Over the weekend, Poor Kyle and I took a huge leap of faith.
Faith in each other, faith in ourselves, faith in the economy, and most terrifyingly, faith in God.
We signed some papers that have the potential to put us either in the poor house or—what’s the opposite of the poor house? I’ve never heard of the rich house. Let’s just call it the moderately comfortable house.
I have been suffering with what can only be described as a wee case of the hysterics ever since it hit me what we’ve done.
I grew up in a family that proceeded with great caution financially, you see. We were not wealthy by most standards, but my parents worked hard and smart, so we always had enough and then a little extra. But I can remember great debates in our house over whether or not we should buy a new (to us) minivan or just keep using the car we had. Or whether to renovate the kitchen or make do with the one we had. My parents hated getting into debt of any kind, and they passed that hatred right down to me.
So the fact that we practically have a second mortgage worth of debt right now, debt from which, three days ago, we were blissfully {practically} free?
That fact scares me witless.
I was talking to my husband’s mom about my anxiety, and she told me that she used to struggle with the same fears until one day it hit her: they’d had rich times and poor times, but her husband always managed to land on his feet.
I think my problem is that, compared to how long I expect to be married to Poor Kyle (eternity), we’re really practically newlyweds. We’ve never gotten into a venture like this together. I don’t have years of experiences to show me that my husband always lands on his feet. I only have faith, and faith has never been my strongest suit.
On the other hand, although I have to face these next few years with more faith than I’ve ever before had to muster, I can take comfort in the fact that my faith need not be wholly blind. I may not have lots of financial experience with my husband, but I have known the man for five years now. I should give him some credit.
Here’s why:
-He made some difficult decisions in order to get us out of debt a few years ago (including selling some of his much beloved motorised toys).
-He loves to play, and play hard, but he knows when it’s time to stop and get down to business.
-He always discusses big shiny purchases with me beforehand, even when he knows I’ll talk him out of them. He’s done this for as long as we’ve known each other, even before we were engaged.
-He listens to me and my concerns, and listens with an open mind.
-He rubs my back when I’m scared.
-He really is one of the smartest guys I know. Quitting is not in his vocabulary. He fought long and hard to get me to marry him, which proves that he knows an excellent deal when he sees one. He’s no fool. I would’ve never married an idiot.
I have to give him the credit he deserves, and quite frankly, I deserve a little myself, too. We’ve done well together, we’re good for each other, and by george, WE CAN DO THIS.
Said the woman huddled in the corner hyperventilating into a paper bag.
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