This Is Not An African Village

Remember that $100 we supposedly had to get us through until next Monday?  Turns out that a bunch of things hadn't gone through the bank yet and we have, in fact, $13.  Tonight, after a particularly stressful day, Philip and I both wanted beer.  As twisted as it may seem to completely balanced, moderate, non-lushes, the more dire the financial situation, the more dire the desire for beer. 

It is, therefore, no mystery to me why so many poor people develop an itch for the bottle (sometimes worse) which only compounds their (my) financial concerns.  It's easy to be sanctimonious and tee-totaling when you don't have to wonder if the milk your son is finally deciding to drink is going to go sour before you can afford to buy more.  I will, in this stressful circumstance, buy beer with the change we scraped from every pocket in the house.  Yes I will.  Because if I don't, the fear about tomorrow is going to eat me alive.  Even though that money could have bought milk.

That, my friends, is the raw truth.

I am very fortunate to have my friend Lisa E who is generous and thoughtful and who brought us some dog-food she had left over at her house to help us be sure we could feed the dog.  I was worried about that. 

Someone heard my complaining about having to scrape together beer money and commented that at least I don't have to be scraping for a little rice.  This kind of comment is never as helpful as you imagine it might be.  Yes, perspective is good.  I don't live in a cardboard hut, therefore: I've got it made.  I am rich compared to how many people live in the world.  Making comments like this makes a person in pain or panic feel that their experience is worthless.

It doesn't matter what I'm experiencing- someone else in this world is going through so much worse. So I should be happy and feel grateful no matter what awful thing I'm going through?  It is the kind of thing that people who are doing a lot better than you are tend to say (out of discomfort, I believe). 

Would you say to someone who has just been raped that it's a good thing they weren't raped AND beaten like someone else they know?  You would never dare!

I've said that we are doing alright in spite of the general scarcity of funds.  We are.  And we're pretty happy.  If there's $50 in the bank I am not freaking out.  But we've been going through more than I have been revealing here and while I believe this is the beginning of a very good period in our lives, I don't deal well with having only $13 to my name.  Nothing you can say is going to make me feel really great about that. 

It's like we're hanging out in the open with no protection.  There's nothing to fall back on.  The falling back days are done.  No credit cards.  No savings.  Just enough income to mostly get us through each month.  One false move (joining the gym was my false move) and suddenly there are days with nothing.  Nothing.  Plus no medical insurance.  We have a house for which I am DEEPLY thankful and daily appreciate and hope and hope and hope we get to keep. 

People are always pointing out how rich even poor Americans are.  I'm not feeling it and I'm so tired of hearing it.  I have some good stuff, yes.  However, I think using the word "rich" is pretty relative and needs to be treated as such.  I do not feel like the entitled lucky Americans everyone is always talking about.  I have had to scrabble for food, beg it off of friends no richer than myself.  I have had to wash my clothes in the sink with bath soap because it's what I could do.  I have lived in dives, on other people's couches, and I have known what it is like to live off of potatoes and butter.

Don't anyone compare me to the people in a poor African village.  I am not in a poor African village.  The whole structure of life there is different than it is here.  No one here is allowed to put up cardboard houses, when you lose your house and can't afford to rent you have to keep on moving all the time.  There's no little tin shack near the tracks unless you happen to own the land.  Just keep on moving.  Moving.  It is much worse to be poor in a place that is intolerant of poverty than it is to be poor where nearly everyone is as poor as you are.

We will be fine.  I am not hoping you will feel sorry for me.  Truth is, many of you are in the same situation that I'm in.

I have lived as a comfortable middle class person and I have lived as a scrabbling poor person.  I have never lived this priviledged life of shameless consumption always being bandied about by activists and people from other countries.

I admit that sometimes I wish people would stop buying huge houses and three cars.  I wish that more people with money would live more quietly and less conspicuously richly.  I admit that I have classist issues with the rich in my own country. 

I really don't see why we need to shoot anyone down for being comfortable though.  It's all I want.  I'm not asking for fortunes.  I'm not asking for jewels and summer houses.  I'm not asking for a replacement for our lemon of a car with the cracked windshield about to fall out at any moment.

What I want:

Enough money to pay the basic bills: mortgage (equivalent to rent costs), utilities, phone, medical coverage, home insurance, vehicle insurance, and maybe.... (maybe) a gym membership until I'm healthier and can maintain that health by walking and cycling?

Enough money for: food.

Enough money: to save a little against house maintenance and emergencies.

Enough money: to treat my son sometimes.

Are those extravagant wishes?  I want to live comfortably, that is all.  That is all.

I haven't even asked for plenty of money to buy clothes, to replace things I have, to buy shoes when mine are worn through.

I think I am not an avaricious person.  When I was 17 I dreamed of becoming richer than Paul McCartney.  That dream has little meaning to me now.  If through hard work and chance I got rich?  FANTASTIC!!!!   I would love it.  But  it isn't what I dream of.

We will get through this.  Me and Philip.  You and me.  We are lucky in many ways but it would be unkind in anyone to make a point of it.  If you are comfortably off I won't resent you for it.  I won't assume that your comfort fell in your lap like a fluffy gold lined cloud without any work on your part.  I will give you the benefit of the doubt that having something doesn't automatically make you an asshole or some kind of privilidged person who should feel ashamed of what you have.  My situation should not make you feel bad.  We all have to go through our individual experiences and mine doesn't invalidate yours.  Yours will not invalidate mine.

What I am trying to achieve, before hitting the pillow, is some kind of state of grace. 

Don't be afraid.  I am not afraid anymore. 

(Except of not having beer...the great mellower of harsh reality.) 

These are tough times for so many of us.  Let's find our way through it without losing our generosity and our optimism.  We can do that together.

I will not tell you that you should feel lucky in your pain, that it could be ten times worse, because I understand that your pain is real.  I understand that it feels the same as mine.  I understand that loss is loss is loss. 

People told me how lucky I was when our attic burnt because we did not die.  It is true. We were lucky not to die.  Though we stood and watched our home burning. 

I was told I was lucky when I broke my hip that I didn't need surgery even though Philip had lost his job 2 days before.

I was told I was lucky that I had a house to sell when debt consumed us and we had to sell the house we loved and leave the neighborhood we had come to feel was our resting place. 

Do not tell me how lucky I am.  I know exactly how lucky I am. 

I have sometimes felt I could do with a lot less "luck".

We have come through.  I believe we are going to come through again.  Whatever life holds I know that it will be filled with incredible friends who have already shown us such love and spiritual sustanance.  There will be food and laughter.

And beer.