Tag: poverty

Sayin’ Ain’t Doin’

I heard “I love you” a lot when I was growing up. I wasn’t one of those who could complain their parents never told them they loved them. Quite the opposite. I heard those three words repeatedly.

As a consequence, I had a hard time knowing or showing love when I grew up. I guess I believed it was enough to say those three magic words to cement and support a relationship.

In spite of this conviction, my relationships kept falling apart. Friendships foundered. Romantic relationships sizzled for about three months and then fizzled out. I was a great sprinter but a poor marathoner. My education was just beginning.

I had no idea how to back up professions of love with action. It never occurred to me that three square meals on the table every day was love. Or that clean clothes washed, dried, folded and put away in my chest of drawers meant love.

That someone would stand up for you or step in for you when you were flailing and out of your depth was a show of caring. And protection. Which is a form of love.

I am not sure when the disconnect between “sayin’” and “doin’” started to become obvious. My family lauded my early accomplishments and were happy to associate and claim me as their own. Every scholarship I earned, every public show of support was backed up by my family 100%.

It all seemed to fall apart when I foundered. There wasn’t an iota of support from my family when I was hurt or vulnerable or – God forfend – if I failed.

In generous moments, I like to think that my family was “training” me to be successful. A sort of weird Pavlovian positive reinforcement thing. I came to realize it wasn’t that at all.

When friends would tell me my family was jealous of me, I couldn’t wrap my head around that. “Jealous of what?” I would wonder. I could never really put my finger on the source of the disconnect between how they said they felt and how they made me feel.

If I didn’t “feel” the love they clearly had for me, I was deficient. Not them. Then, one day, everything became clear. The learnings came hard and fast once I had a baby. Whatever else a woman may be and however strong and confident she is in life, a baby will make her vulnerable. Physically and emotionally.

I assume most families get that and support women through the process of pregnancy, birth and early infancy. Mine didn’t. It wasn’t built into our family mantra of external success and worldly accomplishments.

Having a baby was, after all, a common accomplishment almost any woman could achieve. (Fully knowing as I write that how heretical a statement that may be to women who have struggled to conceive.)

I don’t know if anyone is adequately prepared for the unrelenting and challenging needs of an infant. It is one of those “fine in theory” moments in life that becomes a stark, 24/7, non-stop arena of incessant demands that you ignore at your (and your infant’s) peril.

I remember the mantra I devised when my son was crying. “Is he hungry? Is he tired? Is he wet?” If I was pretty sure all those boxes had been checked, I too rarely made the obvious conclusion that the infant just needed to be cuddled, hugged, rocked and reassured that he was safe and not alone on the planet. That there would always be someone there for him to rely on.

I did not learn that at home. Dr. Benjamin Spock, the controversial baby doctor from the 50s, was no help either. Let them cry themselves to sleep,” he exhorted. “It builds self-sufficiency.”
I don’t agree.

It was another lightbulb moment when I realized my children needed little else from me BUT love. My presence and listening to them and my implicit support was pretty much the whole package. Plus the occasional twenty bucks now and then.

Sure, they needed constant material support when they were little. But I honestly believe, as I have read about some families, that if there was enough joy and love in their upbringing, their material situation didn’t matter all that much.

So I am wary now when I hear the words, “I love you” and more cautious when and to who I say them. The ones I say those words to frequently have earned them. The friends who hear those words have been there with and for me. There are friends who literally lived through thick and thin with me. There are some about whom I truly believe I would not still be here without them.

“Sayin’ ain’t doin’.” This rule has served me well in later life. Where I used to easily trust, I am now inclined to wait until people prove what I mean to them before I grant them access to my inner world. It was pretty junky in there for a while when I was awash in confusion, regrets and unmet promises – given or received.

Because life is a marathon and not a sprint. Once I recognized that, I was more inclined to rely on others who consistently showed up in the race with me than those who sat far away on the sidelines – cheering me on.

Diderot’s Robe

I’ve often used the analogy of Diderot’s Robe to describe the odd sense of frustration I felt when I was renovating old houses.

A similar sense of dissatisfaction ensued when I acquired a snazzy new something – an appliance, a jazzy new piece of furniture, or even a new clothing item. When is enough?

Buying new things can make old things look bad by comparison. It is difficult to buy one new appliance without wanting to change them all to match. New furniture can make your old furniture look shabby. New clothing usually needs new accessories, like shoes or a piece of jewelry or a bright scarf to “go with it.” Maybe a new coat or jacket, too?

The phrase Diderot effect was coined in reference to French philosopher Denis Diderot (1713-1784) who bemoaned the gift he received of a new housecoat.

The effect was first described in Diderot’s essay “Regrets on Parting with My Old Dressing Gown”. Here he tells how the gift of a beautiful scarlet dressing gown leads to unexpected results, eventually plunging him into debt. Initially pleased with the gift, Diderot came to rue his new garment. Compared to his elegant new dressing gown, the rest of his possessions began to seem tawdry and he became dissatisfied that they did not live up to the elegance and style of his new possession. He replaced his old straw chair, for example, with an armchair covered in Moroccan leather; his old desk was replaced with an expensive new writing table; his formerly beloved prints were replaced with more costly prints, and so on.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diderot_effect

The term Diderot effect is commonly heard in discussions of sustainable consumption and green consumerism. A purchase or gift can create dissatisfaction with one’s existing possessions and environment. This can start a pattern of consumption with negative environmental, psychological, and social impacts.

