Long days with sparse hope
The latest repair bill for George: $782.13. (George is a 1998 Audi A4—a nice car, but a little on the expensive side when it comes to repairs.) I remember the number because I haven't paid a dime of it. One of my friends—you know, in the accurate sense of the word—picked up the tab, saving my skin.
Why do I need a car?
I ask myself the same question all the time. I usually justify it by the fact that every month I'm usually able to make, find or collect a little bit more money than I otherwise would because I have a way to get around.
Let's be honest; that doesn't pay for the car. Not even close. But I can give my friends rides and run around town in my time off.
My father wrote me a letter when he gave me the keys to my first car. He told me about the importance of cars in our society, and how they separated men from boys. Since that time I don't think I've gone six months without one. He instilled a cultural value based on a rite of passage, one that I've never wanted to question too strongly. I've had a car and a bike before, but never just a bike.
Even in Costa Rica, I had my motorcycle. I miss it. Honestly, if someone wanted to trade an Audi for a sportster-style bike, I probably would do it in a heartbeat—despite the rain. What a way to save on gas, right?
Of course, I would love to save on gas by having a Nissan Leaf with a bike rack. But, getting back to the real reason for this post, I don't have that option. It's one of those rites-of-passage conundrums; I'm 30 years old now, and I've never had a disposable income. It's all been work and school; work, to pay whatever I can't pay with grants, loans and the occasional chunk of money that comes my way, and school because I'm always dreaming of that mythical next step that will allow me to taste financial freedom. Now, I feel like I'm closer than I've ever been, but I'm terrified that the career path I've been on will be just another letdown.
I've always dealt with limited capacity. My overdrive is about 60 hours a week, and I can do that for just short of a month without having a nervous breakdown. It took me a long time to learn that limit, and I'm not proud of the times people have had to see me burn out.
The last three months have been nothing short of edifying. I have learned that I can do a nine-to-five and a little extra while receiving the accolades of my peers, and I'm damn proud of it. But when the days are long and the pay is short, it grates on me. It reminds me of the times I've come face to face with my limitations. It reminds me that I don't have a disposable income.
I once had a band called The Disposable People. The idea behind the name is that we are made to feel disposable in a disposable society; there is always something or someone who can replace us lurking right around the corner. Now more than ever I feel that a lot of us are walking around with that disposable feeling inside, and I'm no exception.
I just hope that society finds some use for me before my car breaks down and my hair falls out. I feel like I've been holding onto hope and rainbows for so long that there's gotta be a pot of gold around here somewhere. Friends are great, but I can't help feeling like I should be beyond asking for loans—and perhaps I'd like to help a few others out along the way as well.
I have to tell myself it won't be long. If I don't tell myself that, I'll start heading towards a breakdown, and I can't afford that—not with everything that's riding on this horseless carriage. So here's to hope, rites of passage, and long days that will eventually pay off.
Cheers.
/ce
Why do I need a car?
I ask myself the same question all the time. I usually justify it by the fact that every month I'm usually able to make, find or collect a little bit more money than I otherwise would because I have a way to get around.
Let's be honest; that doesn't pay for the car. Not even close. But I can give my friends rides and run around town in my time off.
My father wrote me a letter when he gave me the keys to my first car. He told me about the importance of cars in our society, and how they separated men from boys. Since that time I don't think I've gone six months without one. He instilled a cultural value based on a rite of passage, one that I've never wanted to question too strongly. I've had a car and a bike before, but never just a bike.
Even in Costa Rica, I had my motorcycle. I miss it. Honestly, if someone wanted to trade an Audi for a sportster-style bike, I probably would do it in a heartbeat—despite the rain. What a way to save on gas, right?
Of course, I would love to save on gas by having a Nissan Leaf with a bike rack. But, getting back to the real reason for this post, I don't have that option. It's one of those rites-of-passage conundrums; I'm 30 years old now, and I've never had a disposable income. It's all been work and school; work, to pay whatever I can't pay with grants, loans and the occasional chunk of money that comes my way, and school because I'm always dreaming of that mythical next step that will allow me to taste financial freedom. Now, I feel like I'm closer than I've ever been, but I'm terrified that the career path I've been on will be just another letdown.
I've always dealt with limited capacity. My overdrive is about 60 hours a week, and I can do that for just short of a month without having a nervous breakdown. It took me a long time to learn that limit, and I'm not proud of the times people have had to see me burn out.
The last three months have been nothing short of edifying. I have learned that I can do a nine-to-five and a little extra while receiving the accolades of my peers, and I'm damn proud of it. But when the days are long and the pay is short, it grates on me. It reminds me of the times I've come face to face with my limitations. It reminds me that I don't have a disposable income.
I once had a band called The Disposable People. The idea behind the name is that we are made to feel disposable in a disposable society; there is always something or someone who can replace us lurking right around the corner. Now more than ever I feel that a lot of us are walking around with that disposable feeling inside, and I'm no exception.
I just hope that society finds some use for me before my car breaks down and my hair falls out. I feel like I've been holding onto hope and rainbows for so long that there's gotta be a pot of gold around here somewhere. Friends are great, but I can't help feeling like I should be beyond asking for loans—and perhaps I'd like to help a few others out along the way as well.
I have to tell myself it won't be long. If I don't tell myself that, I'll start heading towards a breakdown, and I can't afford that—not with everything that's riding on this horseless carriage. So here's to hope, rites of passage, and long days that will eventually pay off.
Cheers.
/ce
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