broke (a confession)

Money has been flowing like water through my fingers. An expensive month I could say, kicking a pebble on the ground with the toe of a dirty sneaker, and I wouldn’t be wrong. But I still feel like a failure. There were many months when the flow appeared abundant, and I spent and I spent. Some costs were unavoidable, others were simply for pleasure, to relish in the joys of the physical world. Now, savings gouged, I feel queasy. I could have done better.

My shoulders slump with the responsibilities of the middle-aged: it seems that everything matters more now.  My choices impact not only my future and my partner’s future but my daughter’s as well. I say I desire fiscal responsibilty and frugality at home but I promptly trip over hedonistic roots and stumble on my way to a more free financial future and meaningful life. There is so much to want in this world.  I want the pizza and beer.  I want the coffee in a paper cup. I want the shoes. I want the bike.

But more importantly, I want peace. I want love. I want undisturbed sleep, I want to worry less. I want more time with you. I want more time with myself. I want to make fewer decisions. I want a healthier, safer world. These things are harder to come by. So I get the pizza and beer, the coffee, the shoes, the bike. But the wanting continues.