I have no money. In fact, if we’re being completely accurate, I have negative money.
This is nothing special (unless, by chance, you run with the millionaire circuit). It’s fair to assume that most people you know are living direct deposit to direct deposit, with or without a sprinkling of debt. As part of the younger set, I am not the only one of my friends living at home and commuting (literally) two hours to work in Manhattan. This is one of those statistics journalists like to scare people with. “Why Aren’t Adult Children Moving Out?” “Why Are Fewer Millennials Buying Houses?” “Why Are People Waiting to Get Married?”
Because we don’t have any money. It’s a fairly simple answer.
Not that none of us have good jobs or money or apartments larger than a closet. I applaud them, business and engineering majors that I assume them all to be. I still live at home and get paid by the hour but, you know what? I don’t care. I may have gone to school for literature, but I’m no dummy. I could have gotten a degree in a lucrative field and been hired diploma in hand, but I didn’t (partly because, if I’d majored in engineering, I’d have failed all my classes). I knew the Starbucks batista stereotype and I still went to school for liberal arts.
This is the part when, if you know me, you start thinking but, Mary, I’ve heard you moan about this a million times. I know you care. Well, yes, obviously I’m not happy about not having money. And, as is my personality type, I will complain incessantly. But, if I weren’t complaining about money or my job or my commute, you can bet your bottom dollar I’d be complaining about no limit of anything else. If you see me complaining and, seemingly, doing nothing to fix it, that’s because it’s not that bad. There are worse things. Or, more likely, I am doing something to fix it and happen to be mum on that subject. Complaining is my stress relief.
Ultimately, I have an idea of where I’m going and how to get there. I suspect many are the same. Its an uphill battle; I just hate exercising.