Debt and Desire

By Martina Nicholson on Wednesday, August 24, 2005
Regarding debt and desire;

When my accident happened in October 2004, I couldn't drive for 90 days. I had a mid-thoracic fracture. it hurt to put my arms out in front of me, even to carry a teacup to the kitchen. Since I live out of town, it was a very isolating experience. I was weak and in pain, and dependent on my husband and children to get things from upstairs for me, and to bring me cups of tea; and to help me get out of the bath. I spent a lot of time looking out the window. I did not want to nag, which would have made them want to get away from me, and isolate me more. 6 months later, when I could drive again, it was the rainy season of spring, and I was afraid of the slick roads, since my accident was due to hydroplaning. I did not go to the store. My husband did the shopping. I re-read the books in my own house.
Also, since I couldn't work, we decided at the office I would not get a paycheck so that the overhead would stay covered; and there would be a lag in pay when I came back to work, to finish paying off the ongoing overhead. The disability insurance only started after 90 days, and they delayed another month sending it. It was not enough to cover 6 months' loss of income, but it helped. I needed to buy a reliable car, as mine was totalled. So we bought a good used car; but that added more debt, as I didn't have much to put in, as a down-payment. When I got back to work, I could only do a very little of my previous workload. No surgery, labor and deliveries only with back-up, and cautiously.
8 months after the accident I got to go to the store to "shop". I bought a pillow, and I felt like I just hit the jackpot! I felt like I did when I first came home from the Peace Corps, and saw the bewildering array of options of things to buy, huge quantities of things. Such an experience tunes one again to the difference between needs and wants, and illuminates the basic costs of the infrastructure of one's life.
Doctors are prone to the temptations of "champagne tastes." Desire rises in us; little flames of desire rising in our egos, nudging us to buy. But to look at where the money goes, and to try to direct it, instead of following it, is an enormous task. Especially if the spouse and children are not tuned to the same goals. Especially if one lives in a consumer culture. All around me, I see the middle class cracking and disappearing. People are sinking deeper into debt. Housing in our area is extremely expensive. A friend of mine whose job is to give housing loans, looks at the applications and shakes her head; she says there are too many people buying homes with no down-payment, living from paycheck to paycheck, with huge loads of debt. Young mothers will never be able to stay home to breastfeed their children. The numbers of families with hunger and homelessness is rising. Patients are budgeting whether or not to come see us, as they decide whether they can afford the co-pay. And I live in a "vacation area" where there are lots of people with no health insurance, who drive Mercedes cars, and go to Hawaii to surf, and to Idaho to ski. No matter what your income is, there are tons of televised models of how to spend more than you have.
I think the Buddhists are right, that the place to start is recognizing the "ephemeral" quality of desire. To let go of desire, to let it pass through without grasping, is the antidote to consumerism. Envy and covetousness are the underpinning of our society. I am not immune. After a night on call, I want to go buy something to reward myself. Usually I am careful about the cost, but the instinct to do it is very strong. There is a deep feeling of entitlement. There are very few voices telling me it is NOT ok, and they are easily drowned by the advertising all around me. Because of my experience in the Peace Corps, I am more immune than some doctors; but still, the little flames of desire rise up inside me, as I see things to want. And then there are the things that need to be maintained. I bought a refrigerator this summer. I always ridiculed my paternal grandmother, who loved appliances, and got them as presents. To me, a present should be a luxury item or a work of art. But I am so happy to have the new refrigerator, I see how I am also like my grandmother. Having a home, safety and security, and some beautiful things matter to all of us. Learning to live with less, becoming more ascetic, is a necessity; as they pay us less, as our overhead rises, and we have to remember what matters most. We have to learn to budget more carefully, and to resist more effectively the desires that flame up.
An interesting side-effect of the near-death experience is the recognition that time is more precious than money. If you are like me, you have squandered time as well as money. Learning to hoard it, to use it wisely, to direct how this precious resource will be spent in better ways is another learning experience which we might otherwise put off or never get around to doing. Rachel Remen, in the stories and parables in "Kitchen Table Wisdom" and "My Grandfather's Blessings" constantly points to these kinds of lessons.. I find them endlessly jewel-like and helpful. I just re-read the story about the boy who died of the congenital abnormal coronary artery in the first year of medical school, and how the young doctors felt as they passed his heart around the anatomy lab. Ostensibly it was about the ability to mask our feelings. But it was also about how we use our time, our true wealth.
It also occurs to me that we can't know how to do something more cheaply or more efficiently, until we have done it the long way or the hard way. We can only become better at something by practicing. Some of what we need to learn about managing our desire, and disciplining our use of financial resources can only be learned by doing it the "hard" way. So I am also trying to be s bit gentle with myself, in learning these lessons.