A Story About Paying Off Debt and the Obstacles Along the Way

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When Social Media Hurts More Than It Helps

Without a doubt, this year is the most difficult year I've ever had. I say this knowing that other people have gone through MUCH tougher situations than simply having to isolate in their houses with their kids and spouses, but from a mental health perspective, it's wrecked me. 2020 feels lonely, hard, and sad. It feels like purgatory, suspended animation, lost time. I try to identify when things will probably start to get better, and I can't. 

Because I'm an introvert and generally like being alone, I always assumed that I'd do just fine if I had to become a hermit. But a) actually, I never get true alone time anymore, since all of us are always at home and our home is rather small, and b) I underestimated the importance of my infrequent interactions with other humans outside of my family. Although I've never been big on social events, I enjoy being out and about. In the past, things like going to the local brewery on the weekend and sharing dinner every couple of months with my book club filled my cup and made me feel like I was part of a community. Now, even those simple activities are fraught with worries about mask wearing and whether the tables are far enough apart and is that person coughing because of allergies or because of COVID?!? 

Thanks to the pandemic, I feel like I'm living on an island. It's a perfectly nice island - at least I'm ON an island and not on a raft out at sea getting circled by sharks - but I'm sick of the coconuts and the incessant burny sunshine. I want to get off now, please. 

In some ways, social media represents lights blinking from the other islands, reminding us we're not actually alone. Since March, I've spent plenty of time in digital communion with friends on Instagram and Twitter. It's served as a sort-of substitute for what I'm missing in real life.

Instagram isn't much of an investment for me. I like the pretty photographs and watching people's kids and dogs grow up. But it's kind of shallow and silly, and I wouldn't be particularly heartbroken if it went away.

Over the last four years and especially in the last eight months, Twitter has become my social media venue of choice. There, in the personal finance corner of the site, is where I found encouragement and inspiration when we started paying off our debt. It's where I discovered that it's okay to start saving before paying off every loan. It's where I've been able to share my blog posts and generate some traffic. 

I've made real friends there. I've learned a ton about various issues and gained new perspectives. It's also the one place where I can find people who are still taking the pandemic seriously. In many ways, Twitter offers the community I need right now.

But lately, being on Twitter also just makes me feel bad. Like, really, really bad, at a time when I don't need to feel any worse than I already do. 

Some of it has to do with politics. Given that it's election season and every day is like a new circus act with this administration, there's a neverending flow of panicked commentary on Twitter (which makes sense, I suppose, since Twitter is so popular with reporters and politicians). It's easy to get sucked in and suddenly find myself holding my face and screaming, "The sky is falling! The sky is falling!" (It often is falling these days.)

So yes, the politics alone means that scrolling through Twitter can be anxiety-inducing.  

But the political posts aren't what's making me feel bad about myself. Weirdly, it's the money Tweets - the whole reason I started a Twitter account in the first place - that are gutting me.

To be totally transparent, it is hard to surround myself with so many people who are doing so well right now when it feels like we're not. Does that make me a jerk? Maybe. An honest, vulnerable jerk.

Like I said, this year has been hard. At some point down the line, I'll probably go back to therapy and unpack all of the trauma surrounding the pandemic, and there will be a whole host of issues to pull out of the bag I've been lugging around, the bag that feels heavier and heavier every month: the general impact of the pandemic on our society (I will never, ever get over the number of people who have needlessly died), the fact that my partner quit his job because he didn't feel safe going back to work, the way one of his coworkers tattled on him before he was ready to resign, the major drop in salary that has us feeling like we're on a gut-churning financial roller coaster, the weirdness of freelance income, the fear surrounding health insurance (the expense, whether we will even have access to it, etc.), the job applications that get sent out and seemingly disappear into nothing. The uncertainty about what we'll do when our lease ends in May (if we can't afford to live here, where will we go?) 

The sense that we're trying really hard and getting nowhere. 

The constant, gnawing feeling of failure.

There's so much in that bag, and the only way to deal with it is to put it down in a corner and ignore it so that I can get through each day as best as possible without losing my mind.

I keep treating Twitter as if it's some kind of balm to all of this - it's where my friends are! - but as much as I love the Twitter personal finance community, I've come to the conclusion that it's better for me to limit my time there. On Twitter lately, all I can see is what other people have that we don't (job security, fair compensation, health insurance, travel, homes they own in full, second and third rental homes, yards, early retirement). It seems like everyone else has their shit together. It leaves me feeling like a total loser. 

