fbpx

Browsing tag: life

  • May 21, 2011

    Reclaiming the weekends

    A variety of punpkins at the Portland Farmers ...

    Image via Wikipedia

    Things I must do once I have weekends back:

    • Visit the dentist (Both of us)
    • Get our amps fixed (Both of them)
    • Sort out my lifted guitar bridge without borking my entire instrument (a joint weekend project)
    • Hit up the drycleaners

    Things I want to do when I have weekends back:

    • Make regular trips to farmers markets (I get that most people hate grocery shopping, but I love taking my time to browse through produce and pick out the very best items)
    • Yum Cha. That is all.
    • Picnics.
    • Runs (with T, even?)
    • Tennis.
    • Day/weekend trips.
    • Try more crockpot recipes
    • Make pasta. And bread. And tortillas. And ice cream. And yoghurt. And sushi. All from scratch.
  • April 28, 2011

    Doing good, while putting yourself first

    Busker in Ignoreland

    Image by tochis via Flickr

    Why yes, my busking fund is coming along swimmingly, thanks!

    (Background: last month I withdrew cash to stash in my wallet to give to worthy buskers when I come across them, because whenever I walked past a good one I would bemoan the fact that I had nothing to give.)

    I have now donated to a grand total of two buskers. Not many, no. They don’t tend to play at the times when I arrive/leave town, and work is such lately that I don’t really get breaks. Not the kind that entail leaving the office, at least.

    Yet….I feel almost embarrassed, or secretive about the whole process. I don’t exactly carry change in my pocket. So that leaves me to hang around at a distance while I fumble in my wallet, extract some coins, then creep up, drop them into the guitar case, and escape. Or alternatively, stride up furiously without making eye contact, clang em down like a bomb and continue on my way without hardly missing a beat.

    Compare this to the guilt I always used to feel when accosted by street collectors. I just can’t win!

    Which got me thinking (well, that and reading Atlas Shrugged): How do you reconcile altruism in a capitalist world? How do you balance making a living and all that jazz, and making a difference?

    I can’t say I’ve never contemplated trying to move into PR/marketing to make more and have better hours. Yes, I’m playing the game – that game – buying into the dream of working hard, buying a house, starting a family.

    But on the flip side, I often think that I should go and work for a charity. Put my skills to some real good. Sometimes, I think “I have so much. Shouldn’t I go live in Africa and devote my life to my fellow human beings? Who am I to be eating out and dreaming of buying a house when elsewhere women are raped and children go hungry and uneducated?”

    My measly $10 or $20 or $30 – whatever I give away in a given month – seems like such a paltry amount. A selfish, token donation. Of course I could afford to give more. Most of us can. Of course I could give enough to hurt. But I choose not to. I choose to put my personal wellbeing, enjoyment and goals ahead of selflessness.

    Gah. Please tell me I’m not the only one who ever feels like this.

  • April 19, 2011

    That money mentality

    that money mentality

    <image via 68751915@N05 on flickr>

    A couple of posts recently about debt, poverty and money management have  spurred me to revisit this post I started some time ago and bring together various threads I’ve been reflecting on of late. I think, especially if you’re from a comfortable background, it’s difficult to understand what vastly different lives some people lead – I know it was for me, but after having observed one of these families up close, I wanted to share my observations.

    It’s weird being 18, and a student, and yet being asked (and able to) lend money to an older grown adult. It’s weird being 22 and ferrying those people around, because they have no access to a car. (True stories).

    What is the difference between a person who lives in overdraft week-to-week and someone with a surplus? Why are some people savvy with finances and some are not? Is it instinct?

    I grew up being taught to always save (not for anything in particular, but for the sake of it), saving all the money from my paper route, and having my parents also pitch in. I had money invested for me. “We can’t afford it” meant “It’s not in the budget” or “I’m not spending that much on ___”, not “We literally do not have the money for it.”

