adulting

Step 267: This year, do Christmas presents right

I know I start a good 63 percent of entries by saying I’m really bad at this or that skill, but it’s true. In so many ways, I am terrifically incompetent. It is a vast and sparkling galaxy, the number of things I don’t do well. And so tonight, one more tiny star: I am bad at holiday gift-giving.

But I’ve gotten a little better. And so here are some useful guiding principles on how even the very poor/shopping averse can feel competent during this festive and joyous season.

1. Make your holiday gift budget. You know how much money you can spend without overdrawing your bank account/barely paying rent/unfairly resenting your relatives just for existing after you buy them things and then the previous two situations happen. So figure out what that number is. Write it down. Circle it. You cannot spend more than that.

2. Make a big, inclusive list of everyone you could be expected to give presents to —parents? Significant other? Siblings? Younger cousins/nieces/nephews? Close friends? Aunts/uncles? Work friends? Your boss? — then whittle down the list as much as possible. Can you just bake delicious treats for extended relations/work and non-close friends/etc.?

I used to ask my mom to relay to my uncles that while I was so very appreciative of their gifts, since I was also poor I would really appreciate it if we could keep gifts under $5, or better yet, exchange homemade things. I was too old for people to buy unreciprocated presents for me, but too poor to actually reciprocate.

2.5 Some people are not optional. Little kids in the family, moms and people who will be overly hurt if they get something for you and you completely neglect to get anything for them and don’t bother communicating this beforehand — these people should be toward the top of the list.

3. Begin to parcel out that money from step one. Maybe you can afford to buy three people (mom/dad/S.O.) $20 presents, five people (niece, nephew, sister, two best friends) $10 presents, and everyone else small tokens of your affection. That’s OK. If you’re 22 and making just-above minimum wage, people will understand. If they don’t, they’re jerks. 

4. Try to figure out ways to spend less, but still get people wonderful things that they will enjoy. Used bookstores are super for this. Ditto Goodwill for home decor and books, amazon.com, garage sales, and just paying attention to small things people mention they might enjoy, like sweet-ass pens that cost $4.29 apiece. And don’t forget delicious homemade things. 

5. Don’t forget that you should do all online shopping by two weeks before Christmas. Which means we are now getting into the wee small hours.

6. As you are purchasing things, online or in person, keep track of how much you are spending. Know how much of your budget you have left. If you’re going to make everyone, say, fudge, figure out how much the ingredients for five batches of fudge cost, and subtract that from your total. Stick to the budget. Budget. Budget! IT’S THAT IMPORTANT.

7. You do not have to spend $25 of your tiny, precious gift budget on wrapping supplies. Go to Target, and get two rolls of scotch tape, a pair of scissors, and one of those ribbon assortments that come with three colors. Wrap things in newspaper with a festive amount of ribbon. If you are poor, spending a bunch of money on seasonally-specific wrapping paper is completely unnecessary.

8. Pick a weekend in which all shopping and wrapping will happen. Clear out your schedule for at least seven hours. Yes. I know. It’s commercial and horrible and irritating. But then you’ll be done with it. In the grand scheme of things, seven hours is not that long. Unless that seven hours is being spent on Dec. 24, first in the mall then going crazy at home when you run out of Scotch tape. Do it now. Godspeed!

Step 265: Transition between jobs elegantly

Got the following question in the ol’ in-box:

Hi Adulting,

Despite the odds, I’ve landed a well-paying job with benefits only a year out of college. I should be grateful, but I absolutely hate it. I’m miserable, and I want to quit to pursue another job I think would make me happy, but pays less. 

The company I work for is great though, and has made me feel valuable and appreciated. My question is - how do I quit this job like an adult? I want to leave this door open, and I don’t want to offend anybody for turning down this opportunity. Do I give the normal two weeks notice? Or is a month more appropriate? (Sidenote: I’m not obligated to give any notice at all. My contract stipulates that I can quit or be fired at any time.)

Thanks so much!

