I've had dollar signs on the brain almost incessantly these past few days. My rent, which was already getting difficult to afford on my own, is being hiked again. And in looking ahead at my monthly budget, I realized that the gap in my teaching income over the summer is going to hurt more than I anticipated. But what could I possibly cut back on?
My unoccupied moments were exploited by an internal dialogue that scrutinized my many "luxuries"--everything from voice lessons and karate training to living independently to organic food and holistic health care. Each investigation arrived at the exact same conclusion: I can't give that up. Not now. Not knowing how much it enhances every energetic wave of my well-being.
Every wave except my financial one, that is.
"Want to know what I think?" Quincy finally asked the other morning. He sprawled across my hips as I lay in bed, my half-awake brain already firing figures and what-ifs? in rapid succession.
"Yes, Q. I'd love to know what you think."
"I think you should stop thinking about this so much."
(Ha.)
"That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to make sure we all have food, a place to live..."
"Yes. But you don't need to think about that."
"How can I not think about that?"
"By thinking about what makes you happy instead of what you can and can't afford."
"Huh? Lots of things would make me happy. But affording them is a whole different story."
"Nope. It isn't."
"I'm not following."
(Not even a little bit.)
"Well what would make you happier? Having the things you really want and enjoy? Or not having to worry about how to afford them?"
"I guess that depends on the types of things we're talking about."
"Exactly. Now go with that."
"I still don't think I'm following." I swear I saw his eyes roll.
"There are some things that you really love. And some things that you think you really love but realize they're not worth the stress of figuring out how to pay for them. Your job is to figure out which things are which. Follow me now?"
A lightbulb flickered.
"So you're saying the only thing I need to worry about is whether I truly love something? Not whether it fits in the budget?"
"Yes. But don't worry about what you love. Just love it."
Since Quincy's advice echoed what I'd read and seen in The Secret, I thought I grasped the concept. However, despite his reassurance, I wasn't about to take a total free-fall with my faith in the Universe. Since I much preferred to be cradled by a carefully woven financial safety net, I couldn't fathom what good his advice could possibly do for me.
It wasn't until I sat down to work on re-weaving said safety net that it all clicked. In mapping out my credit repayment plan, I took a quick inventory of the purchases that had comprised my existing balance due. While some of them were necessities, many were frivolous--things I wanted so badly at the time but easily could have gone without. Were these items worth the stress of diminishing my savings or adding on to what I owe? Probably not. Were they worth the stress I now carry as I try to make my way over what seems like the Himalayas of debt? Definitely not.
From there, I began to evaluate my other monthly expenses. Instead of looking at each cost as a thread that either would or would not mesh with the whole, I focused on how that thread contributed to the whole. "Rent" became "personal sanctuary." "Organic and health food" became "nourishment." "Karate" became "self enrichment." Not only are they permissible, they are worth every sacrifice that must be made to afford them.
And the things that couldn't be translated as such? I knew I could stand to trim them from my composite budget (now known as "financial serenity") plan all the way down to my shopping bag on even the most trivial consumeristic excursions without any sense of deprivation. By focusing on the blessings of my most valued experiences and possessions, it's easy to remember that I live in joyful abundance.
"Q! I think I finally get it!"
I knew you would," he said with a grin.
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