Square pegs and round holes (Or: My new, random theory about dating)

I am a perfectionist. As a proofreader, I'm paid to scour copy all day long for errors, then circle them with harsh red ink. I kind of love my job.

But most perfectionists are hardest on themselves, and I'm no exception. I try and try and try to get things right. I try not to make mistakes. After all, I know that I'm right there waiting, poised to circle my own flaws with the harshest red ink there is.

I've enjoyed a lot of success because of my perfectionism. I've gotten good grades, earned scholarships, won awards, gotten raises at work. Where there is a box to check off or a gold star to earn, I can be found eagerly scurrying to achieve.

I've been much less successful with intangible achievements — namely, with relationships. They really, really frustrate me. Every time a relationship ends, I get that awful feeling, the one that perfectionists fear most: the sucker punch of failure.

Today I realized that my gut-wrenching fear of failure is what causes me to stick with relationships that I know, deep down, have gone long past their expiration dates. I've had several relationships, short and long, during which I remember having strong reservations throughout, yet I stayed in them. I've tried to change my expectations, tried to change myself and tried to change the other person all in the name of making it work, only to be frustrated and miserable the entire time.

Why do I do this to myself? Because I don't want to admit that the relationship is a failure — that I'm a failure.

If you'll indulge the extended metaphor, I've been trying to fit a square peg into a round hole purely for the sake of achievement. Logically, I know the incongruous peg will never fit, but I've falsely believed that I can make anything work if only I try hard enough.

If things don't work out in a relationship, my go-to thought process is: What's wrong with me? What's wrong with him? How can one or the other or both of us change to make things right?

But it's time for me to realize that there is nothing wrong with the hole. By its nature, it is round. And likewise, the peg's square shape is no fault of its own.

The fact that the square peg and the round hole will never fit together can't be changed unless one of them radically alters itself, thereby sacrificing its original shape. It might work for a year or twenty, but the mutilated peg will eventually suffer an identity crisis, cite irreconcilable differences and engage in a bitter custody battle with the hole.

Maybe I'm reaching here, but you know what I mean.

I'll be the first to admit that I'm usually the square peg. I tend to be less adventurous, more cautious and have higher expectations for the relationship than the other person. Many have tried to get me to relax, stop worrying so much, soften my edges. But I'll never be round. At best, I'll someday be squoval.

I've made the mistake of trying to change others, too, on top of plenty of other mistakes too numerous to list here. My goal now will be to recognize that things just won't work with certain people, and no amount of hoping or trying will make it right.

Furthermore, I've got a bit of work to do on myself. Even if I were to find an awesome square hole right now, I'm certain we wouldn't fit. Past hurts have left me with rough edges, a few pieces chipped away here and there, some scars that are still fresh enough to be raised from the surface. My shape is imperfect.

But I have hope that I will mend. Time will smooth my scars. Compassion will fill in my missing pieces. Trust will rebuild my chipped edges. And being OK with myself, giving myself permission to fail, will help me relax those sharp corners.

Someday, maybe, I'll find my perfect fit.


P.S. This may or may not replace my previous theory about Legos.
P.P.S. I played with a lot of children's toys when I was a nanny. Can you tell?

The reasons

I've written quite a bit about my quest to get out of debt and build up my savings before I move out on my own, but I haven't written very much about why it's so important to me.

I don't want to save a bunch of money so I can be rich and buy whatever I want. I don't want to live in a mansion, drive a Maserati and have a lot of expensive toys someday. Taking control of my money is not about putting myself in a position to buy more "stuff." It's about putting myself in a position where I can be free.

The classic, bestselling book Your Money or Your Life (which I'm currently reading) puts it best:

"To have savings is to be free. Savings means freedom from debt. Money in the bank means the freedom to leave your job if the boss is intolerable or the benefits have just been yanked. And if you lose your job, having savings is the freedom to keep your house and car because you can cover your payments — if you have any to make in the first place."

Having savings also gives you the freedom to do work you love for less pay. It gives you the freedom to live your life without constantly worrying about making ends meet. It gives you the freedom to retire at age 65, or earlier, knowing that you'll be able to cover basic expenses for the remainder of your life. And yes, it gives you the freedom to buy toys, to travel, to give fantastic gifts, to donate, to do whatever you want. Freedom.

My family didn't have this type of freedom while I was growing up. My dad lost his job when I was in the third grade, and from then on, I can't remember feeling very financially secure.

We always had a roof over our heads, food on the table and clothes on our backs, but I was always very aware that my family had much less than other kids' families. I was very aware that my parents sacrificed big-time so that my brother and I could stay in the same school district with all of our friends. In a few years, and in the same city, we moved from a house to a rental house to a too-small apartment with too-few bedrooms. My parents got divorced.

I'm not saying life would have been perfectly rosy if we had just had more money; it's fruitless to look back on life and say, "If only...". But I do know that I can change my life in ways that will ensure that my future family will never have to go through the same types of moves, and that my future kids won't have to have the same types of worries and fears about money that I had growing up.

