Wearing My Debt On My Sleeve

I just took a seasonal, part-time job at Banana Republic a couple months ago. I'd been throwing around the idea of getting another job for a while. I already have two, but hey, I'm an American and that's how we roll.

Because we have to.

But I can't really complain about this job because as it turns out, I freaking looooooove it. I can't speak for every BR store, but I've fallen in love with the staff and management. On my second day, one of my co-workers, a woman in her fifties, came up to me and said, "You are going to LOVE working here." But I was already sold. Our store attracts the nicest customers. There is no stress. Lots of smiles and laughter. I help women match earrings to necklaces, I fold sweaters, and I go home. 

I thought I was going to hate this. I thought I was going to be working with jaded, underpaid zombies who were sick of waiting on pinched-faced, entitled customers all day. So when I was shopping at BR one day, they were having their hiring blitz for the holidays and they approached me about the possibility of working there as temporary seasonal help. I rolled my eyes at first because customer service is NOT my strong point. I've always thought I'm better suited locked in a back room with a computer where my mouth can't get me in trouble. (Indeed, on my second shift at Banana, I used the term "sperm dumpster." It was not to a customer, and it was met with riotous laughter, but still.....what is wrong with me....) One of my first jobs out of college was at the Cheesecake Factory and I should have been fired so, so many times. I once offered an asshole customer a cup of turpentine. Another time, a customer asked me if I liked my job and I looked him dead in the eye and said, "I don't give a shit about my job. Are you ready to order?"

I'm not proud of that behavior today. But then again, there are very few things I can point to in my early 20's and say "I'm proud of that! Go me!" I came away from that experience thinking that waitressing was about the worst job I could have chosen, and wary of people in general. My job choices slowly had less and less contact with other people. By the time I walked into BR that day, I had two jobs and two volunteer gigs - all four were telecommuting positions. So I decided to give BR - and myself - another chance, and I'm glad I did. 

Now, you might be asking yourself why I went through all of this if I already have two jobs. A third? My husband has a child from his first marriage, but we have no children. We have a nice house, but it's nothing fancy. We don't travel extensively, the only expensive jewelry I have is my wedding ring, and we don't covet fancy cars. My husband is a successful veterinarian. Why do I need three jobs?

Because the four years at the University of Minnesota Veterinary School has put us in almost a half million dollars in debt. 

So far. 

With $26,000 in interest tacked on every year, it's growing rapidly. And then that interest generates interest, and so on until the number gets so big it's not even real to me any more. It started out as a $300,000 loan in 2012 (plus about $50,000 for Will's undergrad degree, because you can't just walk into a veterinary program without first getting a bachelor's), but because a starting salary for a veterinarian in our area is about $50,000, our debt is growing. Fast.

My husband and his fellow veterinary students literally had to take a class to learn how to live in debt the rest of their lives. (I keep meaning to call the U of M to ask how much that class cost us with as little sarcasm as I can muster.) Even the school is beyond pretending like this is something that can ever realistically be paid off for most everybody. They know they're setting up their students to fail. That they're setting up Americans to fail. That they're setting up the future workforce of our country to fail. 

I was raised to never talk about money: good, bad, or otherwise. You didn't talk about how much money you made, how much you owed, how much you donated, or how much you spent. You didn't show off and you didn't complain. So it was hard for me to talk about this. 

At first. 

But now, my conversations look something like this:

"How come you took a third job?"
"Because we're $500,000 in debt from four years of veterinary school."

"Why did you take another job?"

"Because the government has put us in almost a half million dollars in debt."

"Hey, I like your new haircut!"
"Thanks! We will never be able to pay off our school loans as long as we live."

As I get older and wiser (hmmm... "wiser" may be pushing it), I'm learning that I'm embarrassed about things I should not be embarrassed about. Like my "friend" who tried to force himself on me in college? I was embarrassed about that until.....well, until I personally confronted it just a couple days ago. Why the fuck it took me almost twenty years to realize that he should be the one that's not only embarrassed, but also filled with shame while he sits in a jail cell.....

Likewise, some people have tried to embarrass us about this: "Well, he didn't have to become a veterinarian. He chose that. You guys chose to put yourselves in this situation."