I have lived this effect and continue to struggle with it. I have a pretty good idea where it started.

My comfortable and financially secure childhood – while unstable – was ripped away from me at 11 years old. The transition from a life of comfortable middle class privilege to a life of poverty was gradual when I look back at it now.

I mostly recall that what had formerly been easy to acquire or take part in no longer was. There used to be riding lessons and swimming lessons and dance lessons and summer camp. New clothes to start every school year. At Christmas, we counted on the new cotton nighties and slippers from my grandmother. After I turned 11, these all went away.

My Dad moved us to another province. My mother was no longer in my life, except nominally. By sixteen, I was living on my own in a big city. My father moved an hour and half away to his own new home in the country.

I used to watch my peers in amazement who never seemed overly troubled by money issues. They needed something, asked their parents for it and got it. I remember asking my father for anything new or necessary made me feel I had deeply insulted him. I was – by even asking – doing something horribly wrong. What exactly I didn’t know.

I found myself in harm’s way when I didn’t have – or wouldn’t spend – the money for taxi fare. I was occasionally trapped in a dicey situation where booze and drugs were flowing much too freely. The boys at those parties could be presumptuous and opportunistic.

Sorting out my relationship with money has been a lifelong struggle and continues. As I look around, I don’t believe I am alone in this troubled relationship with money and things. Cumulative credit card debt is staggering. Indeed the debt burden of the USA is staggering itself.

A storage company in my Canadian hometown is erecting building after building as people seek out a place to keep their excess goods. I am one of them. They are doing a land office business. Think about that. Paying huge sums of money to store items because we don’t have space or a use for them in our present environment? Sounds pretty crazy, doesn’t it?

Our way of life and consuming is wildly out of balance. I chuckle at the allure of “big box stores.” I once read Costco and Sam’s and Wal-Mart give consumers the dual psychological satisfaction of “thrift” and “abundance.” Local grocery stores offer so many BOGO items that I may soon need to rent a storage locker for my excess canned goods.

I once longed to win the lottery., Who wouldn’t want a magical solution to their money problems? Who wouldn’t want guaranteed financial security? Who wouldn’t want the joy and satisfaction of taking care of friends and loved ones who would benefit from the help? And who hasn’t seen or heard the common stories of lottery winners whose lives spiraled downward and out of control just a few short years after their windfall?

I so get Diderot’s dilemma. I have lived it. It is hard to answer the question, “When is enough?” Like so many other of life’s big questions (and money, given its central role in our health, comfort and well-being is certainly one of them), it is time to make a truce with money.

To befriend it but not make it my master. To acquire what we need without being showy or arrogant (tell that to a Leo!!). To get off the credit card merry-go-round. Diderot knew why.

“I was absolute master of my old dressing gown”, Diderot writes, “but I have become a slave to my new one … Beware of the contamination of sudden wealth. The poor man may take his ease without thinking of appearances, but the rich man is always under a strain”.

tps://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Diderot_effect

What Owns You?

Today’s writing prompt: What would you do if you lost all your possessions?

I have gone through that experience a few times in my life, literally and figuratively. Sometimes by choice. Other times by loss. theft, or my own omissions. I forgot stuff in various places occasionally. So annoying.

In the absence of solid social and family support, possessions became my anchor.

It wasn’t a rational substitute. But the mental and emotional preoccupation of “taking care of” stuff gave me the illusion of self-care and control over my personal domain.

Going through a lifetime of possessions over this past month drove home the lesson of how deep an illusion it was.

Life would be much tidier if we just came preprogrammed with all the requisite skills we need to succeed in life. But we don’t. Growing and growing up involves time and the mysterious alchemy of nurture and nature.

We can take inventory of all the qualities we inherit from our parents and extended family and environment. In to that mix comes the special sauce of our own character and personality that we bring to the table.

Our personal taste seems internally determined but is undoubtedly overlaid with the influences of our childhood home or homes. It is why we often see gaucherie or insecurity in the decorating tastes of the nouveau riche.

It is said that the middle class have things, and the rich have money. If you were raised in poverty or the middle class and come into money, that background is often manifested in excess. If you haven’t learned healthy boundaries or money management rules growing up, you may go off the rails quickly if sudden wealth comes your way.

On one of those fascinating, if squirm inducing, “I Won The Lottery!” shows, a middle-aged redneck took inordinate pride in the original Italian marble statues (imported directly from Italy!) that surrounded his oversize backyard pool.

He made a point of explaining why he didn’t give his teenage daughter an allowance. “She has to learn she will have to earn her own money,” he said, disingenuously. “Just like I did.”

