Debt Collectors and Dementors

I see the caller ID on my iphone- Unknown. Or maybe an 800 number. Or some far away location where I know I don’t know anyone. Like North Dakota- and my blood runs cold.

Should I remain still and hope they go away? They’ll leave a message. And they’ll just keep coming back.

So maybe I should face them, and try to fight. But I know I don’t have the resources. It’s useless.

They are debt collectors. And they are the Dementors of the Muggle World.

The more I think about them, the more I think debt collectors are exactly who she had in mind when J.K Rowling created her terrifying creatures.

-They are faceless.

-They can swoop in at any time.

-They work for someone else.

-They make no distinction between the ones they seek and those who get in the way. Just ask any of my friends or family members who have ever received a call about my debt.

-They make me feel as if I’ll never be cheerful again.

-The more sadness I have in my life, the stronger their effect on me.

-The only thing that can make me feel any better after an interaction with them is chocolate.

Even the names. DEBTCOLLECTORS. DEMENTORS. I can picture Tom Riddle rearranging the letters mid-air with his wand.

I started to make the comparison a few weeks ago after the phone call that put me over the edge. Ryan and I talked about it, and I wondered- if debt collectors are our Dementors… what’s the patronus?

For a while I thought it was something silly. General happy thoughts. Warm fuzzies. I wondered what animal my patronus would be.

But then last Friday I got another phone call. It was a Dementor- er, debt collector. And I felt calm. And so I answered the phone.

The woman on the other end immediately identified herself and the company she represented. And then she told me something surprising- that she had Ryan on conference call. “Hi, sweetheart,” he said.

It turns out she had called him, and then he gave her the usual “My wife takes care of all this and has the numbers” excuse. But when she suggested they call me, something very different happened. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s do that.”

Because this time, I did have all the numbers. It wasn’t just a line. It was the truth. And he knew I would answer. And he knew I would say exactly what I said. “Just a minute. Let me pull up your file.”

“I’m sorry, what did you say that balance was?” I asked. “OK, that’s a little different than what I have here… And you represent Company XYZ? …Can I reach you at 555-123-4567? …Ah, there’s a better number, let me fill that in. …And what was your name? OK, that sounds like a reasonable payment, we can fit that into our budget. We didn‘t plan on it for this month- can we start the first week in June?”

Spreadsheets. Accurate information. A plan. That is my patronus. That knowledge gives me the peace to deal with all of this head-on.

We got off of the phone with a plan that will have the credit card paid-off in seven months. I moved the debt from the “Need to set-up payment plan” list to the “Making payments” snowball list. And the details become clearer and clearer.

In a few years, the Ministry of Magic will be unable to find any fault with me, and the Dementors will have no choice but to slink away. And then I will have a different patronus: I won’t owe anything to anyone. Take that, big ugly black-cloaked creatures.

Spread Sheets and Alcohol

We've had this pile for as long as we've been married. Oh, sure, every once in a while it gets sorted and organized. But then I don't do anything with the contents, and it builds up again. No, it's not the laundry. (Well, we have that pile, too. That's just not our topic of discussion for today.) It's the bills.

Our current pile has been building up since we moved to Greenwich. I've moved it from the top of the bar by the front door, to the bedroom, to the stand in the hallway, to the drawer in the bar by the door, (I had to shove. It was getting big) back to the bedroom, and finally, to the table in the dining room. This final location meant four things:

1. We lost use of our dining room.

2. I could always see it, causing major anxiety.

3. Others could see it, making me hesitate to extend invitations.

4. Lily pulled the papers down and spread them all over the room several times a week.

The problem with this pile is that once it was organized... then what? I couldn't afford to pay-off the debts, I had grown tired of arguing about reasonable payment plans with debt-collectors. So they just piled up again. Physically, and emotionally.

Then on Friday, I knew what to do. Ryan was asleep on the couch, suffering with the stomach flu. Lily was in bed, presumably for the night. So I put the pile into a large box, poured myself a drink (a screwdriver with a little flavored seltzer, if you were wondering) and went to work.

Step one, figure out which envelopes were duplicates. I can't imagine the money some of these companies would save if they just didn't send so much mail. I knew almost everything in the pile had a friend. So, I sorted. And the result looked like the second picture above. (Note. I tried many times to get the pictures to be right here. Why didn't it work? Anyone?)