Of course, every generation hopes to do better than their parents. Rebekah Monson wrote a fantastic article about how twentysomethings are dealing with the crappy hand we've been dealt by the floundering economy, and about how our observations of previous generations have informed our values and goals:

"We are working and waiting for a chance to change the establishment to reflect our values. No, we don’t want what you have, just as you didn’t want what your parents had. We don’t want to spend our lives as perpetually burned-out slaves to a company that does not value us. We don’t want to be in bad marriages and isolate ourselves in McMansions. Neither did you when you were our age. Of course those things will happen to some of us, or perhaps most of us. But, right now, we’d rather hope they won’t."

I can't guarantee that I'll have a happy marriage or satisfying work life in the future, but I can arm myself with the knowledge and tools I'll need to help me do my very best to achieve those goals. About half of all marriages fail, and Dave Ramsey says that money problems are the biggest causes of divorce. I'm doing what I can now to, as Kanye says, "get my money right" so I can have a better shot at success.

As a currently single gal, I also agree 100% with Jenny Blake's "money manifesto" on Life After College about funding her own independence. She writes (emphasis hers):

"I made a promise to myself a long time ago — before I ever started collecting paychecks — to never stay in a job or a relationship because I can't afford to leave.

"When I was in college my mom told me that even if I get married someday, I should always know how to support myself. I should always know where my money is going, how to bring home a steady paycheck, and how to pay the bills if anything ever happened (like death or divorce)."

Right on, sister. My mom told me the very same thing. To feel trapped, whether it's in a terrible job, living situation or relationship, is one of my biggest fears.

So the reasons for my newfound obsession with personal finance are numerous, but they can all be summarized by these two: my desire to be free in every aspect of life, and my hope that I can do a little bit better as a worker, a daughter, a friend, a someday-wife and a someday-mother than I would have been able to before I got my money right.

Or maybe a lot bit better. Dream big.

G.O.O.D. Tip #3: Get thee to an ATM — start paying with cash

I can't tell you how many people have completely freaked out on me when I say that I always carry and pay with cash.

Remember cash? Those green, paper bills you see sometimes? You're still allowed to exchange them for goods and services!

"But aren't you afraid of being robbed?" people ask. Yes, I am afraid of being robbed, whether I carry cash or not. That's why I have pepper spray in my bag and a baseball bat in my car.

Just give me a reason.

And let's face it: I'm not Diddy. We're talking about Hamiltons here, not Benjamins.

The fact is, I've never been robbed (and I'm probably jinxing myself, but, again — baseball bat), but I have gotten into trouble by using my debit card and credit card. It's so easy to overspend when all you have to do is slide that little piece of plastic. It's so difficult to mentally stick to a budget while you're out grocery shopping or bar-hopping.

I use cash to make things easy on myself. Prior to each paycheck (twice a month), I sit down to create my next budget. I list all the regular payments I'll need to make during that period; determine how much money I'll immediately transfer from my paycheck to my savings account; and designate a small amount of money to take out in cash to spend for two purposes: groceries/toiletries and going out/having fun.

Usually I divide the amount equally between these two purposes, but if there are birthdays or other events approaching, I'll lump more money into the fun category.

Once I have this predetermined amount nailed down, I hit the bank after I get paid and withdraw the cash. I divide it up into its two purposes, make note of the starting amounts on a couple of post-its, and keep track of my spending on those post-its throughout those few weeks. When I run out of cash, I run out of cash. That's it.

This method has helped curb my spending for a few different reasons:

• It's much more difficult to part with tangible money. I tend to think twice about handing over a bunch of cash when I can physically see how much I'm spending. With a debit or credit card, the swipe is equally painless whether you're spending $7 or $70.

• Having a predetermined "allowance" in cash encourages more frugal decisions. If I have $50 designated for fun stuff that needs to last me two weeks, do I want to blow it all on one dinner? Or would I rather have one beer on Friday night, go out to lunch on Tuesday, buy an inexpensive shirt on Thursday and see a movie on Saturday? With a debit card, I might have spent the $50 on dinner without thinking, then spent more money later on a beer, lunch, a shirt, etc. Cue me at the end of the month asking: "How did I overspend? Where did all my money go?"

• It's easier to accept or reject social invitations when you know that you have X amount of money to spend (before you get into a situation where you're forced to spend money anyway). If my friend asks me to go get mani/pedis with her and I have $10 left in fun money, I may politely decline the invitation and suggest a less-expensive alternative. Or, I may pull $40 that I have left for groceries/toiletries and cobble together enough cash to accept. Either way, I'm able to think ahead of time about the money required for this particular activity, and whether I'm willing or able to spend it. (If your friends make fun of you for this, work on getting some better friends.)

