I've been head-down with a number of big projects, professional and personal, and didn't realize the web was vibrating with the theme of poverty this week.  And the sun keeps bursting out behind the clouds every so often.

Many thanks to:

Fabulously Broke, Funny About Money, Nicole and Maggie at Grumpy Rumblings, Shawanda at You Have More than You Think (so TRUE)  for linking to my post about Generational Poverty.
Daisy, one of the conversational instigators went on to share her story in two parts: 
My Life Part 1: From Rags to Riches .. Then back to Rags
My Life Part 2: Family Drama


Edit to add:
Fabulously Fru-Gal also shared her story in: Growing up Poor
Nurture wins this fight hands down, as FB shared in her hilarious recounting of motherly brainwashing:

When I was a little girl, my mother would feed me my favourite foods and say: When you grow up, don’t forget your mama.

That's so Asian, so very immigrant or homeland Asian. Perhaps not exclusively so, but definitely inclusively so.
Sandy of Yes I am Cheap had responded to FB's post: “Can you survive on an extreme budget and make tough choices?” with I Grew Up Poor And Survived.

That reminds me of some childhood memories I'd forgotten. Rather fond ones, actually.

The question of motivational staying power was raised on Twitter.  @add_vodka asked:

@RevancheGS @GrlRedBalloon @serendipity85 How do you keep motivated to make sure you don't give up?

My gut response felt too flippant to say aloud. It wasn't meant to be but I could see how, for people who don't know me well or haven't read this blog, could hear it as a dismissal of their very real issue.  So I dug deeper.  I asked PiC how to explain how I stay motivated because it's not something I think about.  And in the asking, I realized my answer, in large part.

My short answer was: Generational Poverty.  I'm never going back and neither are my parents.
 
My long answer?   In my matriarchial line, I need to break the cycle of poorness.  You see, as much as I carry my patriarchal grandmother in my spine, I carry my mother in my soul.

Mom grew up, impoverished, in the depths of rural Vietnam.  Her father was a schoolteacher who earned just enough to feed his family for a number of years, but not much better than that.  I expect they married too young, had her - the first - too young; had too many children, period.  Month to month, their family stretched a single small sack of rice bought on credit against the next month's paycheck.  They ate rice porridge, supplemented by some fish if the kids could catch any, flavored with nuoc nam (fish sauce) if they couldn't.  She was cooking, cleaning and raising her three younger siblings by the age of 8, and more kids were always on the way.  There was love and support from her grandparents but nothing in the way of money.

As the oldest, she was expected to fend for herself.  Needed a new pair of pants?  She had to raise a chicken, sell the eggs, and save the money long enough to buy cloth and sew it herself.  The same went for school supplies, or any other needs. Not wants, needs.  But, if a sibling needed something before she could make her clothes, she had to give it up for him or her.  The family was utterly poor, and she was expected to bear the heaviest burden.  The burden wasn't just in taking care of herself far too early, it was to provide for her siblings, and that lasted well into adulthood.  While she shouldered it without question, she was bound and determined never to struggle at that level again.

Fast forward about forty years, she'd worked herself to the bone running two small businesses with my dad only to find her health declining, her son a mess, and no trace left of what was meant to be our family fortune. A modest fortune it would have been, but sufficient to buy a home, send two kids to college, and keep my parents through their retirement. Business hadn't been awful but life happens, as it does, and she found herself both in the same place she'd sworn never to be again, the place she said we would never be exposed to, this time without the ability to bootstrap her way out of it as she had always done.  Her parents and siblings were fine, but in the process, she had sacrificed herself.

It tore my heart to see her struggling, helpless, against the twin depredations of disease and remembered and oncoming poverty. The first preceded the other, as is so often the case with many stories of financial ruin, but not by much.  It wasn't just the disease.  It was the combination of family illnesses, debts, and lack of informed financial planning that meant she couldn't simply seek treatment and recuperate.  Financial instability added anxiety and depression to the toxic mix of medical conditions complicating her health.

Had they planned for the future better, had they saved more carefully instead of taking care of her myriad family to the tune of tens of thousands of dollars, had they been more cognizant of all the emergencies that could and would arise: all the if onlys, we should haves, they could haves intertwined and spiraled into the mom I know now.     

Personally, I never want to go back to my college days. Working 80-100 hour weeks, school 40 hours a week, sleeping a few hours a night, and still slaving over a checkbook scraping the pennies together at the end of every pay period, under a tiny lamp light.  That was miserable. But memories of personal misery fade.

The memories of my mom and all she's sacrificed for me. The memories of how hard she worked, how determined she was to lift herself and her family out of their dirt-grubbing poverty. Those ghosts are in my marrow, my tissue, the air I breathe.

So when someone asks me about my motivation, about how I keep going, how do I not give up, the simplest answer is: I don't know how.  