Okay. Let's look at that. 

First, that's all true. Will didn't have to become a veterinarian. But it was his dream. About six months into his career as a full-fledged doctor, he came home and said, "I feel like I'm doing what I was meant to do. When I get to work, I feel like I'm coming home." So yeah, he didn't have to become a veterinarian. So you score one point, nay-sayers: He certainly could have abandoned his dream and chosen a career that would be less fulfilling and probably paid off his school loans in fifteen years. 

But remember this: If you feel comfortable saying this to us, you better get comfortable saying it to your kids. 

"Mommy, I want to be a veterinarian someday!"

"Well, honey, you certainly can! And what a great dream, because you I know how much your adore  Tootlebuttons. But you'll be in debt the rest of your life because we can't raise $400,000 [I'm adjusting for inflation] by the time you're old enough to go to school. But I think we can afford for you to be an accountant! Doesn't that sound like fun? C'mon, grab Tootlebuttons and I'll show you what a spreadsheet is."

Why anybody would think the solution to all this is to reserve certain professions for the wealthy and privileged is shocking to me. That is a shitty, shitty solution. If you don't realize how shitty a solution that is, again: try explaining it to your kids. 

I realized that my embarrassment about our debt and my reluctance to talk about it was making me complicit in allowing this go on. Many people don't realize how bad the situation is getting and they're in for a surprise when their kids reach college age. (Actually, it's the kids who are in for a surprise because all they've heard their whole lives is "You can be whatever you want if you just work hard enough." If they have to learn that's bullshit the same time they learn Santa isn't real, that's going to be a tough week.) I realized part of the reason for people's ignorance is because the shame of debt has zipped our lips.

And the truth is, I'm still embarrassed. I can't help that yet. It's an automatic reaction. But what I won't do is allow the embarrassment to silence me. 

Because like my "friend" in college, I should not be the one who's embarrassed. There are people with the power to do something about this and they won't until we make them. They're the ones who should be embarrassed, filled with shame. And sitting alongside his ass in jail.

My name is Tauni and I have almost a half million dollars in debt. And I am pissed off. 

My Dear John Letter to America

Dear America,

Look. We have to talk.

I don't want to be one of those couples who go years with their arms crossed, in tense silence, with no warmth or affection. And I think this is the stage we're at: constantly angry, bitter, resentful, frustrated.

It didn't always feel this way. But this was an arranged marriage, remember, so we obviously didn't know each other in the beginning.

I learned as a child that you were the best match I could have possibly hoped for - the biggest and most powerful and bestest ever country of all time. And I loved you the way I loved my mommy: with eyes that saw no flaws. I named my doll Nancy after Nancy Reagan, the closest thing I had to a queen. There was no gray in my world. I was safe, happy, people spoke of freedom ad nauseam....... this was going to be a great relationship. Forever.

That's what I thought, I really did.

As I've gotten older, our differences have gradually come between us. As I moved on from childhood, my pride in you dwindled, not only because of your faults, which seemed to be expanding the more I learned about you, but because I realized how fucking stupid it was to take pride in something that was handed to me with no work or effort on my part, just luck.

Okay, okay, by now you're wondering what's really going on, why is this all coming out now, this is so sudden, we've been so happy in the past. And you're probably a little suspicious, and I am beating around the bush a little, I apologize. The truth is..... I have met someone else.

You're furious and I understand. You're probably yelling "Traitor!" But I am not, I assure you. The truth is...... it's not me, it's you.

See, I'm not a traitor. I just realized that I am the only one trying to save this marriage.

I've been telling you for over two decades how important my values are to me: education, life, freedom, health, peace, in no particular order. And you have been promising me for decades that you would learn to value these things along with me. You promised me you'd change.

Well, time's up. Thirty-nine years is all I'm willing to wait. I'm at an age now where I'm not willing to give away years while you try to figure out why I matter. (fyi: I matter because I'm a person. You know I've been trying to tell you that for YEARS, even though I know the questions you're going to ask next: "But what color are you? What's your sexual orientation? Are you rich? Are you poor? Are you educated? Are you fuckable? Are you Christian? Are you an immigrant? Do you have developmental disabilities? Do you have mental health issues? What gender are you? How big is your house?" And then I would respond, "NO, DUDE, I matter because I'm a HUMAN BEING." And then you'd get a nosebleed and we would have to continue the conversation later. Remember? This was just last week.)