    It was an eye-opener to be introduced to a way of life where:

    – jobs are more common than careers, yet still not as common as welfare

    – you’re always short a few dollars

    – everyone in the family has bad credit

    – nobody knows how to check their credit reports

    – nobody has a savings account

    – you pay the same amount toward their power bill every week because it’s easier than figuring out how to pay it at the end of the month

    – everything is bought on hire purchase

    It’s about the way you’re brought up.  Is it any wonder that when someone from a background like this gets their first job, they go out and spend it all? Maybe give a little to their family to help out with essentials. Buy the things you need to get started in life (but probably not at the best prices), plus the things you may have wanted before but couldn’t afford.

    You know nothing else. Kids don’t talk about money, after all. What do they know about it? And they don’t teach personal finance in school. There are no role models for success. Maybe the first you hear of another way of life is when you get to be 20-something and hear of others taking overseas trips and buying reliable cars – all through the power of savings. Of TVs bought with cash, not on tick. Of daring to have dreams, within reach.

    And it goes hand in hand with values and a general way of life. One where education and reading are not necessarily prized. Where it’s going to be entirely up to you to break the cycle.

    There is a fabulous comment on this One Dollar Diet Project post I wish to quote:

    “I know that it’s ridiculously hard to get out of a situation if no one has ever taught you that it’s important or possible. It’s hard to save any money or advance at all when there are friends and family around you who are not; so you share when you have money or goods, and they share when you can’t, and no one ever gets enough to advance because it’s better for all to have some, rather than one to have all. And if no one is there to teach or set an example, saying “If you’re selfish for a little while, and you keep your successes for yourself and move up, then you can truly share with others.” 

    This is very true. At least from what I’ve observed, it’s about communal spirit, and sharing everything (what little?) they have. Family member needs something? If someone else can help out, then damn straight they will.  Everyone pitches in. But if you’re sharing everyone’s successes subsequently no one ever really does spectacularly well because it gets spread around. (Perhaps another example of tall poppy syndrome, which we so love to trot out in NZ?)

    “Too many times it’s lack of the basic necessities that keep the poor poor. Housing, medical care, food, education, child care, transportation: how do you choose which ones are a priority, or are you even given the choice?”

    And then of course, getting out of that cycle takes incredible individual drive, and it takes education (if you haven’t checked out PlaySpent, you should – I’ve never had to make any of the tough choices posed there, and I can’t imagine being truly faced with them). Though I would like to note here another observation – of the immense importance placed on birthdays and Christmas. No matter what, the kids always get presents, and LOTS of them. Personally, I think that’s commendable, but shouldn’t be a priority if you’re not otherwise stable. I didn’t get presents at birthdays and Christmas – even though my parents could afford them – and I turned out fine, I think…

    It was difficult enough for me to figure out the best way to manage my money at the age of what, 20? And that’s without even having come out of a debt-ridden or shopaholic phase. It was easy enough when it was just me, in high school – while my income was ridiculously low so were my expenses. Then T and I moved in together: cue more income, bigger expenses and a more complex budget. I would venture a comparison to trying to lose weight, or dieting – something countless people have tried and failed at time and time again.

    How do you do it at 25, 30, 40 – and coming from an ingrained background of living hand-to-mouth? And what if you’re not – sorry, this is probably not quite the right word – intellectually inclined? When all you have outside of work is knocking back beers, and you’ve been doing it for as long as you remember – are you really going to start taking an interest in spreadsheets and number crunching?

    I don’t mean to say that it’s hopeless, or inescapable. Far from it. I know some of you know all this already having lived it yourselves, but for the rest of us, I’m just seeking to offer some insight into a different mindset – and why in theory it seems there’s no excuse to be broke, it’s not as easy as we’d like to think. I truly believe it can’t be understood unless seen firsthand.

    Even though my fiance and I are the same age financially I am far better off – and that’s partly due to bad decisions on his part, but also a run of bad luck. (I’d say the number of incidents are about even – but I won’t list them in detail as it’s really not my place).

