Somehow I got it in my head that 2019 would be the year I moved out of my long-time apartment with its ever-rising rent and buy a place of my own. Despite the fact that I’ve been underemployed since exiting the classroom. Teaching had grown into an experience where I’d felt trapped. My hair thinned out and my teeth gnashed at night. I knew merely remaining in the classroom because I cared about my students was not enough.
Yet, once a teacher, always a teacher. I saw every other job through an academic lens. Flitting from one company to the next, the first thing I realized was to learn as much as I could, then bounce. Another learned lesson in the gig economy: having one job was not enough.
Thanks to most major bills due monthly, I wrote out the numbers and concentrated on paying them. At one point, I had a $30/wk grocery budget. Nonetheless I managed to self-publish my second novel with the help of three part-time jobs, one of which became full-time. Somehow I’d scraped together the money to pay all the bills at the end of every month even though I still felt there was not enough.
At times, especially when I earned both an hourly salary and commission, I had some disposable income. During those rare times, I dared to dream. I’d publish a third book. Take another trip outside the States. I’d finally move out of my apartment, especially since I didn’t like the way the new leasing office staff ran things. I’d had enough.
Like clockwork, seasonal expenses came through: a flight home for Christmas, Christmas gifts, birthday gifts, 6-month car insurance bill twice a year, car inspection, yearly rent increase…I somehow managed. No matter how hard I applied myself at any new job, my lucrative moneymaking skills were not enough.
I read books in between calls as both a call center agent then as an independent health and life insurance agent. I wrote and painted whenever I found the time. Secretly embarrassed and ashamed of chronic underemployment, given how educated I was. Life was supposed to get better as you aged and matured and made more of the right choices. Somehow, despite all that I was doing, it was not enough.
So when I walked into the bank to handle a variety of tasks, one of which was to discover how big of a mortgage loan I could secure for a condo, I knew the answer already. I’d internalized the life lessons. The mortgage expert had complimented me on being out of debt and paying off everything at the end of every month. Yet, as he kept flipping through the last three tax returns (where 2016 didn’t actually count), I saw the calculations through his eyes. Not enough.