When I took over for her, it began as a fight for survival.  Now, it's fully ingrained.  The responsibilities and emergencies will only grow in greater proportion with time. I have my parents to take care of. I have myself to take care of. I may have future generations to educate and support for some time.  And the only way to do it is very careful and diligent financial planning.  That's how my motivation is sustained.
 
It's a very different answer, I think, than the one that @add_vodka was looking for, which was more practical stuff, so I saved this longer answer for the blog.

The more practical simple answer is, of course, to set goals and align your goals to your values. But there's value in knowing why you'd want to do any of that in the first place.  The Great Big Why of it, if you will.

Thanks to AddVodka, Serendipity and Red for starting the conversation!  



My thanks .....

to Ben at moneysmartlife for hosting this week's Carnival of Personal Finance and for picking my post Parents: The top bread slice to be an Editor's Pick!  Be sure to submit to next week's Carnival.

Did you know ... 

that when you've been engaged more than a month and still have nothing planned, people start wondering if you're still engaged?  Or if you're still planning to get married ever?  Evidently the time allotted for us to plan or set a date may soon expire.  Patience, padawans.

that no matter how simple the dress, you can still zipper party-foul yourself?  *ow. that left a mark*  J.Crew, as it turns out, is still not as petite friendly as other stores. 0P is still slips-off-the-shoulder too big, and not in that alluring sexy kind of way some luscious bombshell might be able to pull off, either. Not that I'd want that look for my wedding, but I'm sayin', I looked a little ridiculous. It was the sub-$200 dress I bought just to try on, but it may be going back soon unless I'm willing to put a bit more money into making it work.  The borrowable dress is coming over this weekend with its owner for a try-on.  

that it's way more fun fake-wedding planning than actually wedding planning?  We had the best conversation about our favorite foods and the schizophrenic menu it'd create. Then we narrowed it down to the top three favorite foods each: still schizo.  After we switched over to "ok, for real now ..... "  *crickets*

that there are some people who just get it?  There are a couple really good friends are just incredibly calming to talk to about this stuff when I feel like it.

that there are the people who just don't get it.  There are so many of them.  Luckily, PiC and I are getting quite practiced at the *smile&move along* thing.

that there's a lot to be said for taking your time and getting in a relaxed state of mind before making any major decisions?  I'm not there yet, but I'm pretty sure that's the only way anything's going to get done.  At least I hope things will get done.  Though, it's entirely possible that if we want people to show up at any sort of thing, we should really at least pick a date.  Or a year. 
I was lucky enough to win a Glo package for email wedding invitations a few weeks ago.  It is pretty cool considering we were talking about going Evite-style. ;) The lovely founder, Taryn, invited me to write a guest post so I shared a tidbit here: Reflecting on the first days of wedding planning

PiC and I are relative failures at the whole Valentine's Day thing, if you consider that the two paradigms most embraced are to celebrate or to have angst about it. 

Once every two or three years, a close friend of his sells him the "do nothing at your own peril" spiel and he arranges a nice dinner, and for in between years we've been grateful to see each other if it was possible during our Long Distance Years or grateful to have each other if not. 

This is our first year we've truly been together for it and the established simplicity, the utter lack of expectations, has been a bit of a godsend.  Honestly, in the maelstrom of other life events, a big trip to plan, a wedding to discuss, another big trip to plan, simply not fussing over this day more than any other works so well for us. 

Admittedly, I did gift him a surprise set of books I knew he's been wanting, solely for the sake of surprising him yesterday, which I joke is a selfish gift since I get to read all his books. :)

Even better, since I couldn't wait, it was plopped in front of him yesterday apropos of nothing and he's now crediting it as an insanely early birthday gift so he won't feel the need to "make up" a Valentine's gift. Win win win! ;)




My thanks .....

to Well Heeled for hosting this week's Carnival of Personal Finance and for including my post My last year with carefree taxes.  Be sure to submit to next week's Carnival!

On my last visit home, amid the other ramblings that have become the norm, my mom asked me an inevitable question: when are you moving me up to be close to you?

Ah yes, a mother's love, powered by the unmatchable ability to fuel angst within the space of fifteen seconds.

Quite honestly, my answer had to be: I don't know.

Even more honestly, I have no idea if that's going to be the plan nor if I want it to be.

I recall, as a young kid, we used to jokingly debate as a family who would get to have my parents live with us when we kids got older and had our own homes. I always insisted that they would live with me, primarily, because I was an egotistical brat who was sure that I'd eventually grow up to be more successful than her older brother who had historically always kicked her butt at everything to date.  (It's a shame that that pre-adolescent script actually played out to the extent that wherever I move my parents, I have no idea where he will live.)  

Now, though, moving my parents in with us, to a 2 bedroom apartment, though the financial savings might initially seem sensible, would probably not be a wise decision. 

