College: A hub of intellectualism, yet a dead end for financial stability.
If anyone should know about this unfortunate fact of life, it's me.
In my career as an undergrad, I've developed an extremely bad habit of exhausting every money avenue that is before me. It hasn't been pretty, to say the least.
Through my trusty debit card, I discovered the horrors of overdraft fees several hundred negative dollars later.
Campus Cash? More like Campus Can't.
I'm too scared to even look at credit card applications, merely due to the further financial horrors I'll inflict on myself.
At one point last semester, my sole form of currency was a Target gift card. Tragic, but true.
How did it come to this, you must wonder. How did a smart, quasi-educated and otherwise street-smart guy like myself fall into this money trap?
I could blame my fabulous grandmother and grandfather, my second set of parents, whose mountain of debt is second only to their spectacular spending habits.
Lunches, dinners, gas in the car. Grandma and Grandpa wouldn't let anything get in the way of showering their eldest grandson with lavish fun.
I could blame my own parents, whose teetering on the brinks of financial ruin kept not only them, but also me up at night with worry. But somehow we always came through on top.
The blame game can only get so old. Nature, nurture, what's the real difference in the end?
I may never know where my problems with money originated. Or why whenever I have it, I feel an incredible urge to spend.
My only real reason can be that life is too short to not be enjoyed. I'm young, I'm learning and most of the time, I'm pretty hungry. Why on earth should I let my personal gratification be impaired by my low bank account?
I learned a long time ago to never put off what can bring you joy. Therefore, when I step into Barnes & Noble, I know I will be leaving with my heart through the roof with bliss, regardless of the e-mails and low balance alerts I'll be receiving from the bank later.
I'm under no illusions that the jig will soon be up. Eventually I'm going to have to get my act together, get a job and start taking real care of myself. Graduation and the real world loom closer with each passing day – not to mention I have parents, a sister and future nieces and nephews I plan to support one day.
I've got my work cut out for me.
My friends may joke about how they'll happily provide for me. I may or may not accept. I also may or may not need it.
The fact of the matter is, money is not – and ideally never will be – a principle that controls my life. No number in a bank account will ever state how much I am worth. Too many people are caught up in a ridiculous scheme, a race against time to stack up as many dollars as possible.
Rarely, I have discovered, does that lead to real happiness.
It would be a lie if I didn't admit to having my own dreams of wealth. Naïve as this sounds, I would hope if I do come across great fortune, it would be through some type of merit.
For example, perhaps I can discover a long lost rich aunt, or save an old woman that turned out to be a spectacular millionaire and her dog from a fire.
Yes, the life I've chosen for myself doesn't typically lead to wealth and prosperity. I have dedicated my life to the arts. Careers in the arts are sparse or nonexistent, marred with long spells of waiting tables and/or staying at your parent's house until the manifestation of your next big break.
Guess what, everyone? I don't care.
I've been lucky enough to know what I want to do since I was a little kid. I want to do something I like – have a job that will make me happy to wake up in the morning. I chose to be an English major based on love and interest, in that order.
Whether I live at the peak of luxury, with 10 cars and a maid, or the depths of poverty and ruin, selling my watch for my next meal, it doesn't make a difference to me.
As long as I'm living my life, doing what I love, smiling, content with my work and happy, I'm set.
And, that, in my opinion, is where the most priceless self worth is found.
E-mail: shane.fallon@ubspectrum.com
