A Post That Is Not About Pregnancy

Today I'm thinking about money. Over the weekend we checked out an open house in our neighborhood - a small, 1950's era house with three little bedrooms, a nice kitchen, and a living room with a fireplace. It had dark wood door frames and glass doorknobs and a kind of creaky charm that reminded me of the house I grew up in. The real estate agent sized us up and told us it was "a great starter home." It was recently reduced in price ... to $740,000.

I felt a kind of reeling despair as we walked away from the house - not because I wanted that particular house so much, just because the expectation that at my stage of life I should be able to afford a mortgage like that is so far removed from the reality. Our combined paychecks would be less than the monthly payments (and that's assuming I go back to work full-time and find some magically free child-care). How can we ever "start"? We'll be tripping over piles of things in a one-bedroom apartment forever. Our child will grow up and go off to college and I'll still be easing open the closet door like there's a tiger in there, fearful of being buried under the avalanche of stuff that I know will leap out.

(I know. The second wolf is supposed to be on a diet. But he's cheating.)

Yesterday I tried to buck myself up a little - it's just real-estate agent talk, after all; it's his job to convince people the house is right for them. Then I read this article about money, which said that a typical college grad can expect to earn a starting salary of $40,000. I've been working ten years and my salary isn't close to that. My first job out of college paid $23,000 and I was glad to get it. I do the other thrifty things the article recommends, like not buying lattes. But I don't think that's going to be enough.

Life is about being happy, not rich, so it's silly to measure myself against this bar and feel frustrated that I fall short. I should just take it one day at a time and seek pleasure in the little things.

But lately (one last kvetch and then I'll stop, I promise!) all the little things have been chores. I've spent the last two weekends working, working, working. It's starting to feel like you can rotate the things, like you can stay home and freelance instead of being a cubicle drudge, or you can dig weeds in the garden instead of cleaning the kitchen floor, but still: all of life is things you don't want to do.