No Money, Mo' Problems

As mentioned in my last post, those greenbacks and I have a tough time staying together. Looking back on it, however, this was not always the case. Throughout high school, my friend Ryan and I, while working random jobs, always vowed to keep a C-note in our pockets at all times. Let's just say that when Ryan, who is now making a six-figure killing at Apple, reminded me of this recently, fifteen years later, it seemed only one of us had remembered our pact.

Though I worked off an on throughout high school, I remember having enough to trick out the room with video games, music, posters, and other such accoutrements of adolescence. In college, where the traditional diet is Ramen noodles, surprisingly, my money was always right. The full ride, I somehow earned, left pops with enough money to knock out my boarding expenses, and another private scholarship via the Jackie Robinson Foundation left my with three grand per semester with which to play, and looking back on it, much of it must have been put away.

Upon graduation, Uncle Jackie was kind enough to bless me with a five figure check for my academic diligence, and a couple of years later the inheritance from my grandfather's untimely passing (which I would have happily gave back for another hour with him) matured. So there I was in my early twenties more than halfway to six figures, sitting pretty.

It wasn't until until the grave depression hit that the retail free-for all got underway. In 2005 I, not so prudently decided to part twenty five grand in straight cash on a drop top Porsche, that I remember thinking, would be my reason to, get it together, since, the money for $1500 tune-ups had to come from somewhere.

Not that I'm one to be grinnin' for no reason,
but I was about as happy as I looked with the Porsche I was sitting on.
...so much for the retail therapy/motivation it was intended to provide.

Wrong. Luckily the car was issue-free for the duration of our time together, but let's just say, having it didn't motivate me to go out and get my own in the least. In 2007, when the second manic wave hit, whatever was left over in the then dwindling account went out the window, as I maxed out credit card after credit card resulting in mountain of bills that have yet to be paid.

Not having to work straight out of college put me in a different space than my peers, to the extent that it seemed it was a early preview of retirement. Without a passion to pursue and with plenty of money in the bank, occupational pursuits seemed like a foolish undertaking. Instead, I simply tended to my own needs and self-medicated with spending. After leaving the country for about a month for a brief Eurotrip, Terrie dubbed me the man, "with never-ending funds." For a time it seemed that was the case, and in retrospect, I'm surprised it didn't go a lot sooner than it did.

One of my last hurrah's was the Jackie Robinson Gala to which I flew out Terrie and one of my dear fellow alumna, Brittney. While waiting in the lobby of the Waldorf=Astoria, I distinctly remember telling Terrie, I want to be broke. Careful what you wish for as they say, as those such as mine are easily granted. Well the plan worked, and though the last windfall came when I sold the Porsche in early 2007 (apparently buying things and selling/returning them later is my idea of saving), that money was blown on rent and the aforementioned manic spending spree that following summer.

Since I've been strapped for cash for so long, when I get it, I damn near don't know how to act. The only time I don't spend is when I can't spend. Compose yourself for heaven's sake, Chris, is what I tell myself, but I've likened it to a starving child being put in front of a buffet. Unless he has quite the preternatural discipline and foresight, he's eating like there's no tomorrow, without a concern for if it ever comes. Just as I wrote this, the ridiculousness of it all hit me (woohoo for free self-referential therapy!) It's time to act like I've been there before, well, because I have. Preternatural discipline and foresight, you say? Guess what I'm cultivating for the new year.