A not-bitter Quitter

Dear An-bQ,

Even though you didn’t ask, I’ll start with two general bits of career advice:

1. Unless you are working in a truly toxic environment that makes you cry every time you go in, I would highly highly recommend you land that new job before quitting this one. Even though it’s self-evidently unfair and crappy, potential new employers are always more likely to hire people while they are currently employed. 
2. If you’ve been there significantly less than a year, I would ask yourself if you can stick it out a little bit more. It gives your future self wiggle room to bounce out of a truly awful job without making you appear flighty on your resume. Caveat: If this job is in no way a career-builder and/or you find your dream job, then yes, duh, quit.  

So. That being said, this is what I would do. Start quietly, quietly looking for your new job, lining up people at your current job that they could call as a reference (hint: this will probably not be your direct supervisor, but rather someone you’ve worked closely with and are friendly with even outside of work, and can keep secrets).

When you are offered your new position, and have your offer letter in-hand (drug test/background check/etc. passed), ask if they have any flexibility on your start date. Ideally, you can ask for a month or more out.

Finally, you request a meeting with your kind boss at a time when they are not busy and appear to be in a good mood. You let them know that you are so, so grateful for your time at the company/their mentorship/a generally wonderful office environment/(anything else that applies, so long as its sincere). But after a lot of soul-searching you’ve decided that it just isn’t the right fit and have accepted a position elsewhere. BUT! You care about the company and don’t want to leave anyone in the lurch, so you can stick around for the next month and/or until they find a replacement that you can help train. 

Some will want you around as long as possible; others will just ask for your two-week notice. But this way, you’ve done the thoughtful thing.

Finally, don’t forget to submit a formal letter of resignation. You don’t have to be super emotional or effusive in it; simple is best. Here’s what’s in it:

• You are resigning your position as (X);
• You so appreciate the challenges and growth that you’ve experienced in the past (X) months/years;
• Your last day will be (X) OR you are willing to work until (X) date to help smooth the transition.

Good luck!

Step 264: Be a good person when people you love are sick

And now, a killer guest entry from Maddie Greene. Maddie is a survivor of ovarian cancer and has some really, really important tips on how to elegantly and lovingly support a friend going through a serious illness. I spotted her when this amazing Reddit comment made the front page. Quick sample:

The primary lesson I learned is that friends will desert you in droves when you and your friends are young enough not to have experienced death and tragedy before. That distinction is important. Fleeing illness out of fear is how we first deal with that big mess. … Bear in mind that your girlfriend might be experiencing the dissolution of what she thought was a strong support network.

Anyway, Maddie was kind enough to write a guest entry on how we can be good when people need us most. Maddie?

Only weeks after losing a friend to leukemia, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. My friends and I staggered through this tumultuous period with frequent awkwardness and occasional grace. Learn from our errors and wield my advice to support friends undergoing serious illness or trauma!

“Let me know if you need anything” isn’t all that helpful.

Offer specific help. Not just “Let me know if there’s anything I can do” but “Can I bring you my famous baked mac and cheese on Thursday?” Propose something concrete that you know you can accomplish easily and see if it fits a need the person may not have known how to verbalize. Specificity helps — articulating needs and desires is not easy mid-trauma.

Listen, but talk too

When Tig Notaro scrapped her usual memorized comedy routine for a live, frank set about her cancer diagnosis and other recent traumas, she pointed out that many of her friends suddenly refused normal conversations, assuming she would be disinterested in daily life now that she had bigger things to worry about. She disagreed. “Just somebody, talk to me, please,” Notaro begs in her act. Don’t exclude your friend or assume they can only talk about their illness. Talk to them.

And get ready for it to get weird.

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Step 263: Don’t wash your hands while wearing a coat

This will never end in anything besides wet sleeves, drippy wrists and disappointment.

Step 262: This Thanksgiving, do not get drawn into fights you won’t win

Happy almost-Thanksgiving! Hopefully, you’ve figured out what to take to tomorrow’s celebration (I’m doing this, and a pumpkin pie) or, if you are actually hosting, have found enough chairs and also congratulated yourself on that massive undertaking.

Now. Inspired by this brilliant Onion article, a gentle reminder that no one wins the bickering-with-extended-family-about-religion/politics game. This year, refuse to be drawn into it. Here’s the very simple game plan, repeated as many times as necessary:

Uncle So-and-So: Did you know that Obama is actually a transgender French woman?

You: Oh, Uncle So-and-So, I’m not going to talk about politics. (Voice tone: gentle)

Uncle S-a-S: But don’t you realize what she is trying to do to America?