    You’ve heard me talk about how fundamentally I’m the saver and he’s the spender enough times; well, the only consumer debt he’s ever actually had was a small car loan. The vast majority of his debt was not incurred by him, but he was stuck with it. (Again, probably not my prerogative to explain). He’s never even had a credit card of his own. I can understand why he might feel bitter about money and even life in general, sometimes. To me, there is no better personified example of what upbringing + lack of education/knowhow + a couple of unfortunate setbacks courtesy of fate can yield – and how having a financial role model/coach can help turn things around.

    It’s strange being 22 and better off than all of your folks. It can be a great source of guilt, when they’re essentially good people trapped by a cocktail of bad luck, circumstance and poor choices.

    But guilt is a useless emotion. Good people don’t have to be broke to be good. You only get one life, and if you don’t put yourself first, getting sucked back under will make it that much harder to climb out again.

  • February 3, 2011

    Waiting on your world to change


    {photo source}

    Do you ever feel like you’re always holding out for something? Hanging on, swinging from point to point – jungle gym style – and merely existing in between?

    Waiting til your partner finds a job.

    Waiting til you save $100, or $1000, or $10,000.

    Waiting for a job offer.

    Waiting for the end of a project, so you can move on.

    Waiting for a trip, a concert, a big event.

    Waiting for the next big milestone. The next big high.

    I’m know I’m guilty of it. I feel like I’m in limbo. The thing I’m waiting on may not even happen. But it wields a strange power over me. It propels to me put things off, to think twice, to say “what if?”

    It’s like traversing the rocks down at any rugged beach – leaping, clambering, shuffling – anyway you can, ungainly or graceful, just making your way from one to another, trying our best not to slip and fall in between. The end point, the next cove, is always just around the corner. But those moments of flux shouldn’t be forgotten. I certainly don’t think it’s realistic to live every day like it’s your last, but I don’t want days and weeks and, who knows, even months to slip away. The older I get, the quicker those sands pass through the hourglass. It feels like I’m wheeling out the rubbish bin every other day and buying tampons every other week.

    I want to be more present. This means I need to compartmentalise, to not constantly stress about the interviewee I can’t seem to reach for love nor money, to stop wasting time wondering Niue? Rarotonga? Some other island?, to shake up my routine more often with a date night like last night, where dishes, work and to-do lists were put aside entirely for one evening. To enjoy, to savour, to live.

  • January 20, 2011

    The ‘job-that-you-wake-up-excited-for’ propaganda

    job that you wake up excited for

    Modified CC image, original by Flickr user noodlepie

    I’ve got to say, I’m a little tired of people advocating for us all to go out and find our dream jobs. Jobs that you wake up excited to go to. Jobs that you sit bolt upright in bed in the middle of the night grinning about at the sheer thought of. Jobs that you would happily pay to do. (Don’t you know that nothing less will do?!)

    Surely I can’t be the only one who can’t think of a job that fits this description. No matter how awesome, ultimately a job is a job.

    I get disproportionately excited over little things. Dessert. (Heck, almost anything to do with good food). The way the sky looks at sunset. A good hair day. And these bursts of excitement are sharp, yet short. But I don’t actually wake up excited for anything, barring a concert or maybe a trip away somewhere. Least of all, work (although there are days when I can actually gush “I love what I do”). And yet, my job is, more or less, my ideal job. Meanwhile, I freelance ultimately not so much for the love of writing but for the experience and money.

    I “followed my passion”. So where is this soul-shaking, ear-to-ear grinning, electrifying feeling? Did I go wrong somewhere along the way? Or…is this increasingly popular concept simply setting the vast majority of us up for disappointment?

    I know the mantra goes “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life”. I always knew I would work with words; that was what I enjoyed, and what I excelled at. But sometimes, the sheer fact that you are doing what you supposedly love, eventually takes away something from it. (This hasn’t really happened, but I feel sure that this would be the case with any other path. Heck, I fell so out of love with guitar I stopped playing for three years, because I made it too much like work. I got frustrated with my lack of technical progress and lost sight of why I started in the first place).

