Last week I took a overview class on the publishing industry, hoping to learn
more about my future job prospects. I learned (among some other legitimately
cool/enlightening things):
2. Anyone who wants to write for a living is crazy.
3. Anyone who wants to publish, edit, design or
print books for a living is also crazy.
Amidst the discussions of business planning and finances, which seemed
to strategically coincide with my monthly bill-paying routine, and the arrival
of a health insurance statement, and the planning (ie. budgeting) for an
upcoming trip, my head was spinning with numbers. A head full of numbers is always
an unsettling feeling for someone who’s used to working with words, but on this
particular occasion, it really hit me: Being
an adult sucks.
When it comes down to it, I’ve never been an adult before. Sure, I grew
up and went to war, but I did it in a bubble. A military base is essentially a
small city, full of like-minded people telling you what to do, where to go, what
to say, and how to dress. I was part of a well-oiled machine which, in exchange
for my blood, sweat and tears, would provide me with everything to meet my
basic needs. Right out of college I had zero debt, a steady paycheck, a housing
allowance, healthcare benefits, free moving services, a gym membership, a work
wardrobe, access to religious advisors/career advisors/education advisors, and
all-expense-paid trips to lovely vacation destinations like Afghanistan.
Military life certainly has its cons. In typical fashion, these are the
things I noticed most while serving. There were midnight recalls; contingency
responses; high-stress, high-profile assignments; working long hours, holidays
and weekends that made it difficult to find time to utilize many of the available
services. Next to trendy, chic civilian women, I felt frumpy in my camouflage
and boots – a uniform that essentially declared me “Property of the U.S. Air
Force.” And of course there’s the whole Afghanistan thing . . .
But I didn’t realize until now how, in many ways, my life was so comfortable. Sheltered. Meandering
somewhere between childhood and independence.
Then came war.
People say war makes men out of boys. If to be a man is to carry a
country’s expectations on your shoulders, to live on the edge of death, to witness
the cruelty mankind is capable of committing, and to question everything in
which you believe, then yes, this statement is true.
Thus, the military both inhibits the transition to adulthood, and
forces it.
And what comes after? What happens to these “men” when the bubble pops?
I left the military still fresh from my baptism-by-war. I can’t say the
rug was ripped out from under me, because I stepped off the rug. But that’s how
it felt. My only foundation was military-made, and was shaken by my deployed
experience. Afterward, I had nowhere left to stand.
Unemployment is a common post-military landing place. In 2011, the Iraq
and Afghanistan veteran population had a 12.1% unemployment rate, compared with
8.9% among their civilian counterparts. After eight months as part of that
statistic, I chose grad school.
The lack of structure in an academic environment both excited and
overwhelmed me. So did my expanding wardrobe. (I take, on average, 40 minutes
and five outfit changes to get dressed in the morning.)
Most things about civilian life intrigue me, but my shrinking bank
account is just plain scary. I’m not used to seeing all those red numbers, with
so few black ones to counteract. Apparently I’m not alone. A recent article on marketwatch.com
reported that “veterans ages 29 or younger have average monthly expenses that
exceed their net income by $880 as well as average credit card debt of $7,234.”
YIKES!!
Granted, financial woes are not just a veteran problem. These are tough
times for many. However, I’m sure a lot of of these veterans are, like me, struggling
to reinvent ourselves outside the military bubble. When you take the cog out of
the machine, the machine still runs. But the cog is useless.
We’ve outgrown the military, but in our circuitous route to adulthood, we failed to keep
pace with our civilian peers.
I like to think of myself as pretty responsible, though I’ve been known
to go on an occasional shoe shopping binge (justified under "non-combat boot footwear
diversification"). I like to think of myself as pretty low maintenance, though
past boyfriends and my dad, who lugged around an entire suitcase full of aforementioned diversified footwear when I moved to Boston, might disagree.
I’ve never made a budget because I’ve never had to. Just another lesson
I’m learning the hard way out here in the real world.
I gave up a comfortable life in exchange for uncertainty. I didn’t
realize how difficult, how complicated, how uncomfortable
the transition would be. But for me it’s worth it, because I seek other
comforts: expression, creativity, peace of mind, fulfillment, a cute wardrobe.
A life that is mine.
Awesome post Lauren. Hang in there! You are an incredible writer and will land a job you are passionate about. WRT budgets, mint.com is a really cool website and they have an app as well which rocks. You can load all your account info and check all of them at once without logging onto 10 different websites. Best of luck!
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading and for your comment! I will definitely check out mint.com... anything to make the numbers-infused budgetary slog more manageable is much appreciated.
ReplyDeleteCheers,
Lauren
this post speaks volumes to us!! we were blessed that within a month of separating from the air force, andrew found a really great job - but now we face the fact there are extra bills to pay, no free gym, walmart is not tax free, where do we find friends, you mean i have a choice in choosing my doctor?? it's a crazy transition...i often wonder if our new normal will ever feel normal?
ReplyDelete