So they were sorted. And it was overwhelming. And I took a break and texted some close friends and poured another drink. I needed to get information from these papers- not just sort them. I needed to know how much I owed, and to whom. And I needed to know how to contact those people.

And here's where I reveal a big secret.

I'm actually pretty good at math. And. I sort of understand Microsoft Works spreadsheets. I wouldn't put it on my resume or anything. But for someone who has never been taught formally, I have copied from enough samples that I can kinda sorta make my own now.

But the emotional hurdles have always been too much for me when it came to finances, so I just pretended that I didn't understand. Lies. I understood. It just scared me.

So I started a spreadsheet. And for each pile of debts I found the most current statement. I recycled all but the most current, and put the info into the spreadsheet. The result- the first picture above. (I understand spread sheets. I do NOT understand why my pictures are in a crazy order.)

I was then able to get the total we owed, (a terrifying number. Good thing I had those two drinks...) I could sort them from smallest balance to largest, have all the information in one place, and have the numbers available in a way I can use. I know what our minimum payments are, and I know when we can start to make those minimum payments. (Soon, but not immediately.)

It was a lot of work. And a lot of stress. And a lot of vodka. But now I know. And as G.I. Joe told the children of the 80's, "knowing is half the battle..."

It's All in the Timing- Part 2

This whole financial stuff is a lot to process. Yesterday when I posted my blog, I forgot some very important timing information.

We have a goal. A very specific goal. We want all of our debt to be gone by the end of 2015. That would seem impossible if you knew how much my student loans were. But first of all, mathematically, it is absolutely possible. And second, it is just too convenient of a goal.

As my first very first blog indicates, my life has fallen into neat decades. I know the world doesn't really work that way. I know it's a coincidence. But.

In 2015:

-I will turn 40.

-Ryan and I will celebrate our 15th wedding anniversary.

-Lily will start first grade.

-All of our debt will be gone. All of it.

After that, the retirement and college savings can begin. Frankly, I had assumed it was too late. We all have heard stories about people who start saving in their twenties. I just thought that ship had sailed. Then I saw the charts in "Total Money Makeover" that indicated how much a person should save monthly for retirement depending on starting age. And there it was. 40. And it wasn't even way down at the bottom of the list like a Point of No Return.

The next encouraging chart had a similar savings plan for college educations. And there was age 6. Sort of towards the top. Not too late.

So not only is it time to start, it will be a great time to finish. Ready.... go!

It's All in the Timing

Last week after I posted my blog about debt, I received several private messages. It seems there were a lot of people out there who understood where I was coming from. Two of the messages really caught my attention, because they suggested the same book- "Total Money Makeover" by Dave Ramsey. One of my friends even went so far as to send me a copy. They both said it had changed their lives, and I anxiously awaited my package from Amazon.

But when it arrived, something crazy happened. My husband read a book.

Don't get me wrong. My husband is extremely intelligent and extremely literate. He just gets bored easily. But something about this book captured his attention. I was a little irritated, truth be told. The book had been sent to be. Not to mention, I became a book widow for an entire weekend.

By Sunday evening he emerged from behind the book really fired-up. "We need to do this" he said. I told him I would have a stronger opinion about that when he allowed me to read MY book. And so I did. And my opinion is.... we need to do this.

Dave Ramsey's book outlines a step-by-step method for getting out of debt. It's rough, it takes sacrifice, but it works. And we're not just talking about those pesky credit cards, either. (As ours are minimal. If that's all we needed to do, we could do it on our own in a few months.) We're talking car payments, student loans, even mortgages. And then it outlines planning for retirement and college and just general wealthy living. As freelancers, this is stuff that just seemed out of reach.

After reading "Total Money Makeover" and starting to work out our plan, I highly recommend it to anyone who's ready. In fact, if you decide to get it and read it and follow his plan, I'd love to work on it together. (I've already had several conversations with my friend who sent the book. It's a lot to process, emotionally, and having a strong support system is key.) However. It's all in the timing.

This book suggests radical life changes, and it has to be the right time. Fortunately for us, it is.

You need to be really angry about your debt. Angry enough to make huge changes. Obviously, I was angry enough to write a blog about it. So. Anger. Check.

