Forced Frugality

 

We are going on ten months of looking for a job.  

Last September, after a rather horrid ten months, John got the boot.  It was oddly and rather unfairly done, but a great relief to all of us.  Working at that company had become a puzzle that grew harder and harder each day until it was in fact, impossible.  The stress of it took a wild toll on John's mental and physical health.  By the end, he was neither eating nor sleeping.  He had strange episodes of racing heart and an inability to tell what was real and what was imagined.  I sat him down and told him I would use up every penny of our retirement and sell the house if it meant he could stop working in that environment.  And it may take all that.  And I still won't regret it.  

When I feel rather sorry for myself, I remember what life was like for him a year ago and then I don't feel sad that I am once again digging through my closet to find a new way to wear old things.  

In fact, there is part of me (small though it may be) that actually feels grateful for this chance to examine our whole life and where our money goes. It turns out, a lot of random and pointless places, like Amazon, Target, and a select few instagram sites.  Yep, I'm that girl.  Also, monthly subscriptions--they absorb a lot.  And our kids lessons, house payment right there.  And food and gas, which are not totally negotiable, but can actually be way cut down with some advanced planning, are insane.  Thank goodness for a healthy stock pile of food in our basement and a freezer full of meats to supplement our weekly food budget.  And we are not eating out (talk about money suck, in one meal out, I can cook about six meals--eek!) anymore (well, not mostly).

I hate that we have to go through this.  I cry a lot.  A LOT.  It's hard to have to cut back on everything.  It's hard not to ever go shopping anymore for almost anything other than food--and that's stressful too making sure I don't overspend.  I feel so bad for John because he feels the weight of our reduced circumstances.  And I feel horrible because we invested a LOT on my writing and book and advertising which hasn't (yet) given much of anything back.  And as of right now, and the past six weeks, there is nothing--no prospects for jobs.  I wake up in the morning praying so hard that today something will happen and I go to bed praying that tomorrow will be the day.  So far, nothing.  It's brutal.  I feel such massive regret that I chose now to begin my 'writing' career and not get my teaching certification like I debated.  I cry about that too.  I cry a lot and also take a lot of Tylenol. 

But here are the upsides to all this: First and foremost, John smiles again.  He can carry on a normal conversation.  He teases and laughs and even on really bad days, when we feel so discouraged we aren't quite sure how to make it through the day, he hugs me--something he forgot to do before.  After a year of us at complete odds, we are on the same page again.  Some mornings, I just roll over and hug him as tightly as I can and beg God to help him through this time and help know that I am here, through whatever comes, and we will make it.  A year ago, I would sneak out of bed and wonder if we were going to make it through another day.

Second, I am learning, out of complete necessity, to live in this moment.  The present is the only thing I/we own.  And if I live in the present, I am present, and I can see things I had forgotten how or was too busy to see.  Deer bedding down in my back yard on a cold winter's night.  The single perfect snowflake that falls on my hands.  The health of my babies (birthed, married, and grand) and their good fortune.  Hugs.  Oh, the value of them is at an all new premium. Good conversations feed and heal me.  Kind words are a balm to my very very weary soul.  The changing of the seasons, especially this long and slow spring as our yard has blossomed before our eyes--the tiny buds bursting out, the greening of every branch, bush, and grass.  The smells of the flowers bursting into blossom and the sound of the wind, soft, wild, fierce, and spinning inspire me.  And writing, the source of my greatest sadness and deepest comfort, is an healthy comfort and way for me to find hope in the hopeless times.

And third, joy.  I know, it sounds crazy, but I remember what joy feels like and happiness because I have to work so stinking hard to find it and feel it.  Everyday, my most fervent prayer is that I feel the goodness in the world around me. And I do.  Every single day.  I keep track of it.  I count the moments and sometimes they're painful.  Like today, we realized that we hadn't paid our tree doctor (I had actually forgotten we hired one and I wish I had remembered, but . . . ) and got a very very very very big bill.  Gulp.  So we paid him.  We were part of his miracle.  And I am actually waiting to see how the universe will repay it.  It is usually not in cash, but it always comes.  The goodness around me is multiplying by the day.  Sometimes, it's my peonies blooming perfectly or a beautiful butterfly flitting across the yard or a soft breeze or a kind word from a long lost friend.  All of these, I would have taken for granted last year, but this year, I am so desperate for goodness, I am starting to see it everywhere.  

Last night, when we were both very sad and very discouraged, we hugged each other and said, It's horrible, right now, but we wouldn't trade the good parts for anything.  

At some point, maybe soon, maybe after we use up ever last penny and sell the house, it will end.  And when it does, I want to look back not on the times I cried myself to sleep, but on the moments when all of us were gathered together laughing and singing (off tune) and maybe even dancing around the house feeling the goodness of the imperfect situation.  Because even in this hard, there is wonder and magic.  There is love and laughter and hope.  And that is what makes a good and beautiful life.  

And so, in this forced frugality, I seem to have found a very imperfect, but a beautiful, tender, and good life.