    Would I be happier doing something else on a day-to-day basis? No. And nobody would pay me for any of my hobbies either, be it amateurish baking or photography or travel. Sure, I could try to turn any one of those things into a job too, but why would I? That would suck the simple pleasure out of it. For example, I don’t want to rebrand myself as a travel writer; the places I want to go are, honestly, places other people have been to millions of times before and written about.  Also, I wish to enjoy my travels, not spend time thinking about story angles and making pitch after pitch. And becoming a location-independent nomad isn’t a lifestyle I want to pursue.

    It’s a little depressing when I talk to harried colleagues who are looking desperately forward to their next holiday (“As long as I’m not here!”). I’m not at that stage, THANKFULLY, and pray I never will be: but honestly, if I could choose to come into work only when I felt like it, you can bet I wouldn’t be there five days a week.

    I’ve said plenty of times that I can’t imagine what people do in retirement. I mainly said those things while I was a stretched-thin student with no time for myself. No time to rediscover doing things just for me, just for the sake of enjoyment. Going to a 40-hour work week has enabled me to live a much more balanced, healthy and sane life. I do get professional satisfaction through my work, but equally (and perhaps more importantly) I get personal satisfaction through the interests and relationships I devote my spare time to.

    I never thought I’d say this, but I think I could happily live the life of a lady of leisure, if such a lifestyle could be funded. I have so many books to read. Songs to learn. Movies to watch. Recipes to try. Places and friends to visit. I might work or volunteer a couple of days a week, and that would be enough for me. Doing exactly what I want, when I want. I don’t believe that’s in any job description, though 😉

    I may have veered a bit off topic here but I think you get the point I’m trying to make. Enjoying my work is important, but I know I’m not the only one who thinks that loving your job wholeheartedly is a bit of a myth. (And for those who might see fit to chime in with “why don’t you work for yourself instead?” I will point you here courtesy of Paranoid Asteroid.) I also value a job that I can mostly leave behind when I leave the office, stability, decent pay, low stress levels, autonomy and regular working hours. And if you’re one of the people like T, who hasn’t “found their passion” and have read Barbara Sher, you’ll be familiar with the concept of the “good enough” job, which pays well, doesn’t demand too much of you and allows you to pursue your interests in your spare time. And there is nothing wrong with that, either.

    No doubt there are plenty of people out there who loathe their work, and are stuck for one reason or another. I just wish the propaganda machine would tone down the selling of a somewhat unrealistic myth – Gen Y rhetoric, IMO, overstates expectations of the “perfect” job, which I find hard to swallow. (Don’t we already face enough pressures to create the ultimate existence – great friends, great love life, great sex life, great body, etc?) By all means, PURSUE THE DREAM, but don’t feel like a failure if it doesn’t actually have you leaping out of bed in the mornings and screaming from the rooftops every day.

    The form you have selected does not exist.

  • January 16, 2011

    Stripes of a Tiger

    Tiger Stripe Beads

    Image by atypically_me via Flickr

    A while ago I read a fascinating piece in Vogue Australia by Tony Parsons. He posits that men are torn between two essentially conflicting desires, neatly identified as “stay” vs “stray”.

    Poor men stray because of opportunity,  he reckons, while rich men stray due to a sense of entitlement. Greed. Like Tiger Woods, they seem to have everything, but aren’t satisfied. They have a fabulous family, great wife and great kids – yet their mistresses are never in the same league. Think porn stars and strippers.

    Parsons himself had a failed marriage. Ideally you would get the straying out of your system before getting married, but he didn’t.

    Almost all the male friends I’ve ever had, oddly, have been the committed type. They’re good guys, which I suppose is why we’re friends in the first place. On the other hand, I’ve had some hellish flatmates who can’t seem to keep it in their pants. Like the one who had two girls at once – who apparently even knew about each other. If an opportunity presented itself, well…after all, it’s not like they really had much going for them aside from being semi-good looking.