Hanging out with people who have or come from money, you see how taken for granted or comfortable they are with wealth and comfort. Want something? Get it. Lose or break something? Replace it. Don’t have any at the moment? But I will.

There was no gnashing of teeth or wailing about how to get what they wanted or getting their needs met. When I was about 14, I tentatively asked my Dad for $5. “I already gave you $5 last week. What do you need more money for? “Tampons,” I almost whispered, writhing in shame and humiliation.

Our emotional relationship with things develop much like as our relationships with human beings develop. When attentive human beings are not consistently available to meet our multiple needs as we grow up, we compensate. We may then learn to divert our attention and seek satisfaction from things instead of getting our legitimate human needs met.

It’s a pervasive compensatory tactic.

“Too many people spend money they haven’t earned, to buy things they don’t want, to impress people that they don’t like.”
― Will Rogers

Today’s writing prompt asked, what would you do if you lost all your possessions? I might throw a party. I might pack a napsack and head for parts unknown. I might go to a meditation retreat center to think about what my life was before and after possessions held me in thrall.

If/when that day comes. I hope I will treat myself with the requisite level of empathy and compassion for doing what I did and felt I had to do to make up for emotional deficits in my life.

Until I finally learned to meet my normal human needs and find satisfaction in healthier, people focussed ways.

Rich vs. Poor

I’ve been thinking about these two states of being a lot lately: wealth and poverty. I have been in and out of one or the other at various times in my life. Rich wins the popularity contest as it means the bills are paid and you don’t have to fret about where your next meal or rent payment is coming from.

But poor is a great teacher, too. Though clearly not as popular. It can teach you how resourceful and resilient you are. It can also teach you valuable lessons about what is important.

I learned that lesson as a teenager. In my very earliest days as a working girl, I sold Avon cosmetics. You know, the brand. Perfumes. Lipsticks. Usually packaged and sold in cute little bottles that have gone on to become collectors’ items worth ridiculous amounts of money.

It was something of a rite of passage for “working girls” in my crowd and the provincial part of the world I came from. In any case, it was not a disgraceful vocation. Still, I looked down on it and on myself when I was doing it. But had I not done it, I would not have learned a great lesson.

A thin woman with a strained face and a ponytail, a big smile, and several kids in tow came to see me about her husband’s Christmas present. She had many questions about the reliability of delivery and wanted to ensure her order would arrive by Christmas Day. In those days, we did not take payment upfront. It was strictly payment on delivery.

The lady carefully looked over the offerings in my sample case. Smelling each fragrance with great intensity and earnestness. She picked out an aftershave for her husband called Wild Country. It came in a bottle that looked like cowhide. It would cost her $8 when it was delivered. $8.56 with 7% sales tax. So she placed the order with me and went on her way, her gaggle of kids in tow.

It seemed to take forever for the Avon orders to come in that December. However, when they arrived, I managed to distribute and receive payment for most orders in fairly short order. But the pony-tailed lady kept putting me off with one excuse or another. “Too busy.” “One of the kids is sick.” “Car’s low on gas.”

My spidey senses were triggered. I was going to lose this sale and have to eat that $8.56. I thought ungenerous thoughts. “That’s what you get for selling to poor people.” “You should have known she was going to squelch on the deal.” And a string of other thoughts that would have landed me in a confessional if I were Catholic.

Then, to my surprise, I got a phone call early on Christmas Eve afternoon. The thin woman wanted to ensure I was home. She was coming for the Wild Country.

When she showed up at my door, she didn’t have a few of her kids with her. She had all eight of them in tow. Each one was shiny as a new penny, in crisp, clean clothes, shiny shoes, and some hair evidently recently washed. They were going to Christmas Eve service, she explained, after this stop.

She also had her husband with her. He was as tall as she was short. He had the faint air of Frankenstein about him – in a good way. Think Herman Munster on The Addams Family. He was mostly non-verbal. They all crowded in the foyer of my small apartment. Mastering all the stealth and subterfuge she could manage, she instructed hubby to keep the kids busy while she spirited me into another room to collect her goods.

On the side table by my bed (which passed for an office/retail store in those days), she carefully counted out eight crisp dollar bills, two quarters, a nickel, and a penny. She was beside herself with excitement. I discreetly packed the after-shave box in an Avon bag which she covertly concealed in the shopping bag she was carrying.

It then dawned on me that the bottle of Avon Wild Country aftershave was the sole Christmas present for her beloved husband from her and all of the kids. I felt about two inches tall.

Not only did I completely misread her character and intentions, I saw the love and joy she had for her man who had gifted her with all those kids. I thought back guiltily on the Christmases with gifts piled high for me and my sisters as well as for Mom and Dad. Opening presents could take more than an hour back in the day.

I learned a valuable lesson about the meaning of wealth and poverty that day. That family likely didn’t have an extra quarter to spare in the household. I thought about the daily struggle those parents must have gone through in managing the care and feeding those eight little ones. Their devotion to one another was palpable.

Instead of their obvious financial lack, I saw the wealth they did have that is rarer than money. Their cup runnethed over with love. I made up that word. Because it works and I like it.