Time or Money?

 Today I read this post on a financial blog I follow called Get Rich Slowly. It talks about work/life balance and the trade-offs of working long hours to make a larger salary. I've spent an awful lot of time thinking about this lately wondering how much money I really need to be content with my life and what I have. Which do I value more - time or money?

That's an easy one for me to answer. I'll take time over money. Of course we all need a certain amount of money to live, and not having enough definitely sucks! But I refuse to be a slave to making money. My mantra has always been "You have to work, to eat, to live." But I definitely don't live to work. My work is a means to an end, which is living my life. I agree with the author that money is just a tool to get us the things we want in life. The trick, or really the challenge, because I think it is a challenge for most people, is learning how to effectively use the tool. 

I've always been pretty good at managing my money and spending conservatively, but last year I was starting to feel pretty stressed about money. I make a decent income, but I will definitely never get rich working where I am and I've always had to carefully budget my money. I'm pretty proud of the fact that I've been able to support myself and my daughter for the last 11 years, including buying a house, with just my salary. We've even been able to go on vacations and enjoy plenty of other fun, frivolous things. But somehow over the last several years I had started to be less vigilant about making and sticking to a budget. Sure, I had one. Sort of. In my head. 

I knew what I had to do and knew how to do it. I needed to put a budget on paper and I needed to follow it. Easy, right? I'm embarrassed to admit how many years it had been since I had an actual, real, tangible written budget. I work at a credit union! We preach budgets. I oversee finding staff to provide or assist with financial literacy training related activities in schools. I have pages about budgeting and debt reduction bookmarked on my computer at work! I know exactly how it's done. And yet, I wasn't doing it, at least not 100%.

I spent most of 2013 half-heartedly creating and tracking my spending on budgets I made in Excel. It never lasted more than a month at a time. I knew I needed a different system. According to my spreadsheets everything should be fine, but I was still feeling pretty stretched most months. So I looked around for a system that would work. After hours of looking at different methods and systems I decided to commit to Dave Ramsey's money management techniques. What he teaches makes so much sense to me. He's all about being debt free. His plan is simple, but that doesn't mean it's easy. 

I created a new budget, and I also created a spending plan so I know exactly what I'm paying out of each paycheck. The thing that helps me the most is using cash with specific amounts for different spending categories in designated envelopes. When it's gone, it's gone. No cheating allowed. If I spend all my grocery cash from one paycheck and need more groceries I can't take cash out of another budget envelope to pay for groceries. Being aware, and knowing I have to pay with the cash I have in my envelope vs. paying with a debit card has made me a committed menu planner and frugal grocery shopper. Spending with cold, hard cash instead of using a card makes a huge psychological difference. It's much harder to spend real money!

The plan is working so far. I've paid off some debts much sooner than I ever thought I would by being very disciplined and focused about my spending. Sometimes it's tedious keeping track of everything in such a detailed way. Occasionally I'm really tempted to take money out of my grocery envelope to pay for a latte when my latte allowance envelope is empty. So far I've only fallen off the wagon once, taking liquor store envelope cash and using it for a chai latte. Liquor. Coffee. Same difference.They're both unnecessary vices, right? At least that's how I justified it to myself. 

I keep reminding myself my short-term sacrifices will be worth it in the long term. Money isn't what I live for. I want my money to work for me so I can enjoy life doing what I want, like traveling more and spending leisure time with the people I love.

What's more important to you? Time or money? Why?

Next Door Neighbors

My next door neighbor died last week. It was a sad day for me, our neighborhood and our community. Dr. Farr was known and loved by hundreds, if not thousands. He practiced as an obstetrician in town for over 40 years. In fact, he delivered some of my siblings. I forget why he didn't deliver me. I think I was too quick for him and he didn't make it to the hospital soon enough. My mom will have to correct me if I'm wrong. 

Our houses are extremely close with only about 15 feet between our side yards. My kitchen window looks directly into theirs, giving me an odd, voyeuristic and intimate view into their life over the years. Their house sits lower than mine, so they can't see into my kitchen from theirs. When I moved in 11 years ago I was leery of having neighbors quite so close. I felt that I was somehow violating their privacy if I even looked their direction when they were in the kitchen. Those fears where soon put to rest when their oldest son, Ricky, waved to me from their kitchen. Ricky is mentally handicapped, so although he's in his late 50's, he functions at a much younger level.

I'll never forget the advice of the woman I bought the house from. She explained to me that Ricky was a talker. He'll talk for hours without any break in a conversation that allows one to say goodbye and walk away. She told me I'd have to learn to just walk away and go in the house when I'd had enough, and promised that he wouldn't be offended. She was right. At first it was a bit of an annoyance, but I quickly learned to appreciate his chatter and company as he followed me around as I worked outside. He's also good for helping lift and carry things that are too heavy for me or need two people to manage. 

