Walking into the Past

When I was 17, my father gave me his copy of Karl Marx's "The Communist Manifesto". Though this is not going to be a blog about communism, despite how interesting I would find trying to do that, I feel as though that thoroughly introduces the mental dilemma I have found myself in for the last few years: my life is controlled by money. This is not a groundbreaking statement, and much less, not a sentiment exclusive to my life. In fact, the world, especially for those in this generation, is full of people struggling to find a way to balance finance and the ability to minutely enjoy the lives they lead. What is somewhat exclusive to me, or at least those with a like-minded view of life, is that I have never found money to be even close to the most important aspect of life. If nothing else, the aspect that I am most privileged in is that I have grown up surrounded by those who prioritize joy. My grandparents were either drug addicts or educators; my parents are childcare workers, social justice speakers, hairdressers, and blue-collar (boot lickers). Everyone around me - those who played the biggest hand in shaping me to be the adult I am today- made consistent and active decisions to pursue the things that brought them joy, rather than the jobs that yielded the most financial success. Likewise, my sister and I followed suit. She and I both knew that, despite clear evidence that there are industries that would yield more financial security than either of us has ever known, we simply aren't hardwired that way. 

Now, however, my outlook is a little different. Not to imply that I, in any way, wish I would've found myself in an industry that prioritizes money more, but rather, I have reaped the rewards of my decision, and there has not been a lot of them. Money does not buy happiness. Money will not find me my dream job, or make my friends live closer, or cure my mental shortcomings. But it would move me to a city where finding my dream job is possible. Money would buy me plane tickets to see my friends more frequently, and it would pay for medications that, though possibly wouldn't cure me, could help with managing some of the mental turmoil. It would alleviate the stress of medical bills Im still paying off, on top of loan payments, rent, a car, and shoes that aren't secondhand on the brink of collapse from how frequently I've had to wear them. Though money does not buy happiness, an excess of it does prevent money-related stress. And now I am faced with the reality that, as happy and fortunate as I am to have been raised with the mindset that money is not everything, it is all that I need right now. 

Money will be my escape. Money will be what gets me from point A to point B, and that is currently a major dilemma in my life. For the last few months, it has raised one major question: what is more important, money or time? The time I have to spend with my family and the people I love. The time I have to work on my writing, to work on my clothes, both making and researching. The time I have to cook and clean, and do the normal, human things we all must do on our days off. Or, the money I have saved up. The money I've earned from this job and that. The money I've saved by not buying the things that make me happy and deciding that maybe I don't need a Coke Zero today. Money has consumed my way of life in a way that has made most of anything that does not revolve around it feel pointless, as if the time I have to enjoy doesn't matter so long as it doesn't add to my overarching goal. And though I knew this before I moved, it has been, more or less, a very difficult pill to swallow, especially when exhamined at my current predicament. 

Ive had the same job since October, one that not only pays decently, but in a positive and unforseen twist, doesnt make me want to die at the first step in the door. Unsurprisingly, it isn't in any way aligned with what I would like to do with my life, an element of my post-grad job hunt that I had already anticipated; however, the silver lining is that, considering the number of hours I work, I make a decent amount of money per shift. This has allowed me to lock in more with the things I enjoy doing; spending my days off sewing, writing, and anything else productive has softened the blow a little bit, to the point that I, at the bare minimum, don't feel as if Im wasiting my days away. The only real downside is that it is a very thin line. Ive been lucky to find a good balance, working half the week for money, and the other half for passion, but that only works out when it stays consistent; when I can find a groove. But recently, one of my shifts got cut. It isnt the end of the world, in fact, I picked up another one so that my hours remain the same regardless, but it did distrupt something inside of me. It registers that everything Im doing is depending on a pattern - on knowing that, so long as I am making this amount of money for this amount of hours, I can spend my day doing essentially whatever I want without feeling gut-wrenchingly guilty. But that system has since been disrupted. I realized I cant rely on just the one job, because at the end of the day, that job is the furthest thing from relying on me. I decided that the best course of action was to set up a backup. 

When I first moved home, I was working two jobs. Despite making decent enough money, it just seemed logical to maximamize my profits as much as possible. However, since getting the job I have now, I have only had the one. But after losing one of my few coveted shifts, I decided maybe it was best to look for maybe just one more - a side quest to do once or twice a week, just to assure that, in the case I lose a shift sometime in the future, it doesn't completely disrupt my monthly budget. So, with printed resumes in hand, I strutted the streets of Downtown attempting to make a name for myself in some newer establishments. A bookstore here, a boutique there, one or two more cafes - it only seemed logical. But as I walked, I was struck with something else; a different emotion, a loving emotion. 

I forgot how much I loved to walk. Given the skin-ripping cold temperatures and meticulously planned weeks, I hardly ever go for the walks I once loved anymore. I walk to and from work, that's about it. And as I roamed from store to store, introducing myself in the painfully awkward way I've come to accept as my only form of communication, I realized how long it had been since I walked for my own enjoyment. But it felt different. I really started walking as a form of therapy when I moved to Arizona - originally because I didnt have a care and had no other option, before quickly learning how much fun it was to learn the lay of the land this way. By the time I moved away, I knew Downtown Phoenix like the palm of my hand. I knew every road, every alley, every shortcut and scenic route. I used to spend hours in the morning, in between classes, after classes, on lunch break at work, just walking; Id walk to get coffee and then just stay walking until I had finished it, Id walk the entire circunferance of the Downtown area just to wake up my brain. No matter what I thought or felt about Phoenix, walking was always a way for me to find some love for it. Obviously, I know Lancaster just as well, and I still love my walks in and out of the city, but on that fateful day, something else was kept at the forefront of my mind.

I wrote recently about catching a glimpse of your former self in the mirror, and how we can slowly grow to recognize ourselves well enough that you can almost see every version of yourself simultaneously - this walk was kind of like that. I walked past the studio I once recorded a song in for a high school class on music production; I walked past the cafe my Stepmom had picked me up from after school; I walked past the theatre I took acting classes in, and I walked past the diner my friend once celebrated his birthday at. However, unlike my reflection, these glimpses of the past were not so refreshing. I knew Phoenix like the back of my hand, and in that way, came to love it in a very personal manner from all of the memories I made that I am sad to leave behind; I left Lancaster willingly. I know Lancaster arguably better than Phoenix, but unlike Phoenix, Lancaster memories are not so fond. They are riddled with the times in my life that caused me to move so far away, the days I felt most alone, and the teen-angst years I am glad are more or less in the past. But now Im back, walking the same roads I have already said goodbye to, trying to find more work on them just so I can get out once again. 

Ive had the phrase "healing isn't linear" kept at the forefront of my mind since the start of the year, largely because I badly need the reminder, but this walk framed it in a new perspective. Just as emotional healing has pits and valleys that are all apart of the process, so does ones physical journey. For a while, I've been saddened by my reality, being back in a place I had fought so hard to pave my way out of, all for an aspect of my life I wish I had the privilege to ignore as much as I've been raised to. Money is what brought me back here; money is making me walk the same way again, but money will also be my way out. I think, if nothing else, I need to remind myself of this as well - that I am not stuck here. My return to the East Coast was not a failure on my part, and it wasnt even a regression in my progress to get it; it was simply a return to home base. My being here was a smart decision I made to regroup, to collect, and to prepare. For someone constantly struggling with accepting living a life I already got out of, I need to accept that I am in uncharted territory. I live back home, money is all that matters, and it's going to be a lot of hard work, but it is also an expected part of the plan. All I can do is just keep going, and all will make sense in due time.