I have tried so hard to get you to change. To help you understand why my values are important to me. I've called representatives, senators, I've written letters, donated money, given my time, attended protests, signed petitions..... I really feel like I've done all I can except run for public office, but my anxiety disorder would make such an endeavor about as pleasant as killing myself with a blender.

I can feel your eyes scanning this letter, wondering who the other guy is. And yes, I'm afraid your suspicion is founded.

It's Canada.

Now, I realize you're probably angry, and I understand that. But you really have no right to be angry with me. Because like I said, it's not me. It's you.

Maybe you remember some of these past conversations?

Me: What would happen if I got cancer?
You: Do you have insurance?
Me: Yes.
You: Then you'll probably just go bankrupt from deductibles and co-pays and out-of-network providers that will most certainly be assigned to you at some point. But don't worry, you won't be like, millions of dollars in debt because you have insurance. You're lucky!
Me: What if I didn't have insurance or money?
You: Eat shit and die for all I give a fuck.

Me: What happens if I get killed by a gun?
You: I'll do my best to make sure the person who kills you is put in jail. Then I will fully rally around the NRA to ensure that other people will be killed in the future.
Me: What if I got shot and didn't have insurance?
You: Oh, well then I'd piss on you before I went to rally around the NRA. But don't worry, I'd still try to get the person who shot you put in jail. Unless a police officer shoots you, then it's cool. But you don't have to worry about that, you're white, right?

Me: You're always bragging about your American dream. My husband's dream was to be a veterinarian. He attended a state university for four years for veterinary school. Those four years cost us $350,000 + $26,000 in interest every year, so now it's up to nearly half a million dollars and quickly growing. His starting salary as a doctor was $50,000. How can you claim to value education and then set up your students, the future leaders of you, to certain failure and condemn them to a lifetime of massive debt?
You: *burp*

Me: I'm a woman.
You: Are you fuckable?
Me: I think so?
You: Go away if you're not fuckable.
Me: That seems really weird.
You: You're still talking but I don't care about the words that come out of your mouth if you're not fuckable.
Me: Really?
You:

Me: I want rights to my own body.
You: HAAAAAAAA HAAA HA HA HA HAAAAAA HA *giggle cough snort* OMG MY FACE HURTS!!!! HAAAAA HA HA HA STOP STOP I CAN'T TAKE IT YOU ARE *snort* JUST THE FUNNIEST HAAAAAAAA HAAA HA HA HA I CAN'T WAIT TO TELL THE GUYS THEY ARE GOING TO DIE

ME: I care immensely about the LGBT community. Do you----
You: HOLY FUCKING SHIT WE LET YOU WHINEY BASTARDS GET MARRIED SHUT UP AND GO AWAY and seriously don't touch me or look at me. I don't want God to think I've gone gay.

Me: Oh yeah, about that God thing. Isn't there supposed to be a separations of church and state?
You: COMMIE!

Me: I'm not Christian.
You: *sigh* All right, I didn't want it to come to this. I'm going to have to kill you because you are a terrible person and a worthless human being.

Me: I value science immensely and staunchly believe it should be taught in our schools.
You: But we don't want to teach lies. We want to teach the Bible. Oh my God, look at how distressed you are! Come on, no tears. I'm sorry I'm laughing, but girls are so cute when they're mad.

Me: My employer grabbed my butt when I was leaving the office. It freaked me out and now I'm embarrassed and ashamed and I don't know what to do.
You: Slut.

Me: I want to be paid a dollar like Jeff.
You: Here's seventy-seven cents. Be grateful.

Me: Oh my God, these exhausted people fleeing violent countries! Torn to shreds! Children! We have resources to help them! We should!
You: No. I only value children if they're American or in the womb. Unless they're poor. Remember how we just revoked the free lunch program in elementary schools because those lazy motherfuckers wouldn't bring up their grades? Parasites.
Me: I thought you were Christian?
You: *confused* I am. Why?