Mrs. Farr died about two years ago. She was an incredibly sweet woman who loved to talk and visit. Between her and her husband, I couldn't have asked for better neighbors. On one of my first visits to their house to drop off some holiday treats she brought up my view into their kitchen. I'd always wondered why they didn't have curtains on that window. Their visibility to me didn't bother her one bit. In fact, she told me that the daffodils under their window were planted specifically for the pleasure of one of the previous occupants of my house, as they were a favorite flower of hers. She told me how she watched out for the woman who lived there just before me. She'd lost her husband and a daughter in a horrific car accident and was severely hurt herself. In the months following the accident, Mrs. Farr was very concerned about her. She asked her to get up every morning and turn the light on in her kitchen to signal she was okay. If there was no light, Mrs. Farr knew to come over and help. 

My Lucy and the daffodils under the Farr's window.

I often marveled at the patience and dedication they both showed to their son. Every weekday morning Dr. Farr made him a hot breakfast before Ricky headed off to his job, usually pancakes or french toast and eggs . Saturdays were their days together, which they spent doing yard work and other chores. Up until last fall, Dr. Farr, who was in his mid-eighties, was outside doing his own fall clean-up and keeping his immaculate yard in tip-top shape. 

Watching the routine and rhythms of their daily lives over the years was a pleasure. The predictability of their life brought me comfort. Breakfast was always at the same time. Dr. Farr was often baking and Mrs. Farr talked on the phone a lot, always the social butterfly. On Sundays I'd often hear the scrape of their back door as Dr. Farr came out to the patio to grill something for dinner. In the late fall their window awnings would come down, signaling that winter would soon be upon us. Every spring they went back up, as much a sign of the coming spring as the crocus blooming. Each May their patio filled up with potted annuals, which they would take up to their summer home as soon as the danger of frost was gone. At our annual July 24 street party there was always Dr. Farr's homemade raspberry ice cream for dessert. In the fall he would show up at my side door with a bag of peaches he'd bought from a roadside fruit stand. At Christmastime he would bring over some of his homemade chocolate chip cookies. 

When I stopped seeing Dr. Farr in the kitchen each morning and noticed his daughter and granddaughter at the house every day I knew something was wrong. Within a short time, there were strangers in their kitchen making Ricky's breakfast, home health care aides who were there 24 hours a day. When the light in their main level office was on in the evenings and the middle of the night, I knew Dr. Farr's office had become his bedroom so he would no longer have to take the steep stairs up to his bedroom. The same thing had happened during Mrs. Farr's last weeks when she was on hospice care. All of the signs were there. Something was seriously wrong. My suspicions were confirmed when I ran into their daughter at the grocery store and learned Dr. Farr was suffering from a rapidly advancing form of Parkinson's Disease. I only glimpsed him a few times after that, stooped over at the table and barely able to eat. Ricky was often in the kitchen alone wandering like a lost soul. His breakfasts were solemn affairs now and he often ate alone. It made my heart break. When all of their adult children and grand kids showed up, I knew the end was very close and I watched every morning for signs that Dr. Farr had died. 

Now the house sits empty and still most of the time. When I look into their window I see only darkness. All of their family have returned to their homes. Ricky has moved into his sister's home a few blocks away. He'll be back every week for a while to take the garbages out in the neighborhood, a job he insisted on doing for neighbors around us for several blocks. The house will be sold soon. I'll have to learn to remember when it's garbage day and get my containers to the street. Eventually I'll have new neighbors. I wonder what they'll be like. Will they put curtains up? Will they fit in with our street where we all know just enough of each other's business to know when something isn't right? Will they understand what big shoes they have to fill? For now I'm waiting and hoping for the best.

The view from my kitchen window into the Farr's backyard.

Sharing on StoryCorps

Last fall Mike was contacted by a freelance reporter who was working in partnership with NPR's StoryCorps on a storytelling project for Atlantic Philanthropies. The project would tell stories in several areas of human rights, including deportation and the effect on children of immigrants living in the U.S. During their research for stories to  illustrate the issues they came across some newspaper articles that had been written about Isaac and Mike.

A few weeks later a team of two reporters came to town to interview the two of them. They recorded over two hours of interviews that would be edited and used in the final video. Several weeks after that, Harvey Wang, a photographer/videographer from New York came to Ogden to record video footage. 