You need to be willing to sit down and figure out a really specific budget and follow it. We've been doing this in our household since January. We write down everything- every cup of coffee, every toll, every load of laundry. Every penny is accounted for. So. Budget. Check.

You need to give up using your credit cards entirely. We haven't used ours in years. OK, it's because they've been maxed-out. But still. No credit cards. Check.

You need to be willing to "live like no one else" and not try to keep up with the Joneses. We live in one of the wealthiest cities in the country. We have no hope of keeping up with the Joneses. And when it comes to living like no one else, well, currently my fingernails are painted with a fishnet pattern. So. Comfort with living like no one else. Check.

You need to be willing to give up expensive fun for a while. Have you ever gone to a restaurant with a two-year-old? Have you ever gone on vacation with a two-year-old? Have you ever gone to the movies with a two-year-old? On the other hand, have you ever spent a Saturday afternoon at the park with a two-year-old? Suddenly this doesn't seem like a sacrifice as much as just good common sense. We're choosing to give some things up during the one time in our lives when those things are difficult anyway. So. Give up expensive fun. Check.

You need to be willing to drive an inexpensive used car. Uh... check.

We were ready, that was clear. But the first step is getting current on all debts. Frankly, I didn't even know what was out there. And there was one loan- my student loan from NYU- that scared the bejeezus out of me.

And then yesterday my phone rang. A few hours after I had finished reading. It was from "Unknown." I took a deep breath. We're going to have to do this eventually, so here we go. It was from the company representing our very biggest loan. That really scary loan from my Not-Quite-Ivy-League graduate degree. My loan had just gotten to this guy's desk... yesterday.

More on my conversation with Mr. So-And-So later, but the point was the timing. Just as I was feeling angry and confident and ready, God gave me the opportunity to face the scariest part.

It's all in the timing, and for us, the time is NOW.

Take Your Sour Grapes and Make Some Whine

Or, Why I Got Up to Watch the Royal Wedding

Sometimes I wonder if some of you will ever be happy. I can't believe how many facebook posts there have been about being relieved the wedding "nonsense" is over. You know how annoyed you are hearing about the wedding? That's how annoyed I am hearing you whine about the wedding.

Here's the deal. I don't know William and Kate. I'm fairly certain I'll never meet them. I'm not British. I'm not so very into the Royal Family. I don't work in fashion. I'm not a wedding planner.

But.

I don't watch the news. I turn it off. It's so sensationalized. So depressing. It's too much for me

And this week, media all around the world focused on two people falling in love and getting married.

I'm sorry- why are we complaining about that?

People all over the world were celebrating something positive. Something happy. Something lovely.

Pour me some coffee, I'm in.

And that is all I have to say about that.

Oh No, They Can't Take That Away From Me

Or, Why in the World I Would Write a Blog Series about Debt...

I’ve been crying really hard for about two hours. I know there are people who would rather I not share that, as my blogs tend to be more positive and hopeful.

But last week during a rare therapy session, I was discussing how I understand who I am. And I am a person who shares. I write to make myself understand, and I write to share my story with others in hopes that they will see they’re not alone. And so.

I’ve been crying really hard for about two hours.

It started with a phone call from South Carolina. I am not expecting any phone calls from South Carolina, so I didn’t pick up. But who knows? It could be a South Carolina transplant who now lives in New York. So I listened to the message. As expected, it was a debt collector.

She didn’t say that on the message, of course. “Hi Mindy! This is Jennifer (inaudible last name). Could you give me a call when you get a chance?” The fact that she called me Mindy was extremely disconcerting, as anything official says Melinda.

But I was feeling strong today. So you know what? Fine. Let’s talk.

The conversation wasn’t so terrible for a while. And it turns out she wasn’t calling about my debt, it was Ryan’s. I told her we knew, it bothered us, we were working on it, we didn’t have it. She offered me a reduction in the overall price if we paid it in full. You know the drill. But after a while, we were just talking in circles.

Me: Yeah. I know. That would be great. But we don’t have it. We’re trying.

Her: But it will save you money.

Me: It doesn’t matter. We don’t have it.

Her: Why do you get a loan to pay this off? (Yes. Seriously. That was her suggestion.)

Me: I’m not going in to further debt to pay off a debt. Can we please just talk about a payment plan?