That's not on anyone else. The comparisons are all on me, but what can I say: I'm human, and humans make comparisons. Admitting to being a "grass is always greener" type seems to be something of a taboo, but I've watched The Social Dilemma on Netflix and learned that companies like Twitter and Instagram feed off of this innate tendency. There's no way I'm alone.

When I step back and look around my Twitter community, I realize I am in a room full of exceptional, financially well-off people who are living well outside the norm. I've spent so much time in that room now that I've started to believe everyone's lives are like that - or if they're not, they should be. My sense of what is normal has been completely recalibrated by Twitter. Although that was kind of helpful a couple of years ago when we were doing well financially, right now, it isn't. I don't belong in that room.

I've started limiting my time there. Deleting the app from my phone seems to help. Without it, I can go for whole days without checking my Tweet feed. The more time I'm away from it, the less loser-y I feel, the more clarity I have, and the easier it is to recognize what's going well (or at least okay) in life. On the flip side, I also feel more isolated. I've tried creating lists, blocking people, muting people, all of the typical things one does on Twitter to make it more tolerable, but there's only so much I can curate.

I don't know if I'm going to leave entirely. Probably not. I think once things aren't as difficult, whenever that is, it'll be easier to be back on Twitter.

Leaving comments open for now, but as always, I am really not looking for advice, so please don't give it. I'm just sharing my experience as a) a form of catharsis and b) a way to reach out to others who may be feeling this way.
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Everything Is Difficult And I'm Tired

Let me preface this post with the following disclaimers:

1. Yes, I am grateful for the things I have. Requisite gratitude list available upon request. 

2. Yes, I am genuinely happy for your successes and happiness. 

3. Yes, I understand that there is good everywhere. Cute dogs and puppies and kittens and children and ice cream, yaaaayyyyyy. Also The Great British Baking Show.

4. Before someone tells me I just need to try harder and think more positively, please note that at this point in 2020 I am practically the second coming of Tim Ferriss. I am controlling and maximizing and optimizing everything I possibly can. I work out for 45 minutes every day, write for 45 minutes every day, submit 2-3 job applications every day, check my bank account balance every day, get outside every day, drink 70+ ounces of water every day, eat a healthy diet every day, and have all of my work done before noon EVERY DAY. 

Moisturizer and sunblock? Yup, every day. 

My house is as tidy as it's ever been. Oh, and I stopped drinking, which means I'm getting 6-8 hours of high-quality sleep every night (but honestly, I question the sanity of this decision).

5. I'm fine-ish, so please don't tell me to find a therapist. Also, I can't afford a therapist.

Now that we have all of that out of the way for the bootstrapper crowd, the main thing I want to say is that I'm tired of pretty much everything in this fucking timeline. Done. 

I am tired of all of the extra emotional labor that has come with 2020.

I am suuuuuper tired of the emotional labor required to explain emotional labor to people who don't get it.

(I'm not alone. Every woman I know has had it.) 

(Really cannot overemphasize how much I want to dump the emotional labor off a cliff.)

I am tired of being in my house all the time.

I am tired of the way I talk to my cat like she's a person who wants to listen to me, because I'm 85% sure she doesn't like me as much as I like her and 99% sure she wants me to find someone else to yammer at.

I am tired of feeling like I can't trust other people to be responsible and protect the health of those around them.

I am tired of hot weather in autumn.

I am tired of my allergies.

I am tired of the McMansion construction next door.

I am tired of living in a place that I love but can't afford and will never be able to afford.

I am tired of this stupid job search, tired of not hearing back about almost all applications, and tired of feeling like a failure even though I'm a hard worker with a Ph.D.

I am tired of landing in shit jobs with shit managers and shit policies.

I am tired of feeling expendable at work.

I am tired of heartless, incompetent people earning more money than the good, competent people below them.

I am tired of the personal finance people who have so much cashola that none of these events affect them and therefore they're confidently spouting the same tired, smug advice circa 2012 (and often getting paid for it).

I am SO TIRED of worrying about money.

I am tired of worrying about healthcare and health insurance.

I am tired of feeling like I'm working hard to get nowhere.

