Money, Part II: Identity and Abundance

(you can catch part 1 here if you missed it)

In my family, growing up, we talked about money all the time, simply because it was often a determining factor in what we could and couldn't do.   I never knew real want - my parents did a good job taking care of us - but I never knew a time when we hadn't been "tight" either.  Over the years, if I wanted spending money, I babysat, worked odd jobs, or worked full-time.  My "allowance" until I was 15 was 10c a week per year old that I was - if my chores were done - and half of that was required to be saved, and a tenth given away.  Do the math, and I received a whopping 60c every week (acknowledged: I still received an allowance, which is more than many).

At the time that I entered college, I was, for all purposes except taxes, entirely financially independent.  I went to a really preppy and fairly (very) affluent university, on a half scholastic merit scholarship, and half need-based financial assistance.  My scholarship covered everything for school, and everything else came from what I earned in various jobs at the university.   UR was one of the first places that I found myself where I was considered "poorer" than others and where my comparative financial lacking was tangibly obvious (at least to me).  It became both a place of shame for me (as I saw my own lacking comparatively) and a place of pride (oh yeah, well I have things so much harder than everyone else, and still look at me...) and a definition of what I was striving for (money and financial security will allow me to live happily and comfortably).   I was certainly not alone in those thoughts.  And yet, in the context of UR, we did not talk about money - perhaps because one of the (false) underlying assumptions was that everyone had it, or perhaps because it was, as it still is, considered not kosher and too personal.

I learned, over the years, that there were far more students like me, who relied heavily on scholarship, than I had initially thought.  UR does a good job with financial assistance, even to this day.  And even beyond that, there were many for whom money was considered "tight." But I also learned that "money being tight" meant vastly different things to different people.  We had different cultural expectations, different safety nets, and different visions of what financial security would look like - one of many reasons that money is often difficult to talk about well.

In all honesty, however, I think that the real reason we didn't (often) talk about money was the underlying assumption that no one ever stated - and few would even agree was true if it was stated out-loud - that money - how much we had, or how rough we had it - played a huge role in our identities.  It influenced our plans, shaped our abilities, affected our "street cred," defined how free from our parents we were, and largely marked what we considered "success" upon graduation. And while it doesn't have to be comparative, it always felt that way.

Not much has changed over the years.

We still base a lot of our identities - and our judgments of others - on affluence, money, and status.

"Oh, he/she has finally made something of himself/herself..."
"Haven't really amounted to much, have they?"

Friends, this is a crippling definition of success.  And an awful measure of identity.

It does not yield happiness, security, or a deep sense of worth, value or identity.  Rather what I thought - that having money would finally set me free, and enable me to live joyfully - this tie between money and identity instead yields a pride and shame that stymie any real delight.  And that shame and pride - you know what I'm talking about - are toxic, hindering our ability actually steward our finances well; to talk candidly about money without becoming defensive (when is the last time you did that?); to seek wise counsel when we need it, or give counsel to others; and to receive money and give it well, with no strings attached.

I need to tell you, candidly, that I am no where near as good at saving money as I used to be.  I am still (relatively) good at spreading a dollar and managing money.  That I tend towards pride and miserliness more than shame and free-spending enjoyment, although I do go there too at times.  And that at times, I still feel deep comparative shame, based on money, when I look at all that my peers from college, or here in the city, have achieved and feel like I have achieved so little.  Or that at times, I privately harbor pride at my ability to manage money well and stay out of debt, and feel superior to others for whom the struggle is different.  I promised candor, so there you go.

But I am gradually learning that I am more than what I make or do not make.
That I am more than what my savings account or debt level reflects.
That I am not more or less than you, based on our abilities to handle finances.

And I have to tell you, that has been an incredibly freeing lesson to learn.

A year and a half after I graduated from college, I moved to Boston and lived with two wonderful and sweet roommates.  We were all just starting out, all single, and all making enough to be comfortable, but not enough to keep us from feeling the pull.  Halfway through the year, one had to unexpectedly move out, and we were joined by a new roommate - our age, Ivy League educated, making comparable salary to us - who had lived several years of her teenage life, along with her family, homeless.  Her experience with money gave me yet another perspective on what "money being tight" meant, what were basic securities that I just took for granted - food, shelter, extended family, among them.

The factors which shaped her attitudes and situational responses were significant and meaningful and I do not want to minimize the validity of her experience.  It is not one that I can fully comprehend, and I want to honor that by not going into too much detail.  But in living with her, and seeing the way that she handled money and resources - I began to see reflected, for the first time, the ways in which my own "tightfistedness" "financial wisdom" was actually stifling and killing joy.  I began to see the ways in which a money-defined identity - having it or not having it, handling it well, or handling it poorly - was unhealthy at best, and at worst, destructive to life and joy.

You and I, we are more than the money that we make or do not make.  Our ability to handle finances does not determine our worth as human beings.  Our savings accounts or debt levels do not validate or invalidate our intrinsic value.  We know this intellectually - but friends, we rarely live like it.  And until we learn this on a heart level, it is hard for us to engage with the topic of money in any real way without feeling defensive.  It matters, friends.  Our society does not do a good job modeling this.  We are far too comfortable correlating value and importance to financial net worth.

Moreover, I began to see that abundance is actually a perspective - and that we can live our entire lives perceiving only our lacking, all the while actually having abundance right in front of us.  Meanwhile, those with little can have an inexplicable, inexhaustible joy, because rather than seeing what they do not have, they see instead what they do possess, which is often both tangible and intangible. 

When I got married, my husband modeled this for me.  We could look at the same budget, same bank account, same expenses, and he would see "enough" and I would see "lack."  His perspective - with the same desire for wise financial management, future planning, and prudent spending and savings - was one of optimism and trust, rather than fear and doubt. And unlike me, he was far less stressed about money (until he had to try and figure out my spreadsheets... sorry honey).

As I have left the workforce to become a stay-at-home mom for this season, and my ability to contribute to our financial security went to very very little, these lessons have been anchors for me.  And also places of deep struggle, if I'm honest. Places of intense freedom, when I live them well.  We make less now than we ever have - we manage money (fairly) wisely - and yet I notice lack far less than I ever have before.  Instead, more often (not always),  I notice the gifts of abundance and choice that we have - to choose for me to be at home, the time with our boys rather than commuting, the gift of the few hours of work that I do have, the blessing of a decent hourly rate, the freedom to buy things that aren't absolute needs, the delight of being able to do things I love and bring in a little additional income... and I could go on.

So can I invite us to consider a few things, as I continue to blather on about money?  You said yes, ye olde silent blogosphere?  So delighted.  Here we go:

1.  Can we consider, regardless of dollar amount that we make, losing the association between income and personal worth, value, identity.  Cut the puppet strings between finance and identity.  Damned if I know how to tell you to do that quickly and easily, but absolutely certain that it matters. This will free us immensely to actually steward our money well under wise counsel, to talk candidly about it without becoming defensive, to seek wise counsel, to receive it well and to give it well.  You are more than what you make or don't make.  And until we can know that on a heart level, further conversation won't go very far.

2.  Can we consider, looking for our abundance, living in our abundance, more than living in our lacking, always seeing what we do not have?  Plain English, let's stop complaining about money.  And notice, on a daily basis, what we do have.  It will make us happier people, I guarantee.

3.  Can I suggest, that I think the simple answer to both of those propositions above, is to live a life of generosity (and simplicity?) with wisdom, regardless of income.  Let's hold on to that as we continue to chat.  Give generously, unexpectedly, and joyfully, from what you have, and you will always feel like you have more.

More on this in our final installment, Part III.  Stay tuned.