Me: The environment should be our number one priority because without it, we have no hope.
You: *taking a bath in oil* I keep telling you, I'm working on that. Patience, woman, geez.

Me (in disguise): I'm a rich corporation!
You: *begin cunnilingus*

Look, I know Canada isn't perfect. They have problems and legislation that makes me mad (QUIT BANNING PIT BULLS, MONTREAL!!) and they will continue to make me mad.
But it will still be better. Because my core values fit theirs. If I get cancer, Canada won't tell me to fuck myself. If I want an education, Canada won't outright rob me, set me up to fail, and condemn me to debtor's prison as a reward for all my hard work. The people of Canada elected a person who's first priority was to make his cabinet 50/50 men/women because they value me as a woman. You elected one that brags about his entitlement to my pussy. And they don't pretend to separate church and state. They do.

I know what your saying: You can change! And of course you can. Your next leader could be AWESOME! Really! And honestly, I think your next leader will be awesome because I think there's going to be a swing in the other direction. However, even if you have a fabulous new leader, the citizens that elected your present one will still be there. And they frighten me.

Yes, I used the word frighten. Because I think their ideas are exceedingly dangerous and potentially catastrophic. Waking up every day, knowing they're going to be there in my grocery store, delivering my mail, directing traffic, teaching our children...... it's eating me away and I'm slowly becoming more and more agoraphobic. I feel like my soul has an ache that won't go away because your flaws, America, have overpowered everything good in my eyes.

And it finally dawned on me: What the fuck am I DOING here?

All this time I didn't want to leave because it felt like abandoning my post. I felt, and still feel, a responsibility to stay and fight for change. But the truth is, I'm fighting for a country that literally doesn't care if I die. And I've been trying for so long to explain why I matter, but you're not listening. And even if you start listening some years down the road, it's too late now. I'm not willing to wait any more. I've done my part and now I feel like I need to be with people who value me. In a country that values me.

So we're coming up with a plan to leave. When I was little I thought I was lucky to be born in America, but now I consider myself super duper lucky to be married to a Canadian citizen. We're doing the research, counting the funds, and starting dreams. Don't worry, this won't happen for a few years. Moves like this take time and money, but we're starting the process.

I don't like the story you're telling, America, and I don't want to be a part of your story any more. I don't want to be part of your history. I want out.

So good-bye, America. I'm leaving you.

And I'm taking my pussy with me.

FINE. I'm writing. SEE? I'm writing. THIS IS ME, WRITING!!

My therapist wants me to write. My friends want me to write. My husband wants me to write. Not because they're particularly interested in what I'm going to write (my therapist has never even seen my blog), but because I'm not doing well and they know I do better when I write.

So here I am. Happy, you jerks?

They're 100% correct, of course. I've only written one post in the last year and while that is completely unacceptable, there's also a reason for it.

I'm really, really terrified of what's going on in my head.

And until I write about it, nothing else seems worth writing so I better just face my fear and write it. Which is going to be difficult because now my palms are sweating, dammit. Gross.

So why am I scared? Because nobody is going to like what I have to say.

I've been living my life like a lot of other people: recycling dutifully, making better choices about packaging and locally sourced goods, I've called senators and voted for policy change and signed petitions and donated money, I've argued with relatives about the reality of climate change..... but at the end of the day, my thoughts go like this: "I can rest easy because I know I did my part. I have no control over others and all I can do is what I can do. It's just too bad that none of what I did today matters since we're obviously too flawed to sustain our species and none of us are going to be here soon, anyway.......Oops! Forgot to brush my teeth."

This is a fear unlike one I've ever faced because it's not a phobia and it's not irrational and yet the basis of my fear is so catastrophic that I can't even imagine it. Armageddon-type movies make it seem like a story so far-fetched it couldn't possibly happen without CGI. And yet it's happening in reality as much as it's happening in my head.

But here's the thing: while it's happening to all of us, I feel like it's only happening to me.