I am tired of terrible men and their terrible behavior and their incessant talking. Please, man, SHUT UP.

I am tired of people flying their racist, sexist, misogynistic asshole flags and then trying to justify it with gaslighting tactics, as if we can't see what you're doing, CHAD. 

I am tired of rich people having to make zero sacrifices while the rest of us make alllll the sacrifices.

I am tired of the way this pandemic has been handled. It has caused so much suffering - the illness itself, yes, but also the economic, social, and personal fallout.

I am tired of people dying needlessly and tired of the way we're now acting like it's no big deal.

I am tired of crying as often as I cry now. It makes my eyes puffy. Tired of that, too.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. Fuck 2020.

Rants of commiseration welcome. Lectures will be deleted.

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The Autumn of 2019 Was A Century Ago

Lately, I've been thinking a lot about what I was doing last year at this time. For some reason - maybe because so much of 2020 has been exceptionally monotonous from a daily routine standpoint (not from a national goings-on standpoint - that's very different) - I recall clearly what I was doing in September and October of 2019:

1. I was preparing for a long-ish, grueling mountain race. On October 5, I hit the trails with several dozen other (better qualified) participants and, despite tripping over rocks multiple times, running out of water, losing a toenail, and nearly rolling ass-over-teakettle down the final hill, managed to slog my way through the whole thing. When I was done, I felt like a real runner and couldn't wait to participate in more events like it. On the heels of that successful day, my endorphin-powered self eagerly paid big money for a big multi-day stage race to take place in August of 2020. (Bye, money. I shall never see thee again.)

2. I was getting ready to go to CentsPositive! When I sign up for things involving a gathering of people I've never met, massive regret usually starts to wash over me as the big day approaches. I get nervous and self-conscious and have to fight the urge to change my mind and stay home. This time, however, I was just excited. The beautiful autumn weekend in Seattle with a room full of other lady finance geeks did not disappoint. I was sick the entire time (good LORD, can you imagine going anywhere now with a fever and cough?!?), but I truly enjoyed every moment and felt so empowered by the other women who attended. 

3. Fortysomething was teaching science to high schoolers and generally loving it (or liking it well enough). He'd received a raise and a bit of a promotion. The plan was for him to hang onto the job until he was ready to retire. 

My kid was finally finding his groove at school. Our lives were settling into an equilibrium.

I remember feeling very hopeful about the year ahead. I was going to run! A lot! And have adventures! And ramp up my blog! And participate in more personal finance events! And focus on doing things I love! And we were going to keep saving, but we were also going to spend money on the things we valued.

And then... 

A year later, things are so different:

1. What running? I have been running a little more lately than I was a few months ago, but it's not the same. If I had to participate in that stage race tomorrow, I'd probably make it, like, five miles. At this point, running still feels like a chore rather than the escape it used to be. When I run, I want to tune out. I don't want to have to think about masks and distancing and how far six feet actually is and the snot rocket that appears to be blowing my way. 

Instead, I've shifted from running to weight training, which I can do at home. Alone. Away from the maskless. I'd still rather be running, but this is far more relaxing. Also, now I have arm muscles.

2. That CentsPositive trip was the last big trip I went on. Not that we were ever planning any major vacations in 2020, but it's still mindboggling to me that I've essentially been in the same town for almost 12 months straight. We're considering a Vrbo weekend in Phoenix at some point this fall if finances allow (big, big if) because we're starting to feel kind of stir crazy after months in isolation.

3. The job situation has completely changed. Fortysomething's final day was last Friday, and now he's making himself comfortable in freelancer land. As I write this, he's happily ensconced on the couch in sweatpants and a t-shirt, brainstorming for a project he's excited about. 

Goodbye, health insurance. Goodbye, retirement fund. But hello, free time, hello, creativity, and hello, freedom from terrible administrators. 

4. The Kiddo will be learning online this year. On one hand, he seems to be thriving academically. A lot of the stressors of in-person school - like having to get from one class to the next in a short amount of time, trying to keep track of all of his papers and books and whatnot, and figuring out how to deal with the disruptive kids in class - are now non-issues. He can just focus on his schoolwork. On the other hand, he hasn't hung out with anyone other than family since March. 