Over two days he followed Mike and Isaac around, taking video of them doing a variety of everyday activities. On his last day here he came over for breakfast which was when we discovered he's a very talented photographer and filmmaker with an impressive portfolio of work. He's even won Emmy's! Who knew? Definitely not us, we just knew he was working on the project as a freelancer. 

We introduced him to O-town and its charms, and he kept us entertained with stories about his different projects. He even joined us for Salon Sunday with our group of friends from Foley's MMA Training Center. The group includes some MMA fighters, not the kind of guys you'd expect to find hanging out, drinking beer, and getting salon treatments. Salon Sundays aren't complete until we've had our nostrils waxed. I know, it sounds weird and painful, but don't knock it until you've tried it. After some cajoling, we convinced Harvey to give it a try. Yep, that was one of the Ogden highlights we had to share with the Emmy award winning artist from New York!

After he left we waited, and waited, to see the finished product. Around Christmastime a package arrived with CD's of Mike and Issac's complete interview, a thank you note and some pictures from Harvey. Still no finished project though.

Yesterday, curious and wondering why on earth we hadn't heard anything, I did some searching. Within minutes I found the video on the Atlantic Philanthropies website. As far as I can tell the entire project, which is being produced by a not-for-profit production company called LongHaul, isn't complete yet. But the video is. I think it's great! You can watch it here. 

Pain and Purpose

Last night at this time I was sitting in bed in excruciating pain with an ice pack on my lower back. Tonight I'm sitting in bed amazed at the difference 24 hours and a chiropractic treatment can make. Until today I'd never been to a chiropractor and was somewhat skeptical about the effectiveness of chiropractic treatment. That all changed today. I'm a believer.

My back has been bothering me off and on for the last two weeks. I think I may have tweaked it while running two weeks ago when I slipped slightly on a patch of ice. Somehow I must have aggravated it Saturday. How or when I did it is a mystery to me. All I know is yesterday I woke up with severe lower back pain on one side and as the day wore on I couldn't move without horrible pain. Even bending over to pick up the laundry basket was too painful to bear! Muscle relaxants didn't help.

This morning I was desperate for relief and hoped a chiropractor could help. Thanks to my Facebook friends I received many referrals for practitioners in the area. I chose one and was able to get in late this afternoon. He confirmed what I suspected. I'd tweaked a joint in my lower right back/hip area and had quite a bit of inflammation around it. After less than 20 minutes of treatment I walked out feeling noticeably better. The pain has continued to lessen throughout this evening and I can even bend down to pick things up and go up and down stairs without horrible pain. I'm feeling so much better and hopeful that things will continue to improve tomorrow.

Partying in Park City.                         Photo by Steve Conlin

Life in other areas has remained busy as always. At the end of January I celebrated my 44th birthday with friends in Park City. We went to a Sundance party hosted by local friends who own an Ogden distillery. We were out until 3 a.m.The next morning I remembered I was 44 and far too old for such late nights of drinking and celebrating followed by Del Taco food at 2:30 a.m.! 

Touring ice castles on my birthday with our friends Barrett & Katie.

Last week we celebrated Isaac's 20th birthday. Where does the time go? It seems like we just barely celebrated his 18th birthday! Mike made a delicious dinner of Chicken Fettuccine followed by a Tres Leches birthday cake. 

Isaac's 20th Birthday 

Silent Auction prep

Two nights later we went to the annual Share Your Heart fundraising dinner for the Family Counseling Center of Northern Utah (FCS). I was asked to join their board of trustees around this time last year. It wasn't too long after that they asked me to co-chair the fundraiser. Somehow I always seem to end up helping with fundraisers, especially with organizing silent auctions. Luckily, there was a great committee working with me and my co-chair is a woman I trust, respect and work well with. We've worked together for several years on Junior League fundraisers so I knew she was experienced and capable. 

Despite the stress and late nights the two days before the event I felt (and still do) humbled and grateful to be helping raise funds for something I believe in so passionately. FCS provides low-cost mental health counseling to uninsured people in my community. Their services are desperately needed and their number of clients continues to grow. So many people suffer with depression and other mental health issues because they don't know help is available, or they think they can't afford to get help. 

In the past few years I've learned so much about the lack of affordable mental health services for people and the tremendous need for such services. Helping to educate the public about and support low-cost mental health services is as important to me as suicide prevention education. The two go hand-in-hand. So many suicides could be prevented if more people had access to affordable mental health services. Helping facilitate and support this in whatever way I can is something very, very personal to me. As tedious as the tasks involved with organizing a fundraiser are, I'm happy to know the money we raised will be used to help people who may not otherwise be helped. I'll be forever grateful to my friend (and fundraiser co-chair) for recognizing that this was a cause I would be committed to, and recommending me for a place on the FCS board. 