    As someone who’s only been in two real relationships, and has been spoken for almost constantly since the age of about 16, occasionally I wonder what it would be like to be in the dating pool. Exciting, perhaps. But probably also exhausting more than anything else. I never know what to say to single girlfriends who wonder if they’re ever going to find someone (but you’re still so young! Give it time is true, but not much comfort.). And even then, how does one know – with no experience – how to spot a good one? How do you avoid becoming one of the victims – the sad hearts – discarded by a compulsive strayer?

  • November 10, 2010

    When schedules clash…

    “I’ll take Saturday off if you take Saturday off.”

    That’s what he said to me, after a short discussion on how we don’t have enough time to spend with each other.

    But me taking Saturday off is not the same as him taking Saturday off. Saturday is a regular working day for me, and not for him. Saturday is an 8-hour day for me, and if he chooses to work Saturday, it’s usually a 6-hour day.

    Me taking Saturday off means missing out on a day of double pay; for him, it just means giving up extra “nice to have” cash.

    Here’s a little overview of our usual working schedules and how they mesh:

    (His working hours are 6-2, but they often work til 5. 11-hour days, eek!)

    At least two weekday nights are usually a write off for me due to other commitments. He’s also usually out late one or two nights himself, often on completely different nights. The only blocks of time we really get together for sure are weekend mornings. And that’s why it bugs me when he works Saturdays.

    The job that he nearly got before this job would have seen him working the night shift, and would have actually meant more time together (four mornings a week!) Despite that, and the money, I’m kind of glad he didn’t; it would have been quite disruptive and no doubt terrible for his already irregular eating patterns. Not to mention those four mornings would be a tradeoff for basically no waking hours together on the other three days of the week.

    Yeah, it’s a pain not having any regular days off together. It means rushed Sunday morning grocery shopping. It means sometimes coming home to a snoring boyfriend and a kitchen full of rubbish and dishes. It means no spontaneous weekend trips.

    But it’s a career move, and it means a difference of up to $10k (or more) over a year. I’m going to make the most of it while I can.

    Now, I’m sure I’m not the only one out there working conflicting/opposing schedules to their other half. How do you manage your time effectively?

  • October 22, 2010

    On relishing the simple things

    I can go for weeks without seeing anyone but coworkers and T.

    I’m pretty boring, really.

    Can I help it that I’m not interesting in playing drinking games and getting trashed?

    Or that I decided long ago I couldn’t be effed with fake friends and don’t get invited to parties?

    I almost wish I had moved to a different city, heck, country, even, so I’d have an excuse not to have much of a social life.

    Right now, about the most regular thing on my calendar is weekly pub quiz with a team from work. And you know what – I like it that way.

    I like being able to come home, relax, cook, read or blog or do freelance work, before getting to bed at a decent hour.

    I like having my odd days off to myself, to sleep in, to run, play guitar, read the news, clean the house, buy fresh produce from the corner shop, bake, take photos. Like Shopaholly writes, even though this doesn’t sound like much, sometimes it feels like there are never enough hours. And I’m not even counting the really boring things, like clipping your nails or scrubbing the oven or making the effort to rub rosehip oil into your pigmented scars.

    I like my relatively quiet, peaceful life. This is what relaxes, recharges and fulfils me.

    And I’m not going to apologise for it.

  • September 29, 2010

    Thoughts from a first generation immigrant

    Assorted Mooncakes
    Image by ulterior epicure via Flickr

    When I was little, I wanted nothing more than to be white. I wanted to look like everybody else, I wanted to lose my accent, and perhaps most of all, I wanted my parents to act like all the other parents. The kind who would welcome me having friends over to play. Who knew why other kids knocked on our door on Halloween night dressed in all manner of weird costumers – because I didn’t. Who didn’t shop at op shops and garage sales or buy me baby bonnets instead of sporty caps. My parents were by no means stereotypically FOB immigrants, with broken accents, who struggle to catch a bus or dispute a bill. But they were just different enough to set them apart.

    I remember borrowing a cheongsam to wear on Cultural Day in my first year of primary school. I wonder if I looked as awkward as I felt in it From then on, I wore my own jeans and a tee.