5. I've decided to write a book. I've always wanted to do it but was too scared to do it, and also I didn't want to write about something I didn't care about, so I've been hunting for a project for more than a year, ever since I quit the Job from Hell. Inspiration didn't strike until last week. Since then, I've been writing every day for 45 minutes. Shockingly for me, it involves giving advice, which is a new one for me. But for once, I feel like I have something to say that might be helpful for other people.

Inspired by writers like Michelle Jackson (Michelle is Money Hungry) and Hiro Nishimura, my plan is to self-publish and see how it goes. Worst case scenario: nobody wants it and it doesn't sell. I can live with that. But I think I've landed on a subject that some people will care about, and I'm excited to write about it.

(I'll share more about the topic in a few weeks, assuming I don't decide it's a shit idea and abandon it altogether.)

So... yeah. Things have changed, and I suppose in some small, individual ways they've changed for the better. I feel like we're making the best of the situation as a family. But this whole year is still so awful, and I just hope that next year we're all looking back on it from a better place.
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Another Job Bites The Dust

Update: No sooner had I finished writing this than Fortysomething came in to let me know he's officially resigned. Apparently, someone he trusted told his boss he was thinking about leaving (loyalty, it's a beautiful thing). His boss then contacted him to find out what was going on. So he was forced to quit a bit sooner than planned.

Well, this is it: within the next two days, Fortysomething will put in his notice and leave his job unless there are some major last-minute policy changes.

Although this isn't going to be an entirely depressing/blah post, and although I've known for months that this job might not work out, I must say that I'm disappointed that we find ourselves in this position. He's worked at this place for more than three years. He used to talk all the time about how he was probably going to stay through retirement. He enjoyed teaching science to middle and high schoolers. He had a great rapport with them and with his colleagues. He recently received a raise, and he was going to be eligible for a pretty hefty retirement fund match in 2021. 

It was nice.

And then: COVID.

Teachers and students started off the 2020-2021 school year entirely online. For the first few weeks, administration appeared to be making thoughtful decisions with the best interests of everyone in mind. They invested in new technology and ensured that all of the kids had Internet access. They opened their doors every day to the limited number of students needing supervision while their parents were at work. Everyone seemed to be getting into a groove with virtual learning. Technical problems were surprisingly rare and short-lived. It wasn't a perfect approach, but it was a rational approach.

Then something - I don't know what - changed. All of a sudden, admin decided it NEEDED to get everybody back in the classroom ASAP. A series of hastily prepared and, frankly, scary decisions were rolled out very quickly. The reopening strategies they've chosen represent a potpourri of what seem like the worst possible options (I started listing them all, but the list got too long and ranty, so I cut it). 

Teachers have pushed back with scientific papers, county and statewide data, and proposals for a more thoughtful reopening, but leadership has been entirely disinterested in the opinions and concerns of workers on the ground. They're opening, come hell or high water or another surge in cases.

I know a few people who are going to tell us we're overreacting, but for us, it doesn't make sense for him to return under such brazenly unsafe conditions given what we know about how COVID operates. So he's out. At least for now, he'll be focusing on some short-term contract work.

Here's what we've done to prepare for this shift in employment:

Income and savings: We've been saving as much as possible since the pandemic began, so at least for a minute, our emergency fund is looking better than ever. We'll deploy it if we have to, but we're hoping that we can cover all expenses through the rest of 2020 with our combined part-time/contract income. 

Health insurance: We'll be losing Fortysomething's employer-sponsored health insurance, which is perhaps the scariest aspect of this entire situation. I don't receive insurance through my employer. We should have coverage through the end of this month. After that, we can access either COBRA ($$$$$$$$) or short-term insurance. When open enrollment becomes available, we'll apply for a subsidized ACA plan for 2021 and just hope that the program doesn't disappear entirely.

Job search: I've been applying for full-time and part-time jobs since the early spring of 2020. Fortysomething has as well, though he'll be ramping that up a bit once he has more time. We've decided that we're open to job opportunities elsewhere in the state and country, which will give us more options.

Vacations and fun things: On hold through the rest of 2020. The pandemic makes not traveling for an entire year a little easier to accept.

Housing: Our lease runs through next May. Even if we have no new employment in 2021, we should be able to cover our rent each month until then. If things are looking decent financially, we'll probably re-up for another year. If not, I don't know. I really don't.

