I’m late for my lunch appointment and covering the 20-mile stretch of highway between Raleigh and Durham at a brisk pace. It’s the last day of September. While North Carolina is showing few signs of autumn, some cool air rolled in the night before and pushed the summer humidity out to the coast. With a shining sun, it’s perfect for rolling down the windows and letting the wind swirl around the faded leather interior of my old Toyota.
I’m heading downtown to meet Kristen Cox, an investment associate at Self-Help Credit Union. I’ve been thinking about the Enough Project for a few weeks now, and I’m about to write my first check.
The idea is to put some chunk of our family money to work supporting conscious capitalist organizations and projects. We’re doing pretty well these days, financially speaking. I’m less and less compelled to make every dollar go into investments that aim for the highest possible returns. If there’s a tradeoff to be made between earning the highest return possible versus one that’s merely reasonable, I’m willing to explore the reasonable option when it means the money supports something constructive, meaningful and that provides some benefit to my community.
This is the gist of the Enough Project: putting a small slice of our money to work in ways that are consistent with the things we value.
Yet I find myself glancing anxiously at the passenger seat of my car. It’s empty save one checkbook wrapped in the same navy blue vinyl cover my bank issued me when I opened the account more years ago than I care to remember. I’m not sure why, but I’m a little nervous about using one of those checks to transfer our six-month emergency fund over to Self-Help. The transaction is riskless. The new account is covered by NCUA insurance, so it has all the protections the FDIC provides at my bank. It will earn the same interest rate it gets in my bank. It’s completely liquid with the money available to pull out anytime I might need it. True, the check is the biggest I’ve ever written, but I’m writing it to myself! Why the fear?
There’s something about this drive, about this check, about this Enough Project that has me thinking hard about my crazy relationship with money these past ten years. It’s creating a serious case of navel-gazing.
Flashback to June 2004. I was down to my last $50. Literally. And I had a wallet full of maxed-out credit cards, a mortgage-sized student loan payment, and a car note to boot.
It had been six months since my last paycheck, and my job options were so dim that I passed my days filling out applications on the Halliburton website. My mind spun vivid daydreams in which I drove 18-wheel supply trucks in caravans criss-crossing the deserts of Iraq or Afghanistan, pulling a kevlar bucket tight by its chinstrap when the occasional mortar shell came whistling down. Spending the next year or two as a war contractor seemed my best option for income. Perhaps my only option to avoid whatever comes after one runs out of money to pay his creditors.
I remember lying across my bed in the middle of one sweltering Charlotte summer day, my roommate’s dog resting her muzzle on my thigh while my brain dizzied itself spinning through every desperate plan that might keep me afloat just a bit longer.
Suddenly it all stopped. My mind emptied itself, becoming utterly silent. Staring at the ceiling for what must have been five, maybe ten minutes of total quiet, the despair slowly gave way to a simmering anger. I muttered aloud, for no one in particular, “Never again.”