    I hated in-class exercises where everyone was urged to get in touch with their heritage. People would look at me and say, “Oh, you’re so lucky, you actually have a culture!” Uh, no, not really. (This is made even more complex by way of hailing from Malaysia but being ethnically Chinese.) We’re not religious, we speak English at home, the extent of our CNY celebrations are gorging on moon cake (the one time of year I halfheartedly lay claim to my heritage). Name a traditional custom or ritual you associate with the Chinese and I’ll probably never even have heard of it. We ate rice almost every day, though. That counts for something, surely.

    And yet, I’m not a total cultural vacuum. Celebrity chef Rick Stein was in Malaysia on his Far Eastern Odyssey this week. Mesmerised by the familiar accents, the hearty laughs, the general conduct of the locals, I watched, entranced, as they whipped up fish head curry and beef rendang. If nothing else, culture, to me, is associated with cuisine. And no matter how long ago, the “aiyahs” and the inability to enunciate the h in “three” still instantly transport me back to a certain place.

    There are things that are going to stop with me, that I won’t pass down to future generations. My kids will have straight English names. They won’t hear their parents talking on the phone in another language, or hear foreign words peppered throughout conversation – random pet terms substituted for English for no real reason, apart from maybe habit. They may occasionally eat dishes featuring strange ingredients like shrimp paste, but most likely they’ll eat steak and pasta and my version of Thai curry.

    That’s okay. Because what’s really important is that they learn to be decent human beings. Hopefully they’ll be intelligent. Not weakling klutzes like me. And ideally semi-attractive, because life is enough of a bitch as it is. But ultimately, as long as they appreciate the importance of hard work, doing right by others and themselves, and grow up with a respect and appreciation for people of all backgrounds.

    Some things may be more prized, where I come from, than they are for others. Family. Pride. Standing on your own two feet. But ultimately, these are values that transcend time, space, and ethnicity.

  • September 16, 2010

    The circle of life

    Friendship is a complicated beast. It takes many shapes and forms. Female friendship, I’m told, is especially fraught with anxieties. I don’t know; maybe bitch fights are just par for the course for some. The more intense a relationship, the more likely you are to clash at times, so maybe that’s not so surprising. Like I’ve said before, I don’t really have close female friends. I don’t like to spill everything that I’m thinking and feeling. Youknow how they say women don’t share their misery because they want answers, they just want to wallow? When others share their problems, my first instinct is to try and think of a solution, not commiserate.

    Two of my oldest friends are in a crisis. One has had enough of the other and is ready to cut ties. C says Z just doesn’t seem to care enough, to respond to messages, to make the effort to see her, to keep the friendship moving forward. While I am happy enough just to catch Z a couple times a year – she’s an insanely busy person, and I’m not going to kill myself chasing her shadow – that doesn’t seem to be enough for C.

    Sure, she can be frustrating. Things usually have to be done on her terms, but to her credit, she’s not quite as tardy or flaky as some of the others in our circle. She may not usually make it to my birthday parties, but when we do meet up, we reconnect instantly. That’s so rare, so invaluable, and maybe that’s why I give her leeway.

    We’re kindred spirits. Old souls with a dark sense of humour; she’s the one I sat next to in classes, whom I called as soon as I got home, who listened to me overanalyse every sideways glance from the boy I liked or offhand comment, who always had time to lend me her shoulder. I leaned on her and she never asked for anything in return. She understood me unlike anyone else I knew. She’s so smart that I never even contemplating competing with her, and I’m so proud of how successful she’s been and how much she’s bloomed since we escaped the microcosm of high school.

    The possibility of a rift between the two saddens me to no end. Will it weaken (or worse, break) the circle?

    But ultimately, this is a matter between them. As I told C, it comes down to this: Are you getting out what you put in? And if not, are you happy with it? All friendships ebb and flow. We take turns pushing and pulling. Sometimes we’re the ones making the effort to keep the flame alive, sometimes the dynamic reverses. And sometimes, that discrepancy becomes too big to handle.

    • Previous
    Next