I'm trying not to get too far ahead of myself, but I do worry about what will happen next spring if one of us doesn't have a new job lined up or a buttload of contract work in the hopper. In that case, we couldn't afford to keep living here, and... I have no idea where we'd go instead. I'm not panicking about it, but I'm definitely mulling over next steps. I want to have some ideas and options lined up just in case. Maybe RV life is back on the table as a possibility?

There are some benefits to this new arrangement, and I'll cover those in another post when I've come to terms with everything. For now, yeah, we're fine. It's a bummer, but I'm glad we're doing what we know is best for us, and I'm glad we've wrapped this up after months of worrying about it.

ALSO: For another post by someone whose plans and income got derailed by COVID, check out Return of the Budget by my friend at Table for One. 

COVID can suck it. 

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Conjuring Up My Financially Carefree Past Self

In 2016, I quit an academic job that I'd tried to make work for two long, difficult, and mentally draining years. My brain was basically silly putty by the end of it; I wasn't ready to jump straight into a new job. Instead, we decided to buy an RV and travel around the country for as long as possible. We sold almost all of our stuff, including our furniture, kitchenware, and most of our clothes. We loaded up what few belongings remained, and off we went to spend a sweltering (but honestly rather lovely) summer in Texas.

Looking back at past me, I'm like


Our status at the time we got the hell out of Dodge:

-We had enough savings to cover a few months of expenses

-We had lots and lots of debt (see: the title of this blog)

-We had "health insurance" that probably wasn't legit, now that I think about it

-We did not have normal or reliable jobs (Fortysomething had contract work, but if I recall, it was pretty spotty; meanwhile, I was in training to teach some online courses, but since our Internet was really touch and go, I don't think I ever actually did?)

AND YET we bought (financed) an RV, traveled to various parts of the south and west, lived in state parks on the cheap (where we were often the only people there, because who vacations in Texas in July?), subsisted on ice cream and tacos, and generally had a grand old time.

I worried about tire blowouts in the middle of nowhere, the mysterious leak that emerged from beneath the sink, the cat getting carsick, and mold, but I do not remember losing sleep over finances. 

When we rolled into our current town and decided to stay, we didn't wonder whether we could make it work. We just... made it work. I got a job at REI and then at the local college. He found a teaching position. I started this blog. We got our money in order, and it was fine!


Fast forward to now, the fabulous year of 2020. Fortysomething's planning to quit any day now, but he has multiple freelance contracts in the works. My job is small but steady (knock on wood). We have more in savings than ever before, and we know how to budget. 

Yet, this is me for the past week:



I mean, I'm completely on board with him quitting given that we're in the midst of a global pandemic featuring a silently spreading virus that has killed more than 180,000 people in the U.S. to date, but the financially responsible me of 2020 is having trouble letting go of regular paychecks and employer-sponsored health insurance.

Although I will readily admit that 2016 me was pretty clueless in many ways, she was also more optimistic than 2020 me (understandable). She had this certainty that things would work out somehow. 

Was she financially responsible? 

Not really. 

Worse off? 

In some ways, no.

Until this past week, I didn't realize just how much my mentality has changed. I've gained a lot of knowledge, skills, and good habits, and at this point, they're pretty ingrained. But while it is indeed great to be in a better financial position four years later, I don't want to lose the part of me that was willing to take risks, either, because risk-taking has generally been a positive experience for me and my family. I also don't want to lose the part of me that was able to look uncertainty in the face and not lose sleep over it.

So, 2016 me, COME BACK! I need you and your carefree, "money isn't everything!" mentality. I can't promise that I'll stop compulsively reworking the budget, and I can't promise that you can go back to vanlife anytime soon, but with your help, I do promise to chill out a little and trust that it'll work out. 

P.S. Part of the reason I'm hyperventilating is that I didn't get that job I interviewed for. Took it a bit hard yesterday. It's probably for the best in some ways, but nevertheless, it's a bummer.

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We Didn't Want To Make This Choice Yet

Stop Trying To Make Normal Happen

Welp. It's the weekend, which is typically when my partner's school prefers to send out long, nail-bitey emails to employees. And sure enough, one showed up in the inbox today.

The gist of it is that they're planning to re-open school by the end of September, calling teachers back to the classroom much sooner than we were predicting. I'm disappointed. Secretly, I was holding out hope that the school and district would decide to limit in-person learning until January 2021. 