Survivors

This post was going to be about money, goals and paying off debt but that topic will have to wait for another day. My mind has been preoccupied and unsettled all week, my heart heavy and sad, so I'll write about what's on my mind instead. 

Last week there were two murder-suicides in Utah, one in a community close to where I live. In both instances young children were killed by their parents before they took their own lives, an added dimension of horror to an already horrific situation. All of the victims are strangers to me, although one of them was a friend to many people I know. Still, my heart is heavy and sad for these strangers, for the beautiful lives lost, and the grief and despair I know so many of their friends and family are now experiencing and will live with forever. 

There was a time in my life when such news would have given me only momentary pause. I would have thought how sad it was for their families, but then would have quickly forgotten all about it and carried on with my life. Now such news causes an instant, visceral reaction in me, triggering memories and thoughts that take me back to the darkest days of my life. Not only my mind, but my body remembers what such devastating news and grief feels like, triggering what can best be described as a post-traumatic stress reaction. 

Now, every suicide I hear about is personal to me. I grieve for the person that was in such emotional pain that they felt the only way to escape it was to end their life. I feel deep regret that the epidemic of suicide is continuing, that people still don't seem to be hearing the message of hope that so many survivors are sharing. My heart aches for their families and friends, knowing how profoundly their lives will be affected. I cry for them, for me, and for my sweet sister Julie. My mind remembers things that most of the time are buried so deeply that they seem forgotten. I remember the phone call from my sister telling me she knew something was horribly wrong. I remember being told our worst nightmare was true, where I was, and how time seemed to stop as I felt the world as I knew it shifting and falling away. I remember calling my dad to break the news, the exact words I said, his scream and feeling his anguish from clear across the country. Every heartbreaking moment of the first days, weeks and months after Julie's death comes back to me. 

I want to reach out to the survivors, the newest members of our awful club and tell them I understand. There will be questions they'll never have the answers to, but hopefully they'll be able to make peace with those unknowns. I want to let them know that even though they don't think they can survive this, they can. Their broken hearts can heal. Joy will eventually return to their lives. 

All of these thoughts and memories remind me that grieving is a circular process. It never really ends, but is does change and soften. Anger turns to compassion and understanding. Denial and avoidance turns to acceptance. There will always be grief and sadness for the lives cut short, the dreams unrealized, and the beloved individuals who will no longer share their gifts with the world. I'm reminded of how far I've come and how much I've healed, that I'm a survivor in the truest sense of the word. I've come to truly appreciate and cherish moments like I had yesterday while I was running. Julie was there in my mind the entire time. Yes, my thoughts of her made me sad and filled with regret that she'll never run beside me again. But I refused to give in to the sadness. I kept on determined, putting one foot in front of the other, moving forward, happy to be alive. 

Struggling To Be Supportive

Life and its challenges plus the busiest time of the year at work for me have been consuming most of my energy lately. I'm so looking forward to nine days off over the holidays. One more work week and counting then I get a break!

However, my long awaited break looks like it's going to be filled with the stress and demands of a new business venture for Mike, one that I'm really struggling to be enthusiastic about. From the day I meant him Mike has worked a second job in a bar. First as a door/security man and then as a bartender. Due to the nature of bars this meant he worked weekends from evening until the wee hours of the morning. This was in addition to his full-time day job. The money from bar tending is hard to beat, often averaging $25 dollars an hour, and on holidays it can be double that. The downside is the crazy hours. Because of my 9 to 5, five days a week office job it also meant I spent most weekend nights alone for the first three years of our relationship. I tolerated this because I knew the necessity of his second job. 

At the first of this year for various reasons Mike quit bar tending. After a few months he took a job at another bar in town. After giving his time and advice, all uncompensated, during the few months before opening, but with the promise of a prime position after it opened, things didn't happen as promised. There were also personality conflicts between him and the owners. Things obviously weren't going to work out so he quit. Despite the loss of income I wasn't sad to see an end to his bar tending days and schedule. I'd borne it as a necessary evil for years and was becoming more and more resentful of the toll it was taking on our relationship. The financial benefit hardly seemed worth the constant sleep deprivation Mike suffered because of the hours, and the effect that had on his emotional well-being and ability to function during the day. 

Then a couple of months ago he was offered the opportunity to become a partner in another local bar that was being sold. He jumped at the chance. He was happy. I wasn't. I've been down that road and was happy to be off it. I know the toll it takes, and I also know the time and commitment starting a new business requires. There were many tears on my part. I questioned his commitment to our relationship knowing how strongly opposed I was to the hours, time and commitment this venture would take. Not that I don't recognize the opportunity for him and he does have a real talent for bar tending. It's a job not everyone can do or do well. Who was I to demand that he not pursue such an opportunity? It was a positive for him, but felt like a step backwards to me and not something that would enhance our relationship. 

