It’s 2022, I’m Twenty-Nine, and I Still Live at Home.
If you’re curious to learn how I’m handling turning 30, then the joke is on you, because I am not handling it.
Who decides what it means to maturely and appropriately deal with something, anyway?
Kidding aside, the truth of my turning the big 3–0 has launched me into an arbitrarily imposed and self-induced state of frenzied financial panic. This time last year I would have been reluctant to even so much as glance at my visa statement or checking account because 1. I had much more saved and felt a false sense of security 2. I was (still am, but working on it) very irresponsible.
My attitude towards personal finance has always been cavalier, to an almost excessive degree. If I’m being completely honest (which I am committed to doing here, on my blog, at least) the reality is that most of my non-interest in anything personal-finance related is clearly just an avoidance technique for not wanting to deal with where I am in life, financially and chronologically speaking. Astrologically speaking, I’m fucked.
If you’ve read Catch 22, or haven’t read it but understand the paradox, it’s here: I avoid dealing with my finances because I find my financial situation embarrassing, but I find my financial situation…
