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I recall the days where I naively declared I’d never get a credit card, never mind going into debt with one. In hindsight, I must admit that was cute.
If we’re being real and present in the now, the truth is that I’ve paid off my Capital One card more times than I care to admit. I’ve transferred a balance in hopes of wriggling out from under the massive pile of debt, and then turned around and racked up interest on the next card. More critical than the obvious lack of funds in my bank account are my savvy avoidance tactics have hindered my credit. In just 12 months, I went from a score of 648 to 566 and that’s me kindly adding the 11 point bump that I was notified minutes ago. And yet, this debt riddled reality was not one that I could’ve ever foreseen.
Well. I could've but things look a lot prettier inside my sparkly rose colored shades.
You see, like many others I don’t do finances … I avoid them and pray them away like the good people of Christ. It wasn’t until recently, when asked to find the bleak little column on my statement. The one that informed me just how many years of indentured servitude I’ve got to put in, with the promise of minimum monthly payment on my $4,000 balance. To spare myself the math and you the mystery, I'll tell you: that's 18 years! My unborn, unthought of fetuses will be headed to college in that time.
(Kanye forgot to mention that the ultimate gold diggers are creditors).
Turns out I had the premises of prayer f*cked up and I’ve quite literally been writing checks that my ass can’t cash — living off borrowed time and coin.
The scary part is that had I not seen the impending interest and endless years it would take me to pay it down, I might still be logging into my banking apps with my eyes squinted closed, moving my fingers at olympian pace to avoid seeing the balance. And, if you’d asked me a month ago I might have told you that protesting my mobile banking apps were the ultimate act of self care.
But also, if you’ve been where I’m at, you're not judging because you know the defeated feeling of seeing your money dwindle into the pits of hell is beyond anxiety evoking. Still, in an act of accountability I put myself on the altar with no pennies or prayers to my name … just pending transactions and a much-needed penance. Living outside my means via travel, take out, impromptu home goods purchases, and most importantly excuses those, those are the culprits responsible for this downturn. But in taking ownership for my role in my financial demise, I seek out the guidance of those who’ve seen and survived the financial ruins of their roaring 20s. After all, successful people work smarter not harder and I would say garnering all the help I can—even in the form of wisdom is a lot smarter than trying to figure this all out on my own. On all accounts, they struggled trying to these things out so I wouldn't have to struggle just as hard.
More often than not, financial literacy is a lesson learned the hard way but I’ve had enough hard. I'm ready to get shit done and do it the right way. If our 20s are truly for learning and self exploration, I've learned enough to know I can't be doing this same shit when the learning curb of this decade is no longer available. This had to happen to me now for no reason greater than my credit wasn't f*cking with it and yet there are people who make it well into their middle age avoiding bank statements, taking back clothes to avoid overdrafts, and generally living check-to-check. But me? I'm not built for that.
Something has got to give and I'm thinking that something might be me.
It's as someone said on Twitter (yes, Twitter), life gets a whole lot better when you stop thinking that everything is happening TO you and understand that it's happening FOR you—for you to grow, for you to get better, for you to learn from your mistakes.
You just have to be open, ready, and willing to receive this change and the lessons that come with it. But, you can't do any of that when you're focused on ducking and dodging your problems in any form—not even bills and bank statements.