After a couple of years living abroad, I was home! Home to bigger everything… bigger food portions, bigger apartments, and bigger disposable income. I was immediately bitten by the consumerism bug.
And it was intoxicating.
At first the larger portions made me feel uncomfortable, but I quickly became used to them and thoroughly enjoyed the gluttony. The lack of walking made me feel lethargic, but I soon relished having a vehicle and the convenience that came with it. I reconnected with friends, and a couple of evenings a week enjoyed lively conversation over drinks. Somehow I stumbled on the best of both worlds, enjoying the excess of American life, while keeping the confidence and independence gained living abroad.
There were a couple of items to address back home. Home being the operative word.
I came back to my house that my now ex-boyfriend lived in. The plan was I’d move in and he’d find a new place. I was annoyed that he didn’t have a new apartment yet. But that annoyance faded when I came “home.”
It didn’t feel like mine anymore.
I was a stranger there. And I wasn’t even sure I wanted to live there. This house was close to his family, not mine. Sure my stuff was everywhere, but it wasn’t really my stuff anymore. I didn’t care about most of it. This stuff didn’t define me.
So one Saturday morning I looked for apartments with availability somewhere close to work, but also close to areas I liked to frequent, and found the perfect one bedroom in a favorite, quaint area. Fifteen minutes from work, and five minutes from the local hangouts I began calling my own.
I walked through the apartment Saturday. And signed a lease Sunday. I’d move into my new place in two weeks.
This came as a surprise to my ex, but I could also tell he was relieved. I asked him if he wanted to buy my house, and he enthusiastically said yes. Then I got the big shock…
The value of my home had gone up over 30% since I bought it!
Unknown to me at the time of purchase, I had bought my first house at the tail end of the housing crash. I invested a good bit of sweat equity into this property. And its value had increased.
A few days after our discussion, I came up with what seemed like a fair price. He accepted. And a couple of months later, I made $30,000 off the sale of my first property.
This, along with the $10,000 I saved in London, put $40,000 in my savings account. I never had so much money in my life!
And I let it sit there. I decided this year had enough changes. I could chill out, enjoy the apartment, and get reacquainted with my new life in Central Texas before making another big financial decision. Instead, I wanted to fancy-up my new home.
I got fancy furniture this time. No IKEA for this girl – only high-end pieces. Now that I was a bit closer to downtown and living in an upper class area, I enjoyed a high-end local grocery store that had a ton gourmet foods and local wines. I indulged. And with all of this indulgence, the weight I lost in Europe came back in no time. No problem. A new wardrobe was in order… shopping became another hobby. I was bitten hard by the consumerism bug, and nothing was slowing me down.
As a year went by, I was settled into my new life, doing great at my new job, lining up promotions and pay raises, and enjoying new friends. As my lease came up, I started looking for a condo to buy. The suburban lifestyle was not for me, only high-end condos would do! Granted, I could not afford a fancy, downtown condo on my own, so I looked for condos in my price range that were more modest but still fancy.
Then the guy I was seeing talked me into buying a condo with him. Together, we could afford one of those high-end downtown lofts.
I was hesitant at first, but also thrilled at the idea of true city living. Mimicking my favorite part of living abroad right at home. We found an agent and went to see a few places. Being a clever agent, she showed me the condo I thought we couldn’t afford… Sure the pictures looked nice, but it was only one bedroom, and right at the top of our price range.
As soon as we saw it, we fell in love. And a month later, it was ours.
Of course, we had to remodel it. New paint, new floors. Customize the kitchen a bit. And our old, combined furniture was out of place in this New York style loft. So all new furniture, high-end to match the loft itself. I was introduced to Restoration Hardware. And a few months later, the condo was transformed. It was magazine-worthy.
My chic lifestyle continued.
We kept up the two to three nights a week out. Sometimes having drinks with friends at high-end bars in the arts district. Other times enjoying extravagant dinners at hot new restaurants downtown. My partner had also been bitten by the consumerism bug. Nothing could slow us down.
Weekends were spent visiting nearby, quaint towns. Wineries were a favorite to visit, and I started building an impressive collection of local wines.