Above all, using cash puts me back in touch with reality and makes me feel more in control of my spending. I'm a bit of a control freak — hello, I'm a proofreader — so I love the fact that I can look back at any one of my budgets from this year and find those little post-it notes stapled to the page, along with receipts, detailing exactly how I spent my cash.

Dave Ramsey likes to say that rich people tell their money where to go; poor people wonder where it went. Try using cash to help you stick to your budget, and you just might like how it works out.

A sense of possibilities

Today is my one-year anniversary.

On September 1, 2009, I started my first "grown-up" job as a proofreader at a downtown ad agency. I remember exactly what I wore: J. Crew trouser-leg jeans, a J. Crew tank and a J. Crew cardigan. I shuffled in wearing J. Crew ballet flats, bursting with three years' worth of sweater-folding knowledge from my college retail job, but boasting zero years' worth of proofreading experience.

The job required 2+ years. God only knows why they hired me.

But here I am, one year later, having more than succeeded in my first year of full-time employment. Only 42 more years to go.

I also moved back home exactly one year ago. I remember frantically cleaning my college apartment the night of August 31, desperately wishing the landlord would do his final walk-through so I could go home and get some sleep before my first day of work. His already-grubby finger found dust on my roommate's windowsill. She had cleared out of town hours earlier. I cried.

I've thought a lot this past year about what it means to be a grown-up. Part of me hopes that grown-ups are a myth, like Santa Claus, invented by alleged "grown-ups" to manipulate children into behaving or just plain shutting up. "Only grown-ups are allowed to do this," we tell them, or, "You'll find out when you're a grown-up." When exactly is this, I ask?

I considered that graduating from college means you're a grown-up, but then I realized I knew way too many people with degrees that still had a lot of growing up to do. My first day of work felt very grown-up to me, as did choosing my own health insurance for the first time and realizing that I now had paid time off.

But I've decided that reaching these arbitrary milestones does not necessarily make one a grown-up. I believe now that being a grown-up has much more to do with one's attitude, priorities and methods of decision-making.

A recent article in The New York Times Magazine called What Is It About 20-Somethings? explored the phenomenon of my age group taking much longer to "grow up" than previous generations. It details the idea of a phase of life that follows adolescence called "emerging adulthood," championed by psychology professor Jeffrey Jensen Arnett, that I strongly identify with:

Arnett says that young men and women are more self-focused than at any other time of life, less certain about the future and yet also more optimistic, no matter what their economic background. This is where the “sense of possibilities” comes in, he says; they have not yet tempered their ideal­istic visions of what awaits.
...
But despite elements that are exciting, even exhilarating, about being this age, there is a downside, too: dread, frustration, uncertainty, a sense of not quite understanding the rules of the game. More than positive or negative feelings, what Arnett heard most often was ambivalence — beginning with his finding that 60 percent of his subjects told him they felt like both grown-ups and not-quite-grown-ups.

I do have a sense of possibilities, and I'm saddened to know that one day this sense may disappear. I'd like to retain that, if I can, from this odd and mixed-up time in my life.

And I've definitely grown to feel more like an adult since I've lived at home this past year. I thought it would make me feel more like a kid again, living under the watchful eye of my mom and all, but I've found that I've learned much from her about being a responsible adult. She's shown me how to clean up some messes in my life, like my debt, of course, and helped me deal with new conflicts, like those that have emerged at work. Rather than acting as a capital-M Mom, telling me what to do, she's been a role model and a peer, helping me learn how to navigate the adult world.

As a college student, I often stayed up all night, whether I was studying, writing or partying. I ate horribly. I got sick often, and relied on coffee and Red Bull and adrenaline to get me through classes, my retail job and my internships (at one point, I was doing two simultaneously, on top of everything else). But I also excelled in most of my classes. I had a fantastic four years packed with tons of fun. I look back on it all very fondly.

But after graduation, I came down from that frenzied lifestyle with a thud. I was exhausted. I clutched my degree, happy to have walked to victory in my cap and gown, but unsure of what to do next. I needed to take a breather. I needed to move home, calm down, get some rest and gear up for the next stage of life.

My priorities have shifted this past year. I make sleep a priority. I make eating well a priority. I've made taking control of my finances a priority. I've been trying to identify the things that make me really happy — like spending time with close friends, writing, taking photos, reading for fun and learning new things — and make those priorities. I'm also learning how to cut things out of my life that make me unhappy.

Financially, I've learned how to delay pleasure in order to reap greater rewards in the future. I've put a bunch of money that I could certainly use today into a retirement fund, and I get pleasure from knowing that it will be way more useful down the line. Only 42 more years to go.

Whether or not I'm officially a grown-up doesn't matter that much to me. What matters is that I'm owning my life, making decisions that are far more mature and responsible than many I would have made four years ago (but still some stupid ones, too), and, yes, enjoying this sense of possibilities. I believe I can do anything. Perhaps that is the highlight of this in-between phase, and if I must lose this sense in order to fully become an adult, then I don't ever wanna grow up.