Didu told me a story when I would read books rather than study. It was about a man who gets down from a big expensive car wearing a suit and bumps into a woman. She is his old gf who had dumped him as he never could show determination to do something in his life. Always lost in books and dreams. After a coffee, they parted ways. The gf is kicking herself for having let him go. And then the next scene is of the man who lives in a little pokey room on top of a garage. He is a driver. Still reads books but also drinks.
That stayed with me and still does. I could have been that man son if luck/god/whatever hadn't intervened. So do have a creative side. Paint. Write. Sing. Teach. Photograph. But only after you have financial security. I'm proud of your saving habits. When you told mamma that you will buy your phone from your own money, I was so proud. Seriously. That's my boy.
Keep on it son. I love you.
Creative Jobs Versus Financial Stability - Is Creative Ambition Enough to Get Financial Stability - ELLE
When I was 26, my then roommate was a great scavenger of furniture. One day, she came home with a daybed frame: a twin-size wooden box with only three legs, which is likely why someone had left it on a curb in the first place. The frame sat propped against our dining room wall for the next year, until I moved in with my boyfriend (now husband), and she let us take it. My husband made a fourth leg out of salvaged wood, and we found a cushion that more or less fit the frame in the “as is” section of IKEA. The back was constructed from a mattress pad rolled up and stuffed into a homemade pillowcase, and the whole ensemble was eventually covered with some black corduroy fabric that we bought for $10. All told, I think we spent about $40 on the “couch.” That was six years ago. At the time, I thought of our jury-rigged furniture as a temporary arrangement, a way station on the path to adulthood. Now it serves as a reminder of how slow and grueling the road to financial security can be.
Which brings me to a second anecdote, one that occurred about a year ago. Over a plate of pasta one night, my husband told me that I needed to make more money. I don’t remember what prompted it, whether we were discussing saving for a down payment or planning a vacation, but regardless of the topic, it was hard to argue with his point. If I really wanted the things I said I did, we’d need more than we were bringing in, than I was bringing in, because, as he implied, I was the one who wasn’t really holding up my end.