Her: But this will save you money.

Me: It doesn’t matter. We don’t have it.

Her: Could you ask your family?

Me: No. How about a payment plan? I called you, remember? We want to pay it off, but can’t pay it in full.

Her: But this will save you money.

You get the idea.

But some of the things she was saying were, to be honest, truly hurtful. She asked why we had gone into default in the first place. While this was kind of hilarious to me, as if the possible explanation was that we just decided one day to stop paying for things, it also hurt. And it really hurt when she told me over and over that we just weren’t willing to do anything about it. Didn’t I call her? Didn’t I tell her we could make payments? I just wasn’t willing to do it her way.

Soon, I was crying. Naturally. I finally got her to say “OK, I’m gonna let you go for today.” (Yep. I got a debt collector to hang up first.) But when we got off of the phone, I just cried even harder.

I hate being in debt. Ryan and I both do. Everyone does. And today was my breaking point.

I know that our debt isn’t much different than the debt of many of our friends. It’s about student loans, and bad decisions, and changes in financial situations. And we all feel guilty. And we all lose sleep. And we all want to do something about it. And the truth is, there isn’t a ton we can do about it. We’re barely hanging on as it is.

But. There are some things we could do. And we’re not doing them. It feels too big. It feels like if we can’t fix it all, why bother?

I called Ryan and told him how upset I was. And I sent Jackie a text and told her how upset I was. And they both fulfilled their respective duties. Jackie told me how stupid the woman on the phone was, and that she was wrong. And Ryan told me we would fix it.

This weekend, we’re looking at what we owe, and to whom, and we’re coming up with a plan. We can’t fix it. But we’re not going to ignore it anymore.

And I’m going to share it here.

There are a lot of details I’m going to leave out- exact amounts, names of debtors, etc- both for privacy and security. And I have no idea what I’m doing. We’re not financial advisors. We’re pretty terrible about this kind of thing, really. But I know that sharing my experiences has helped me in the past.

When that woman told me I wasn’t trying and wasn’t willing to do anything. When she accused me of being irresponsible. I felt like I wanted to hide. I was ashamed. And I didn’t want anyone to know what was happening. Even though I know- I know- that most of my readers are in the same position.

I felt like I should ignore the one aspect of myself of which I am most certain- my voice.

And I will not let debt take that away from me.

The Artist Looks at Forty

“I’m afraid of growing older. Well, growing older might be fine. Shrinking older. That’s a major fear of mine.” -John Bucchino

I have often said that John Bucchino gets the lyrics for most of his work by sitting outside my therapy sessions and taking notes. Nearly every song I hear, I just sit and nod. “Yep. That’s me.” While the opening to his revue “It’s Only Life” is no exception, I never particularly identified with the title. “The Artist Looks at Forty.” I’d never looked at forty. I’d never even considered it.

Until about two weeks ago.

I had a nightmare that I was turning forty.

This is absurd for several reasons:

1. I’m only thirty-six.
2. I am told fairly often that I don’t look anywhere near my age.
3. I am quite happy with where I am in my life- what I’ve accomplished, who I’ve become, and where I’m headed.
4. I have plenty of people in my life who are over forty, and by no means do I think of them as “old.”

But I couldn’t shake this nightmare. It haunted me for a week. I started examining and stressing over my wrinkles. (They're there. Don't argue with me.) I started hallucinating gray hairs. (They're probably not there.) I told Ryan about it the other day. “That seriously bothers me that it would bother you,” he said. He tried to convince me I was being ridiculous. But I already knew I was being ridiculous. Academically, anyway. And yet. As my birthday approached, I grew more and more anxious.

And now, on my second day of being thirty-six, the anxiety is gone. It could be because I got to meet with my therapist (the real one. Not the ones I tried to have replace him. Fail.) for the first time in over two years. But I think it has more to do with the celebration of my birthday itself.

It started on Saturday night. Ryan and I went to Ford’s Theater to see our friend in a show. It’s a little surreal to watch a fellow Momentum Rep “Assassin” perform in the very theatre where one of those assassinations took place. But even more surreal was seeing the words “Momentum Rep’s Assassins” in his bio. After the show, we went for drinks with our Assassin friend and his girlfriend. And when I ordered a pomegranate martini, I was carded.

Score.