You: I’m not going to talk about politics. (Voice tone: gentle but matter-of-fact)

Uncle S-a-S: Everyone, except white people and seniors and senior white people, will be given their own small business. But the kicker is that each small business will have been taken away from a white person who built it.

You: I’m not going to talk about politics. (Voice tone: same as above)

Uncle S-a-S: Entitlements … black people … gays … baguettes …

You: Hrmmmmm. (Voice tone: gentle but bored, more of a neutral, quiet noise than anything else. At this point you have full permission to wander away or turn to whomever else is around you that won’t be such a pain in the ass.)

No one, no matter how desperately they wish to argue, can withstand this stonewall effort. Whatever they are saying, however wrong they may be — you will not change their minds, and you especially won’t do it by getting in a big fight during a family gathering. So right now, summon all the zen you may need.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Step 261: Know when to go to the hospital

Since appendectomies are still on my brain, it seemed like a good time to compile a list of times when you should seek medical care, like, right this minute.

REALLY IMPORTANT NOTE: This is NOT a comprehensive list. This is, instead, a list of signs that something is (potentially) very wrong with you, and no, you should not wait until the morning to see if your regular doctor can see you. Please feel free to add things I may have missed in the comment section.

Also, a note for American readers: In most places, ambulances do not charge unless they actually transport you. And while transportation is in fact very expensive, not calling an ambulance when it is needed is worse. If it seems like someone cannot reasonably get in a car (driven by someone else, of course) and to the hospital, call an ambulance. If the EMTs decide transport is not needed, they won’t be charged.

On with the list:

• Any seizure, unexplained loss of consciousness, or serious trouble with your normal mental processes
• Ongoing bleeding; blood coming out of any orifice; more than a cup of blood loss
• Serious shortness of breath. If you cannot breathe, that is a medical emergency.
• A sharp, stabbing pain in your lower-right abdomen (this could be appendicitis)
• Paralysis; not being able to move any part of your body that you normally can move.
• A high (over 101-degree) fever that persists for twenty-four hours or more
• A broken bone (here’s how to tell)

Additions:

• Chest pain (yes, even if you are young)
• Signs of a stroke (again, even if it’s not age-appropriate) 
• Suicidal thoughts (ESPECIALLY if you have a plan)
• Uncontrollable vomiting (you need to get on fluids to not dehydrate; also, usually if it’s just stomach flu, doctors can give you that injection that hurts like hell but will make you stop puking) 
• Nearly any head injury. Head injuries can sneak up on you; you seem OK at first but damage is ongoing. 

Again, this is not a complete list and there are many, many situations when you will need to go to the hospital for other reasons. But these things are nearly always big red flags. Even if you are uninsured (European and Canadian readers, I love you but please don’t gloat), know that the hospital will work with you, and figure out a way to help you. These are things that will get worse before they get better, so go get help.

(Photo by PuuikiBeach)

What have I missed?

Step 260: Donate to things that you believe in, and/or make your life better

NPR, the Humane Society, or, in today’s example, Wikipedia, are all things I give money to. Not a lot, but some.

Wikipedia adds immense value to my life, and I love it. Today alone, it has informed me on topics as diverse as the Mary Celeste (a 19th century ship, found adrift with no trace of the crew), Jamie Lynn Spears (I’d forgotten about that whole pregnancy thing), Steadicam, all the varieties of noodle soup in the world (SO MANY!!!), and ghost trains (what if they’re real?)

So when a banner popped up asking me to donate, it seemed like an asshole move not to.

It doesn’t have to be a lot. Just remember: mathematically speaking, $5 is infinitely more money than $0. If you love it, and it depends on contributions, then try to contribute.

Side note: After expressing what I feel are very valid concerns about ghost trains, the boyfriend proceeded to spend 15 minutes making scary ghost train noises. This feels like grounds for a break up. Also, when I was talking about this entry, he said, “Oh, no. Donating is the WORST. It’s like buying something, without the something.”

Step 259: This week, do email right

I am not good at email. No sir. There is just so many of them, each a call to action that I somehow fail, usually in one of the following ways:

Mail from blog readers that makes me cry and feel so, so happy.
Proper response: Quickly write back a thoughtful reply that conveys how much that letter meant to me.
My response: Write a draft, decide it isn’t good enough, feel guilty for the next three weeks.