Not because of a sense of self-centeredness (which is something I have to call myself out on CONSTANTLY) but because no one else seems to be scared. Well, except maybe Al Gore, but even he doesn't spend his first hour of the day mute and stiff with fear like me before he can coax himself to start the coffee.

I recently read an article about a fabulous resort that's being built. Everyone is SO excited for this resort. I broke one of my rules and read the comments on the article to see what people's reactions were, and they were full of yay: "When will it open??" "It looks BEAUTIFUL!" "Can't wait to take my family there!"

They were just SO excited that a frozen tundra and its "road" had thawed for the first time, so now they can build FINALLY on it. Hurray!!

Am I the only one who reads this article as though we're playing the fiddle while Rome burns?

_____________________

My therapy sessions are insanely frustrating right now. Not for me, but for my therapist. Our talks go like this:

Her: "But why do you feel like this is happening?"
Me: "Irrefutable scientific evidence."

Her: "What if you gave your time to an environmental protection charity?"
Me: "I'm open to that.....I'd have to learn how to find purpose fighting for something I really don't think we can win. Hmmm."

Her: "What do you fear will happen?"
Me: "I don't know exactly what will happen...... I mean, this is the first time we've ever melted the ice caps. But I'm sure the results will be something to fear."

Her: "Do you talk about this with your friends?"
Me: "You mean my friends who all have small children? Do I talk to them about how I think we're going to leave their precious children with a dead planet when they just want to talk to me about how their kid can memorize a song on a piano in under an hour? Um, no, I don't."

Me: "I think of today's efforts to curb climate change like an ambulance. [Warning, extended metaphor upcoming, but stay with me] If you're having a heart attack, you call an ambulance. Since the ambulance doesn't have the appropriate equipment or personnel to administer, say, a triple bypass surgery, their job is to keep your heart beating as long as possible until you get to the hospital. The hospital is the real solution to your problem. The ambulance is the vehicle needed to get you to the solution. I feel like all our current and past efforts to curb climate change aren't the solution, but rather the ambulance ride. I feel like all we're doing is slowing it down slightly while we try to get this motherfucker to the hospital."
Her: "So what happens when we get to the hospital?"
Me: "There isn't a hospital. I think we're all standing around looking at each other hoping someone will build one for us."

Her: "What do you think it would feel like if you could find joy within all of this?"
Me: "I think it would feel like celebrating a new resort being built on a newly thawed tundra."

Her: "Do you have any sense of hope?"
Me: "I really, really, really hope that we don't destroy the planet to the point where life can't continue to thrive and grow in one form or another after we've made it uninhabitable for ourselves. But I sense that isn't the hope you were talking about."

______________________________

All joy feels like denial.

The article about the resort on the thawed tundra was more disheartening to me than any of the "climate experts warn we only have until 2020 to turn this around" type articles because we are at such a precipice. We don't have thirty years to get everyone on board with this. We may not even have a day. Everyone needs to be on the same page to save us now. Right now. But instead of being concerned, people are happy about the new resort and the fact that the tundra is thawing.... and well, we just elected an administration that will gleefully sell our future to the highest bidder, so......

I don't know what to do. I really don't. My husband says, "We've had to face disaster before. Look at the Cold War; everyone thought they were going to die in a nuclear war." And I reply, "But in that scenario, the bombs lay dormant in wait. I feel like the bomb has been launched. But it's dropping very slowly and everyone refuses to look up. And who can blame them? It's far too terrifying."

A part of me really resents the people who can talk about, say, what the music business will look like in a hundred years without giving a second's thought about whether there will be people here to enjoy music at all. And if there are, will they have time to enjoy music or will they be desperately trying to survive on the broken planet we left them? Oh my God, what I would give to have my biggest worry to be whether or not the Beatles will still be relevant in 2150.

I'm doing what I can to stifle the fear: I'm still sober. I've taken up drums. I talk to my husband. We adopted a kitten. I'm planning a great vacation next year. We've increased my meds. Meditation. These things help intermittently. But man, am I struggling. You should see my palms right now, GROOOOSS.

_______________________

Therapist: "How would you live your life if you could let go of this fear? How would your attitude change?"

Me: ".........Smoke 'em if you got 'em. Good luck, folks."