine is rejection letters. I’ve been collecting them sh*ts like stamps. Grad school apps, employment apps, writing magazine submissions, writing contest submissions; every ugly No I’ve received from the past year stays neatly tucked into a folder under my bed. Even out of sight, they can make me feel worthless. So varied, and never far between, they explain that I’m not good enough without ever explaining why. I decided to start framing them. A la Jessica James, I hang them on my wall (without looking at them too closely) and I keep writing anyway. Traditionally, we’re taught that opportunity is a door, or window, or whatever-the-f*ck sort of threshold, where transitioning is as simple as stepping from something old to something new. If you’re still reading this, it’s likely because you also realize that this is bullsh*t. Adulting is not a door, but the clear, snowy field you wake up in after being clubbed over the head. And you can walk in any direction you choose. You can even change directions, you can backtrack, you can even walk in circles. It can be so overwhelming, because this is a constant journey without a destination. Behind you is every footprint you’ve ever made. Before you is every mark you have left to make. It can get pretty ugly, but every day you choose to challenge that field gives you the chance to make it beautiful. |
AuthorWe all can get pretty sad. Archives
November 2019
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