In reading some Live Journals today, I came across the journal of a new friend of mine. This guy really rocks, and so does his mom, and it really hurt me when I read in his journal that they’re in severe financial trouble that makes my own problems look like I lost my lunch money or something. They’ve had a series of unfortunate and expensive circumstances come up recently, they relied on some family members to help them, and those family members dropped the ball and completely pulled their support (and, from the sound of it, disappeared completely). This guy and his mom are now basically homeless because of it, with less money between them than I make per month.
And as I read that, I started looking around. I’m staring at a $2000 computer monitor, which sits next to a $2100 CPU tower. Behind me, there’s a $200 computer that does what a $20 router could do. I’m sitting in a chair made of fine french leather, in one of the most expensive townhouses in the entire Shenandoah Valley. I pay $15/month for MUSIC. And yet, I bitch & moan like I’m living out of my car.
It’s undeniable that my bank account is pretty slim, which can be attributed to poor financial planning almost as much as lack of income. However, I look at my surroundings, at the fact that I live rent-free, at the fact that a car was essentially handed to me when I got my license, and an even nicer car was handed to me last spring when its predecessor exhibited signs of imminent death. And then, on evenings like this, I read about debts in the tens of thousands of dollars, having literally nowhere to go, and it makes me want to go jump in front of a dump truck to think how much of a dumbass I am.
See, I tend to have these daydreams of being obscenely wealthy, and being able to give big checks to anyone and everyone who needs it. I probably think about this far too much, as it will never be the case, but my inner child is rather prominent in my life, so an overactive imagination is something I’ve given up on getting rid of. Anyway, whenever I hear about things like this, my mind slips into fantasy mode, and I picture driving down in my shiny dreamcar and handing a lottery-jackpot-sized check to the object of my dilusion. Then I usually come back to reality, look at my double-figure checkbook balance, and tell myself there’s nothing I can do. I partially blame my mom and grandma, who scoff at the idea of giving even spare change to any of my friends who happen to need anything, but I’m not innocent either.
I need to stop whining about not having money, and I need to start actually acting on my altruistic desires again. There’s nothing that hurts me more than friends in need, while I horde expensive computer parts and say there’s nothing I can do. I’m going to try to make a radical change in attitude, I’ve done it once (though I nearly killed myself with guilt in the process), I’ll do it again.