And the vacations were amazing. At least twice a year we’d stay at fancy hotels, visiting places like Hawaii, then Napa, California, then driving across Colorado to visit a few towns there.
I was moving right up the corporate ladder too. I’d already had a few promotions, and considered going into management. Sure, management would be more stressful and mean more hours, but I needed the money. This new lifestyle was expensive, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not save any money. A fact that kept nagging at me, but I drowned the concern out by working 10-12 hour days, and with heavy drinking and eating.
My bank account was shrinking. My waistline was growing. Energy was depleting. And after a of couple years, I started getting disillusioned.
The nights out and weekends away became boring and meaningless. I wasn’t enjoying time out with friends, I was drowning away the stress of work. I felt stuck in a cycle… work hard, spend more, need more, work harder.
So I did what I knew how to do. I applied for that management promotion. Surely, relief was just a couple pay raises away.
And I nailed the interview. I already knew I’d get the job. Not that I was overly cocky, but because bosses had been trying to convince me to become a manager for years now. I was excited for a change of pace, an extra challenge, and the extra income.
Two days after my interview, I got a call from my mom. She was at the hospital with my dad. This wasn’t the first time, but it was bad this time. Very bad. I needed to come up as soon as possible.
The gravity didn’t hit me immediately. I had flown up a few times over the past years, and every time the doctors thought his cancer had taken a bad turn, his stubborn German genes reigned supreme. I’d get there, prepared for the worst. And he’d be on the hospital bed smiling at me, apologizing, sorry I had taken the trip over nothing.
I always thought I would have time to be with my dad in his final days. Discovered short-term FMLA was an option if I needed to take a couple of months off to care for him. I always kept a stack of PTO hours aside in case he needed me. We’d known about his cancer for years now, and it had moved slowly. I’d have plenty of time.
This time, when I visited him at the hospital, he had little control of his body. His liver was failing. This causes involuntary arm movements, and seeing my dad laying on the hospital bed unable to control his own body, unable to communicate with me or the outside world, immediately broke me.
I could not stop crying. Furious with myself, I envisioned being a pillar of strength in his last days, making him proud, assuring him in the end. Instead I sobbed uncontrollably. An hour after I arrived at the hospital to this scene, I signed DNR papers with the hospice. The doctors and hospice workers explained the situation well. His organs were failing, and attempts to lengthen his life at this point would only bring him pain. Giving him relief in these final days was the best thing for him.
Around 5pm the next day, my dad died.
The next weeks were a blur. I didn’t know what to do. My mom was still living across the country from me, now alone. I tried talking her into moving back to Texas. She wasn’t ready. Who can blame her. Her life just changed in the most dramatic and heartbreaking way. This wasn’t the time for more change.
I got the email from work – I got the job as a manager. I didn’t care.
When my bereavement time at work ran out, I flew back to Texas, but took a few days of PTO. I felt sick. I told myself I picked up a bug at the hospital up north. In reality, I was still grieving. My grief didn’t fit the four-day “close family” bereavement period allocated by my company. So now, I was sick.
While laying on the couch at home, I got a couple of calls from my boss. I ignored the first two, in no mood to talk. But finally picked up the phone on the third call. He said I sounded like I had been crying. I told him I was congested. The truth was somewhere in between. He congratulated me on getting the manager job. Needed me to reply to the email accepting the job. HR was concerned that I had not responded since I received it three days ago.
Oh, and he offered his condolences on my dad’s passing.
That’s when something clicked. The thought wasn’t fully formed, but something was wrong. I was disillusioned with the company I had spent almost a decade with. I gave so much of my time and energy to that place. Nights, weekends, everything. And when I needed time to grieve, they needed me to reply to an email.
Frustration washed over me, but I didn’t know how to channel it.
I took the job. Needed the money.
I had a talk with my boyfriend. I made more money than I ever had, more than twice what I made when I bought my first house. Yet I felt broke. I had no time, no energy, and no money at all. I felt trapped. Could no longer accept our consumer-driven lifestyle.
He either didn’t understand or didn’t care. We drifted apart. And I was depressed, so I didn’t try to repair the relationship. I went back to my old apartment complex and, as luck would have it, they had a one bedroom apartment available.
I signed the lease the next day, and started again on my own.