Although we'll technically meet Arizona's stated reopening metrics (~5% or less positivity rate, <100/100,000 cases for at least two weeks, COVID test turnaround time of three days or less), Fortysomething and I don't feel ready. From a science-based, data-driven perspective, we just don't think it's a good idea:

1. All of the health professionals I've been listening to, including virologists and epidemiologists, seem to agree that a combination of testing and contact tracing should serve as the foundation of a strong return-to-school plan. Testing and contact tracing are particularly important given the prevalence of asymptomatic COVID transmission. But that's simply not going to happen. Although everyone is expected to wear masks and conduct daily self-administered health checks, nobody - not kids, not teachers, not staff - is required to get tested prior to returning to the building. 

Moreover, there's no plan to test anyone throughout the year or notify potential contacts of those who are diagnosed with COVID. Every time someone asks admin what will happen if a kid or teacher tests positive (will whole classrooms quarantine? For how long?), they deflect or ignore the question.

2. Social distancing will be impossible in many classes. Some kids will continue with online learning (including my kid), but a recent school survey indicates that the majority of students plan to return to the classroom. The fact that the school relaxed enrollment limits this year and ended up with more students than ever makes social distancing all the more challenging.

3. Flu and cold season will ramp up soon. Ah, a potpourri of viruses! To school administrators, this is apparently the perfect time to bring large groups of people together in enclosed, poorly-ventilated, windowless spaces, despite the fact that enclosed, poorly-ventilated, windowless spaces represent the ideal environment for COVID transmission. 

4. It's unnecessary. Our school has already opened its doors to students who need supervision during the day. Everyone else is learning at home. It's a good compromise in that it meets everyone's needs while maintaining social distancing as much as possible. Online learning hasn't been perfect, but overall, it's been going pretty well. Why does everyone need to come back to the classroom?

5. I'm not convinced the school is considering vulnerable populations at all. Racial and ethnic minority groups appear to be at increased risk in this pandemic, for various reasons. We have kids who come into school from the nearby reservation... the same reservation that's lost hundreds of people to COVID since the spring. We have kids who live in multigenerational households. We have kids who live with their grandparents.

Who's making the decision to reopen? Rich white people, mostly. (Oop, I just checked. Everyone in our charter's leadership is white. Wow! Yay diversity! Hurrah representation!) 

6. Also, some teachers and staff have pre-existing conditions that put them at greater risk. No worries. Admin doesn't care, so it isn't an issue!

7. My partner and I are in our 40s. Yes, we're both healthy (knock on wood), but COVID seems to have a greater impact on people the older they are. There are plenty of examples of people in their 30s, 40s, and beyond who've had bad reactions to the virus (hospitalization, debilitation, death) even if they had no prior medical conditions. And even relatively minor bouts of COVID seem to leave a lasting physiological mark on most people who catch the virus. We certainly can't eliminate our risk, but we'd like to minimize it.

8. If he goes back, we won't see anyone else the entire year. I already don't know when I'll feel comfortable seeing my family or my partner's family again, but I certainly won't feel comfortable with it if we're at greater risk of exposing them to the virus.

Drawing the Line and Getting Prepared

Back in early July, I wrote a post about how we're not into playing Russian roulette with our lives

That hasn't changed. The plan remains the same: walk away when teachers are required to return to the classroom. It still seems like the most logical choice for us given the situation. 

I was just hoping we'd have a few more months to prepare.

I've spent the better part of today fighting off a panic attack. I'm trying to keep my cool by reminding myself that we will (probably) be okay if and when he quits:

-We have about six months of expenses in savings.

-He's got several contract jobs in the works for this fall.

-I still have my part-time job.

-I'm searching for additional job opportunities and have made at least a little headway on that (still waiting to hear back about the results of my recent interview).

-He's going to see if a leave of absence is an option.

-He'll be less stressed out and probably sleep better. 

But nevertheless, being in this position is anxiety-provoking.

This isn't where we'd be if it weren't for this damn pandemic. This isn't a choice we wanted to make. And financially, it sucks: we'll be losing employer-sponsored health insurance and retirement.

Sometimes I sit back and think about the frontier of this current moment. All of it is new. All of it feels uncertain and dangerous. The right choices are often not apparent. We weren't ready for this; we didn't know we'd have to make these decisions. And we have no real leadership to guide us. 

