volume one hundred and sixty-six

drop the old story

📍Written from Naarm (Melbourne) on a Monday morning! The clocks have changed! My schedule is freeing up! I am back into my Monday writing routine! Life is good!

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My first memory of money that I can recall is getting $5 in a card from my Grandma every year, and getting $50 in a card every year from Nanny and Poppy.

My Mum’s mother lived alone, had more than twenty grandchildren, and was starting to get great-grandchildren. She gave us all $5 every birthday and never missed a single one, even when she lived far away. She had a calendar dedicated specifically to all of her family’s birthdays. What she had, she shared.

My Nanny and Poppy had three grandchildren. They were never wealthy, either. Circumstances were just different. What they had, they shared.

I learned that single women have less. But only over time did that occur to me. I learned to be embarrassed by having less and to want more. As a young child, I was over-the-moon excited and grateful no matter what I got in a card. I would have been excited just by a card. As a child money never occurred to me. $5 was just as exciting as any other amount. It was money all of my own! I could spend it (or save it) in any way I liked. I had no concept of the amount or what that might mean for the person who gave it to me. The shame of comparison was learned, once I started school and discovered I was not as wealthy as most other kids. 

In so many ways I was wealthy. I had everything I needed. I was always warm, clothed, fed and cared for in that respect.

But I couldn’t see that when I was made to feel less than. Despite attending schools that had uniforms to equalize us, my black leather lace-up shoes which were the required dress code didn’t have the green and gold stripes on the sole. This indicated a brand I don’t even remember now, but that meant money. 

I was so happy and grateful to get cards from my grandparents. I felt so loved!

My backpack was not a well-known surfbrand and I was made to feel small for that.

When I was in high school, I had a cool new-to-me jumper that had been my older sister’s. I loved it. It was baby blue with a fun slogan that I don’t recall on the front, but that made me feel grown up and keeping up with the trends of the early 2000s. I even think the font was made from glitter. Iconic.

I expected comments on it as soon as my friends saw me on the quad that day for the morning assembly. I expected them to say how much they loved it. In a later period, after a long day of no comments, as we sat next to each other, I asked my friend if she liked my new jumper. She said, “Well I didn’t know it was new, there are fluff balls all over it”.

She then went on to tell me about a friend at her old school who gifted her clothes on her birthday with the same fluff and then laughed about how poor she must have been. My excitement turned to shame.

That same year, I was waiting in the car after school while my Mum ran an errand. We were parked near one of the local op-shops. I saw the most popular girl in my grade walk into the op-shop with her Mum. She paused at the door and looked at me, hanging onto the door frame ready to swing herself in or out. Her eyes said, “Please do not tell anyone about this”.

I wonder what would have happened if she instead, smiled? Let me know it was okay? A small part of me knew it was at that moment, because even the most popular girl in school went op-shopping. Even if she hated the idea of anyone knowing. I hated the idea of anyone knowing, too. 

What if I had gotten to smile back instead of looking away and agreeing that I would say nothing because I saw nothing? 

It would be several more years before I met friends who allowed me to know that op-shopping was cool. That when someone said, “I love what you’re wearing!” I could reply with pride, “Thanks! I got it at an op-shop!” and show off my rummaging skill and eye for fashion.

At 33, I rarely buy anything new to wear, unless it is essential. It is easy for me to assume now that op-shopping or upcycling is cool because it has become far more acceptable as folks want to find vintage threads, not feed the fast fashion monster and save the planet in the process. But it is also easy for me to assume this because of the people I surround myself with. We are all pretty damn cool.

I know there are so many people who still buy all of their clothes new, from shops they’ve never considered the process of what happens to make them, in order to keep up with the trends of 2024, only to ditch them as soon as the next trend comes around. I know this because I see them all with all of their shopping bags.

Some of these new clothes are made to look vintage, which is the most hilarious and aggravating part of it all to me.