To start off by being completely selfish, I need the distance for my sanity, at least for a while longer.  During the years of living with my parents through my twenties while I supported them because it was practical, despite the constant compromises and emotional churn, it took exiting the situation to appreciate the value of my own space.  Yes, the years of sucking it up yielded a fair measure of savings and stability, and gave me the foothold I needed to take the next step in my career. But I'm now not willing to give up the peace that half a state's distance buys. 

Practicality plays a role

I didn't need to move to the Bay Area to confirm that the cost of living truly is, even for a diehard budgeter like me, much higher than it is where they live now. 

A big part of why she wants to move up is because she misses me.  Moving her up here for that reason, though, doesn't really make the most sense.  I'm still going to be working at least 40 hour weeks, probably 50 or more, and I'm not going to be around to spend time with her the way she imagines.  PiC won't be either. 

Moving her up here also means moving her and Dad away from all their existing support network, such as it is.  All our family and their friends are down there.  Even though she may have alienated most of them through her behaviors, they're still supportive in other ways and try to help my dad out when and if they can. 

What she truly needs is more round-the-clock medical care and attention than my dad, or we, can provide, and just being around us isn't sufficient. In fact, the area we currently live in isn't terribly safe and we don't have understanding neighbors who are willing to look out for her and bring her home when she pulls a disappearing act.  

Rationally, the sum result of moving them up here would probably be negative all around. 

And still, without a doubt, the moment she finds out we have a guest room, she's going to plead with us to be allowed to live with us. 

What would you do?

In Asian cultures, it's been quite normal for the older generation to assume that they'll live with their children when they become less able to live independently. 

In American culture, it's much less common for the older generation to take it for granted that the younger generation will move them in when the time comes.  However, the Sandwich Generation has certainly experienced a great deal of the stresses associated with the care of their parents even without having to share a roof. 

Having grown up in a rather traditional household, I always assumed my decisions would be wholly informed by those traditions but they're being vastly molded by the pressures of today's economic and practical realities. 

I know what my dad prefers - the cheapest possible option that causes me the least burden, and I know what I want for them - the safest and most attentive care, and we have to find a compromise that is safe and affordable. 

Do you have a plan for when your parents reach a point when they're no longer able to care for themselves?  Have they already discussed with you their preferences and how to achieve them?  Are you already dealing with anything like this with your parents?

As I've mentioned on Twitter a couple of times, we have a dear friend coming to stay with us soon.  

In nearly ten years of attending Comic Con, I've always been a budget traveler.

I was lucky that it was a relatively local event, because it was easier to keep costs down.  I started out volunteering in order to get free admission to the first few conventions, and rarely ever bought anything unless it was a gift. Even then I was on a strict budget. The experience was souvenir enough for me.

The biggest expenses were lodgings, parking and food with lodgings ranging from $100 per night to an insane $500 per night at some of the premium hotels. If my friend's family hadn't generously hosted me every year in San Diego, six or seven years running, I could never have justified those early years as a broke college student. To avoid paying ten dollars parking every day, sometimes I would park way out on a dusty road, near the railroad crossing and just off the highway to trek almost a mile in.

At first it was just me geeking out alone, save for friend's younger sibling who was entrusted to my care a couple days of the convention. A few years later, my friend C eventually started attending too, then other siblings, the odd cousin and friend joined the stream toward the Convention Center and suddenly we were a proper group with schedules and everything.

Every year I'd drive down and spend a couple hours in the early afternoon with C's parents, then I'd be off to pick up my badge from the convention center for Preview Night, sometimes with C's sib, sometimes without. C would show up with his SO whenever he pleased, and we'd convene on the Con floor. That night, we'd have a post-Preview Night rehash over dinner at the house.

Every morning we'd pack our lunches from the supplies that C's parents had more than generously laid in for us, and every night we'd meet back for dinner and banter.

Even when I started bringing PiC and a friend or two of my own, and there wasn't enough room for everyone even to camp out so we branched out into another set of lodgings, also generously loaned to us for a stay, we always came back after a long day at Con. Not for us the after parties, the Gaslamp gatherings, home was where we headed. It's what you do. It's what we did.

It's not quite the same now, C's dad is gone and we miss him terribly. He was never a demonstrative man but he had a hug, hello or goodbye, for me in the later years; a sign, I think, that we'd become more than just kids who showed up to invade his house once a season.

This year's going to be even more different.

We have to fly, now, of course.  That's kind of a pain - I can't linger for the last gasps of Con anymore as I have to join the sad departing hordes to the airport.

A friend of the heart from the 'nets will be coming out to join our group and I really hope she feels just as comfortable with the group as the other additions have become. And we don't have our lovely loan of a condo this year so I'm scrambling a bit to find ourselves a new set of lodgings.

This last, while I never take the loan of the lodgings for granted, caught me by surprise and PiC and I have to figure out how to lodge our newly formed group.  Wish me luck, I've run out of any decent number of hotel points, and paying for hotels in San Diego around one of the biggest comic conventions ever is rather intimidatingly expensive.