It didn't have to be this way, but here we all are, muddling through, doing our best, and crossing our fingers and toes that our tough choices in this moment will work out for us in the long run.

I hope we're making the right choice. I hope we feel confident in that choice. And if you're in a similar boat, I'm hoping you'll feel peace with your decisions, too.

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Mommin' It Up, Pandemic Style


It's 10 AM and so far this morning I have:

-run two loads of laundry

-unloaded the dishwasher

-washed the breakfast plates

-badgered the Kiddo to brush his teeth and get to (virtual) class on time

-cleaned the cat litter and fed the cat

-investigated a missing Target shipment

-checked our bank accounts

-done a smattering of "official" work (grading, etc.) 

Although I'm only a few hours into the day, this list is fairly representative of my daily activities in the COVIDtimes. Add in more cleaning, some baking, some managing of finances, some schoolwork assisting, some lunch making, and some working out, and that pretty much covers it. 

One thing I'm struggling with right now is, well, this. When I went to graduate school 10 years ago, I did so intending to land a full-time job that would mostly or entirely cover our expenses. Our plan was for me to be the breadwinner - a solid idea, considering that Fortysomething loves doing introverty, stay-at-home-dad things with a sprinkle of contract work when he feels like it, and I like being part of an organization (in theory) and having Society-Approved, Overachiever-Friendly Important Tasks to do. When I graduated and immediately landed a tenure-track job, I felt like everything I'd strived for was falling into place. I couldn't wait to be a career lady! 

Until my brain was like, Yeah, sorry, this isn't going to work.

What we've realized since then is that Fortysomething is better than I am at managing a full-time job. He doesn't suffer from anxiety and depression. He's never experienced insomnia. He isn't prone to panic attacks in the middle of meetings. When he makes a mistake on the job, he doesn't obsess over it. When someone tries to micromanage him, he nods, smiles, and proceeds to ignore them for as long as possible. Unexpected policy changes don't send his blood pressure skyrocketing. He doesn't love what he does, but he also knows how to compartmentalize.

So Fortysomething and I have switched roles. He's now the breadwinner by far, with his exhausting combination of teaching and contracting, and I am very much the active parent/homemaker, at least during the day. In the COVID era, this division of labor makes sense for us. He has time-consuming jobs that make money, and we need to sock away as much money as possible to ensure we can ride out this pandemic without backsliding financially. My income-generating job doesn't take much time, so I have more opportunities to cover the other necessary tasks in our household. 

(Important disclaimer: Fortysomething also contributes to the chores, including recycling, taking out the trash, putting in the grocery orders, and making dinner several times a week. I think our physical division of labor is pretty fair, though like many women, I take on more of the emotional labor.)

And let me say this: logically, I know the way we've divvied up our responsibilities is ideal, at least for now. I know I'm contributing in a meaningful way by ensuring that our household and finances are operating smoothly during this stressful time. I take pride in creating an environment that is clean, comfortable, and relaxing so that when they're done working at their computers all day, they can kick back and chill. I realize that having one parent who is always available to help out with online schooling is a major privilege. Besides, I love being a mom, and I enjoy managing our home life.

Sometimes, though, I still feel like it doesn't matter very much, like I'm futzing around all day while other people do Important Things That Contribute To Society. People can tell me that what I'm doing does matter, but sometimes it's hard to believe that. Maybe it's because I grew up in a very traditional household with a homemaker mom and engineer dad, and I saw day in and day out who got the respect and who didn't. Or maybe it's because I equate meaningful work with money, and the people doing supposedly meaningful work at home don't get paid anything for what they do. Maybe it's because everyone I graduated with is now doing cool research projects and applying for tenure/promotion while I'm baking cookies and trying to determine why the Internet has suddenly gone out.

My floundering career has been low-key bothering me for the past five years. The effects of the pandemic seem to have cast those insecurities into much sharper relief in my mind, especially in the weeks since Fortysomething and the Kiddo have gone back to work and school. I'm trying to find a way to move on. Sometimes where you thought you'd end up and where you worked really hard to end up isn't where you end up. That's life, but it takes a while to come to terms with it.

Has anyone else had this sort of experience? That is, has the pandemic forced you to grapple with issues that were previously lurking beneath the surface? Or tossed you into a role you weren't planning to occupy?

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