Money, money, money, money…money! If you are of a certain age, you will likely be singing the words along with the O’Jays. If not, I’ve included a link to the song, for your edification. Like it or not, we each have a relationship with the almighty dollar. We were either raised swimming in it, or being bereft of it. The bottom line is that we need it to survive.
Periodically, I revisit the topic when I am in scarcity mode. I was raised in a middle class, blue collar/pink color home. My dad was the blue, working as a milkman and bus driver throughout his career and mom added the pink as a switchboard operator. We always had enough. My parents had one credit card from Sears since that is where my mom worked. They paid it off each month, so that they were not in debt. They owned two cars and every 10 years or so, bought new vehicles. We went on vacations once a year, such as to a ranch, to Niagara Falls, to Lake George, to Chicago one year to visit my dad’s family. We took day trips ‘down the shore,’ which is how we refer to the beach in the Philly region. There was always food on the table, clothes on our backs, plenty of books and toys. Our furniture was mismatched and the decor was eclectic. Our house wasn’t fancy but it was welcoming to extended family and our friends.
My parents would proudly declare that we were ‘rich in love’. At times I wished that our abundance was more monetary, but I knew that my parents worked hard to keep us afloat. One of my mom’s jobs before working at Sear was as an Avon representative. Her bounty became ours as my sister and I were able to hire ourselves out to her customers as babysitters. I learned the value of money as what I got paid went into buying clothes to supplement what my parents bought. I remember that one of the dads was a distributor for a teen clothing line so I ended up purchasing at wholesale some items directly off the rack in their den. I still remember a long sleeve t-shirt that was white with rainbow colored speckles dancing across it. My first job after that was as a lifeguard at a kiddie pool in a local park when I was 17 and then at 18, after graduating high school, I worked for three summers at a community pool as a lifeguard, instructor and swim team coach. During the school year, before that, I worked at Gino’s which was the precursor to the Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise. The money I made, was socked away to help pay for college. My parents were not able to send me to college, so I took loans and applied for scholarships. They supplemented when they could. As far as career was concerned their advice was that it ought to be something I enjoyed that I could support myself doing.
Fast forward and I can rattle off a series of overlapping jobs I have had in the interceding years. I call myself ‘professionally polyamorous,’ since I had never in my adult life beyond what I just described had one job at a time. In college, I worked at a Crisis Intervention Center and as a scooper and then server at Farrells Old Fashioned Ice Cream Parlor, and lifeguard and massage practitioner at a swim club. In between college and grad school, and once I was enrolled, studying to be a social worker, I was a practice patient at a medical school, an artists’ model, a server at City Tavern in Philadelphia. It was where the signers of the Declaration of Independence went to party afterward. Once I earned my MSW (Master of Social Work, which I sometimes think of a ‘Master of Saving the World’), I worked in an inpatient psychiatric hospital, inpatient medical hospital, community mental health, home care, nursing homes, wrap around services, substance abuse treatment, as a greeting card text writer for Kathy Davis Designs, a group facilitator at Gilda’s Club, as an ordained interfaith minister, a magazine publisher, a freelance journalist, a podcast host, a workshop facilitator, editor, speaker, elementary school guidance counselor, mindfulness teacher for pre-school kiddos, a PR and marketing professional, web content creator and currently, a therapist in an outpatient practice. Whenever I look at my bio, I think, “That woman is really busy.”
I have done all of those things, in part, because I enjoy them, they fascinate me, I can make a difference in the world and for the paycheck. There is a meme that reads “SOCIAL WORK- In it for the outcome, not the income.” I blow raspberries because it reinforces the erroneous and detrimental belief that mental health professionals shouldn’t be well compensated for their years of training (in addition to grad school, licensed social workers need to take 30 Continuing Ed credits every two years to maintain the license and keep fresh on various modalities) expertise and skill. I have found myself feeling resentful that society values other professions in such a grand and glorious way (think entertainers and athletes, lawyers, doctors, accountants, bankers) and those of us in the helping professions (I include teachers) are not as well compensated.
I became a single parent in 1998 when my husband died. I am proud of the fact that I am still in the same house we lived in and I was able to raise my son to adulthood, taking care of his creature comfort needs. I regret, like I imagine my parents did, that I couldn’t afford to send him to college. He never attended but has been working in a managerial position, which he enjoys, for several years. It is a joy to be able to see your children succeed and perhaps even surpass you.
I am now 65 and have been contemplating retirement from full time work in a few years. I had a meeting with my financial planner today to discuss it. He is also the husband of my long time (since we were 14) best friend so I know he has my best interests at heart. He invested my inheritance that I received when my mother died in 2010 and to date, the funds are growing, even with the vicissitudes of the stock market. He wants to be sure that I will be able to take care of myself as long as I live. We’re on the same page with that.
Here’s where the challenge arises. I have no idea from month to month what my bank balance will look like. Some months, my consulting work brings in more, some months, less. My intention is to have more than enough money to provide for myself, be able to donate as needed, be able to have fun with it, not to need to worry whether the coffers will be refilled. I use a mantra, “I work for God and the salary and benefits are out of this world.” Sometimes I believe it, sometimes I don’t. I have always known from direct experience that money will always be there when I need it. I have thoughts that “the higher the number in my bank account, the bigger the cushion. The more income I have, the more I can give to worthy causes.”
I don’t have a desire for fancy cars or jewelry. I want the freedom to go to concerts and travel when the spirit moves me. I want to be able to treat family and friends. I want to be able to indulge in a relaxing and therapeutic massages once a month. I want to replace the siding on my house. I want to help fill my grandchildren’s college funds.
My relationship with money has been somewhat convoluted. My maternal grandmother was said by my parents to ‘have a money tree in the backyard,’ since she seemed to have funds for every eventuality. She was one of 13 children so I have no clue how her parents could afford to raise them all. Somehow, they managed. My father grew up in financially cash poor (but remember, rich in love too) family who came to this country to flee persecution in their native Russia. He was ashamed that they were on welfare (called ‘relief’ back then) and swore that he would rise above that. It is from him that I inherited my workaholic tendencies, since he, according to my mother, “worked crazy hours to support us.”
I have a few exercises to suggest to help you figure out your relationship with money. Write the word MONEY at the top of a piece of paper and then, popcorn style, without censoring or editing, write words or phrases referencing what comes up for you. They might feel like positive or negative statements. You may be surprised by what arises. Have a conversation with money, perhaps by holding up a dollar bill. Imagine what right livelihood work would bring you fulfillment, make a difference in people’s lives and fill your coffers to overflowing. Spend time with people who have a healthy relationship with money, which doesn’t necessarily mean that they are wealthy by society’s standards. If you visit public places or private homes that feel luxurious or a step beyond where you are now, rather than being envious, see it as practice for what you want to call into your life.
I wish you abundance and prosperity in all forms!
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This Post is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