Daily emails from companies that I don’t care about but bought something from once.
Proper response: Unsubscribe to that shit, then mark it as spam.
My response: Patiently, day in and day out, mark it as read. Sigh painfully, wonder why life is so irritating, realize what a stupid first worldly problem this is, feel guilty for getting angry at Southwest Airlines when real suffering exists in the world.

As you can see, nearly every email interaction ends with guilt. This is dumb. I cannot commit to being good at email forever, because, Jesus. But I can commit for this week, to do the following:

• Unsubscribe, ruthlessly and instantly, to every single stupid “Ace Hardware Daily Digest!”-style missive that clots up my inbox like so much oatmeal down a drain;
• Decide that good will not be the enemy of great when it comes to heartfelt email replies, and writing something prompt is better than writing something profound;
• Set twice-daily email/Tumblr inbox reply times, which in this case will be 10 a.m. and 5 p.m.
• If there is a VERY compelling reason that I cannot respond immediately to the email, I will dutifully file it under the RESPOND!!!!!! label, and get to it within 24 hours. 
• By doing these things, I get to excuse myself from email guilt.

PS — See that “best emails ever” label? That is where every single email y’all send me goes. I am way, way behind on replies right now, but should be up to date by the end of the week.

Step 257: If your candidate wins tonight, be gracious.

Happy Election Day, U.S. readers! Happy End of Having to Hear Every 10 Goddamn Seconds About the U.S. Election Day, non-U.S. readers!

I hope y’all voted. If not, you know, OK. That’s fine. It’s dumb, but who cares? You can be apathetic if you like.

But here is what you should not do: Be a poor, gloaty winner.

It’s fine and right to feel so so so happy if your candidate of choice wins. Just remember that their winning, by definition, means someone else’s candidate lost. And even if you think your city/state/country narrowly averted a tragedy via this candidate’s defeat, there are people out there who are mourning.

It is a hard, hard thing to feel like the rest of the country is out of step with you. There is a real pain there. Just ask 20-year-old me as I woke up crying on Nov. 3, 2004. 

So be happy, with like-minded people. Pop the champagne cork, high-five, do whatever. But be aware that no matter what happens tonight, half the country will be disappointed. So ask yourself whether you really need to post that “IN YOUR FACE!!!!” Facebook update.

And if your candidate loses, whatever you do, do not follow my past-self’s lead and drink two bottles of blue Arbor Mist. That will not help.

Step 256: Sometimes, everything falls apart. It will come back together, eventually

And now, for a post inspired by Sandy and (even though it’s been seven years) Katrina.

Sometimes, something happens and everything changes. This Thing, that you didn’t request and weren’t prepared for, divides your life starkly into a Before and After.

Whether it’s big and universal (a hurricane) or the most quiet and private kind of loss (a miscarriage, an abortion) or somewhere in between — we all have these. There is not one person reading this who will not (if they haven’t already) feel the fabric of your life dissolve, feel like nothing will ever be right again, that something fundamental has left and no longer exists.

The alternative to feeling this way is to not feel anything, at all, ever. If you care about things, about people — and you should; it’s what it means to be human — then in time, you will have to grieve losses. Religion, anxiety, fear, faith, love — none of these things can protect you fully. Tragedies are not mosquitos; fear is not a citronella candle.

It is OK to dissolve, to lay on the floor and cry because you’re too sad to be on a piece of furniture and the only thing that feels right is to be at ground level. You can question everything, you can ask why why why why this had to happen, you can bargain, you can deny, you can do all of these things. It’s OK to go a little or a lot crazy.

But remember, as soon as you can feel something beside the tsunami of sadness, that these experiences are what transform us. They make us feel empathy, they take us outside ourselves, they force us to rely on others, they bring the happinesses we feel into bright, shining contrast, like looking at stars in the country rather than the city.

Something so big and profound, you don’t ever really get over. But you learn to live with the loss. It becomes integrated into your emotional/psychic/spiritual landscape, and slowly erodes enough that it’s not the first thing you see. You are left a larger person than you were before.

Next post, I’ll be back to mundane but useful bullshit, I promise.