(In fact, I literally said that out-loud. “Score.”)

Thirty-six was looking a little less scary.

We talked about the show. And what it’s like to be home all day with someone who is learning to talk. And why “Animal Farm” was the perfect choice for the school where I just played. And we compared Worst Show Ever stories. (I won.) And all the while, my friend kept checking the clock on his phone. I knew he was waiting for midnight, even though he was exhausted from performing so many times this week. And I really, really appreciated the gesture. The clock ran down, the three of them sang, and we headed back to the hotel.

Saturday morning, after enjoying our free hotel breakfast, we explored the sites of downtown Washington DC. We saw the White House, and the Washington Monument, and the Lincoln Memorial. And everywhere we went, Lily was the center of attention. She oo’ed and ah’ed appropriately as far as we could tell, although it was just as likely to be over a squirrel as it was a monument. And we got all the obligatory family photos. And when we got back to the hotel, she grabbed her bottle and her blanket, climbed into her pack-and-play by herself, and went to sleep, allowing Ryan and I to take a nap. It was a birthday miracle.

Once we were all well-rested, we drove out to the Virginia wine country to visit Chris- a college friend who runs Breaux Vineyards with his wife. And while I stood at the bar sampling nearly every wine they offer, I talked with Chris about mission statements. And how wineries are like theatre. And I discussed the state of education with the girl serving me my wine. She, too, had earned her Masters Degree in Education before deciding teaching in public schools was not for her. And she’d seen “Waiting for Superman.” And she had as many opinions about it as I did. I was in nerd heaven.

Chris and I shared parenting war stories while Ryan chased Lily around the room, we all took a tour of the winery, and we said goodbye with a bottle of their ice wine in hand. Back at the hotel, we ordered Chinese food, enjoyed our wine, watched “Undercover Boss,” and were asleep by 10:30. Lily slept all night.

And then this morning. After another free breakfast, I showered, took the time to blow-out my expensive haircut, and got on the Metro to visit with my therapist, feeling uncharacteristically happy about the way I looked. While waiting at a nearby Starbucks, a young girl (a college student, I know this for sure because I overheard her discussing her research paper) gushed about my nails. And I met with “Dr. Matthews.” And I realized how very, very far I’ve come.

I thought that was it. In fact, I started writing this blog, already happy with my birthday, and turning thirty-six, and life in general. But we made one final stop on our way out of DC. We needed coffee, and Lily needed milk, and I remembered a bookstore near a hotel where I had once stayed. I had written part of my book in the café downstairs, and if my memory served me, which it usually does, it was coming up on our right.

We pulled in front of the locally-owned bookstore and I ran in while Ryan changed Lily’s diaper in the car. I felt like things were coming full-circle, spending time in this bookstore now that my book was finished. I was waiting for the restroom when I overheard three older women talking. “I just got an email about ‘Urinetown.’ But I don’t know if I want to see something called ‘Urinetown.’”

Yep. That conversation really happened.

So I apologized for eavesdropping, and begged them to go. They were avid theatre fans, and the title was the only thing that had kept them from seeing the show before. I promised them that this very fact was addressed within the first few lines, and that they would love it. They asked me what I did, I told them a little bit about Momentum Rep, and they made me feel like a total rock star.

Then, I heard Lily cry. “I’m so sorry,” I said, “I recognize that cry. I better go see if my daughter is OK.”

“You don’t have a baby! You can’t! You’re seventeen!”

I got in the car feeling pretty good about myself.

This weekend I was reminded that I am a woman who does not look her age. And that I have young friends who will talk to me about theatre and ask what it’s like to be a parent and sing to me at midnight. And I have other friends who know exactly what it’s like to be a parent. And who care about mission statements and wine. And I have a family that understands the value of a good nap.

I know a lot about theatre and education. And I helped start a company that has provided a lot of opportunities for a lot of people. And I have the confidence to wear flowers on my fingernails. And I wrote a book. And I get to stay home with my daughter, who loves to dance.

And I get to share all of this with a man who has been with me for nearly fifteen years.

And the one thing that was absolutely required for all of this to be true was the passage of time. I have spent the past thirty-six years gaining experiences and building relationships and learning about who I am.

And that makes me excited to see what my life will be like at thirty-seven.

Or forty, for that matter.