My relationship with money has evolved a lot over the years. In the period I was at the peak of my drinking, I was alone and lonely, I was filled with ego, I was desperate to fill a God-sized hole in my soul so I did my best with booze and living outside of my means. I bought clothes, things for my house, things I didn’t need, things that allowed me relief from feeling small for a small period of time before I had to buy again.

I didn’t just use money as my currency. I used any means available. I sent texts that now make me cringe, that were purely to show off. Some cringey moments happened during blackouts and I will never have to think of them again. Most were there with receipts the next day thanks to modern technology and open tabs on my phone. I posted stories and tweeted comments that were seeking likes, and in the process went against everything I believe in. I contributed to the narratives that I knew to be dangerous, in order to make sure everyone knew how cool I was.

In short, I was so desperate not to be the girl with a fluffy jumper. If only I could hug that Lauren who hated themself so much, and whose literal and metaphorical bank account was likely in debit during those moments I was at peak spending.

My relationship with money is, and always has been, tied to my ego ever since I learned it to be. I do not blame the kids in school, they were just taught the same lesson that I was.

I do not blame anyone. I can, however, hold myself accountable for how I chose to show up to that. I can also choose how I show up now. I can choose how my ego is fed or not, and I can take responsibility for the times I let it rule. It’s a constant and deliberate amends in my life now.

It is no coincidence that as I have healed, I have minimalised everything I own down to a suitcase. This is not the drastic means I suggest for everyone, of course. But for me, this period — which took years to fully live in and shed down to — coincides with the years I spent beginning to heal and shed ego, too.

I am a different person than I was, and I am so glad for that.

I have a long way to go, still, and I hope I never stop learning.

I spend my money on memories more than stuff; a scoop of ice cream I can recommend to a fellow frozen treat lover and that gives me a childlike joy that social media never has to worry about, change in a busker’s guitar case for a pause to dance, tickets to a show to experience joy in the present, bus passes a new place, thank you cards, postcards to my chosen family all over the globe, investing into the future of causes I believe in, being the single woman who gives all she can to the kiddos in my life that I love very much who would be excited no matter the amount. Because they haven’t learned not to be, yet. I hope they can hang onto that for as long as possible. 

In the words of a truly beautiful soul, “I want to care about stuff less”.

Lovely reader, head into the comments and tell me what’s the last cool thing you found at an op-shop (thrift store)?

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here are three things i struggled with this week:

✨ I keep pulling the same tarot card because I am not listening to the advice yet!

⏰ Time zones. This blessed life of a full-time traveller*, working for wonderful clients in other parts of the world, and clock shifts, gets me every time. *For those of you new here, I housesit full time. I feel this is necessary to mention based on the topic of this week’s volume. This is how a single human might choose to afford to live in the world these days due to it being a rent-free decision. Plus, of course, I get to feed my soul with adventure.

📙I am reading a really good book I borrowed off the homeowner’s shelf and every time I get into it, I start to worry if I will have time to finish it before the housesit ends. I just need to enjoy it.

here are three blessings from this week:

🫧 I think it might be the washing detergent, but my current house smells like Nanny and Poppy’s linen closet and I love it.

🌧️ I got caught in the biggest downpour on a very warm day, and so did the stranger who passed me exclaiming, “Isn’t this glorious?” and we laughed and celebrated how good our timing was.

🍦 Plant-based Golden Gaytimes are a thing and Little Loz is very happy.

here are three goals for the coming week:

✌️ People power.

💭 Rest in the gaps that are forming. Rest as in walks, as in naps, as in recharging for more showing up, as in reading, as in snacking, as in cat cuddling, as in staring, as in journaling, as in yoga with no rush, as in daydreaming.

⏯️ Pause before saying “Yes, of course!”. Give it 24 hours. A new rule that I just know I will be terrible at. 

pics or it didn’t happen:

she loves a cuddle

I love you and I appreciate you reading my letters because I really enjoy writing them to you.

🧡, LD (lauren deborah | they/she)