Getting financing and approval appeared to be several months off. That would hopefully give me time to adjust my attitude. At least we'd have the holidays. It would be the first Christmas Day that he wouldn't have to bar tend. We would get to spend New Year's eve together instead of him being behind the bar while I was on the other side pretending to enjoy myself, surrounded by people but feeling very alone.  

Wouldn't you know it, things sailed through and as early as this Wednesday he and his partners will be owning and running a bar. As I write this they're meeting with the staff and current owners. The days of burning a candle at both ends, working two jobs and working nights and weekends will begin again. Mike promises it will be different this time. He'll have more latitude, more flexibility, others can share the weekend shifts. Eventually that may be the case, but expecting that right away seems naive given the certain demands of ownership, staffing issues and growing the business. My input and presence is welcome, but owning or working in a bar has never been something I wanted. Being there while he works, helping in an administrative and marketing capacity is a poor substitute for quality time together. 

I'm sad and discouraged. He's happy. I'm trying to be a supportive partner while also resenting the lack of consideration for my needs and desires. We're at odds.  I'm not sure I want to play this time. I know other relationships have made it through these kind of challenges. Partnership is all about compromise, right? In this instance compromise feels like conceding to me, once again deferring what I want in support of what he wants. Right now it feels like a really bitter pill. Putting on a happy face is going to be really, really difficult for me. I need advice, support and encouragement. How have you overcome similar challenges in your relationships? 

Message From the Past

Sometimes I’ll be doing the most ordinary, mundane thing when it happens. It happened Thursday night when I was downloading old pictures so I could transfer them from my old PC to my Mac. I was efficiently clicking through folders, choosing pictures, having a nice trip down memory lane when. I came across a file in one of the folders that seemed out of place. I clicked on it and up popped a group instant message from 2008 between me and my sisters.

In the weeks and months after Julie died I went through every email and IM I could find searching for any electronic correspondence between us. Not trusting technology and fearful of someday losing them, I printed and saved each one I found, desperate not to lose the memory of her written voice and record of our ordinary, everyday correspondence. For a while, I read them pretty frequently because they made me feel connected to her in some small way. Now they’re all filed away along with my other personal papers and memorabilia, saved like letters were in the days before email, texting and instant messaging.

Sometimes Amy, Julie and I would have group chats via IM. They seldom had a purpose, they were just another way we stayed connected with each other, sharing little details of our daily lives. We did the same thing over the phone, one of us calling the other and then conferencing in the third. I read the copy of our pointless, scattered conversation over and over, smiling at the memory of our silliness and then overcome with sadness, reminded of my loss and missing my sister all over again. 

Our chat on January 30, 2008 started at 8:30 a.m. and ended at 8:39 a.m. We were all at work just starting our day, probably drinking coffee while we checked our emails. Nine minutes. It’s amazing how many memories and feelings can be dredged up by reading such a short conversation. Julie’s words as she left the conversation that day are what really got to me. One of the many painful things about her death was that she didn’t give us a chance to say a final goodbye. One day she was there and then she was just gone, leaving everyone who loved her with unsaid goodbyes. I wouldn't have wanted to ever tell her goodbye or let her go. But if I had, I like to imagine her goodbye as cheerful and lighthearted like the one she gave us as she signed off that morning five years ago.

Julie: “Got all dressed up in a cute outfit and then decided to look out the window and it was snowing.”

“Grrr…!”

“So I had to change.”

Keicha: “Is it as cute as the one I have on in my IM picture?”

Julie: “Amy, do you know what the male species of elk are called?”

Amy: “ I don’t see an outfit in your picture Keicha.”

Keicha: “What is a male elk called?”

Amy: “Ask Julie”

Julie: “What did I call them?”

“Men elk?”

“Elk men?”

Amy: “Men elk. They’re actually called bull elk.”

Julie: “I like men elk.”

Keicha: “ Only if they’re in full rut though, huh?”

Julie: “Ha!”

Julie: “You two.”

Amy: “Keicha started it.”

Juile: “Nice picture.”

Keicha: “Sorry. This is too much. I’m reading emails, instant messaging and answering messages on my Blackberry. AAGGH!”

Amy: “Would you say Jon is near East Boston?”

Keicha: “ Like I would know. Ask Julie. Cute picture Julie.”

Julie: “He is actually in the south suburbs.”

Amy: “OK, I want to send a balloon bouquet.”

Julie: “Oh.”

Julie: “Peace out sistas.”