How I Achieved Financial Freedom

I remembered it. Several years ago. I was standing in a bleak office room with an awful neutral wall color dotted by pinned-up pages of financial-speak. The fluorescent lights glared down on me and some other students who also seemed affected by the vibe. We were waiting in line to approach a partitioned desk. The ladies in the partitions looked stern; their faces were frowning and their eyes had an empty, cold look about them. Not that they were bad ladies or anything...they went home to their families just like anyone else...but how many people could spend all day in a place like this and not look like that? I mean, eventually? It was like a very unhappy game of Plinko to find out which one you were going to wind up in front of. But you had to, and you wanted to get it over with.

I approached the desk and told my story--I don't have enough grants to cover my tuition and expenses, I'm a poor student with no family assistance, I need more financial aid, yes, I need loans. I was told to wait in a chair on the side of the room. I sat there watching other students face the grim gauntlet, until a lady opened the side door and called me back to her office. She told me she was going to be my financial counselor, and that she would help me get the money I needed to go to school. She went over plans and options with me, advised me as to my best course, and gave me the forms I needed and showed me where to sign. I signed my name as quickly as possible in order to get out of there.

By the time I walked out of the financial aid building, I had a terrible, gnawing feeling in my stomach that the sunlight and trees lessened but didn't take away. But it was over. I did what I needed to do.

But it wasn't over. I had to go through that process every year of school, sometimes twice a year, and it made me feel just as sick every time. I swallowed the feeling and signed my name, every time, just to get it over with.

But it was never over with. Even after I left school, and I didn't have to go to those offices anymore, it was still a menacing shadow that haunted me. I could escape it for a little while--shred the mail, change my phone number, make sure their messages went straight to my spam folder. But it always found me again. They found phone numbers I hadn't given to anyone but my mom and a few close friends. And every time, it would make me feel like I was standing in that office again, looking into an endless future where I had many times more debt than as much money as I'd ever had, where they'd always be hounding my steps and pinching my pennies.

Then I went through a lull where I didn't hear from them at all, for months. It was these last months, actually. Good months, not just because I didn't have to think about them, but because I thought about money as little as possible. I've spent most of my time drinking tea, reading, going on walks in woods and fields, petting cats and dogs, playing with nieces and nephews, and gaining spiritual insight and growth. With the help of some spiritual teachers, I started to understand about the stories I've been telling myself and how they've been shaping my reality. I started to see the movement of the whole world away from those stories, to better stories, in this fantastic pivotal moment we all have the amazing chance to live in.

But today, they found me again.

This morning, while I was in the bathroom, I heard my phone from my bedroom. I rushed to see who called and saw a number I didn't recognize. I knew what it meant. They'd found my new number again. I hesitated with what to do. I decided to call and face it head-on, rather than let the sound of my own phone's ring tone start haunting me again. I called the number back; it was a collection agency.

Me: "hi, i got a call from this number."

Her: "yes, I was calling regarding a student loan debt. Can I verify [blah blah blah personal information...]?"

Me: "yes, that's me."

Her: "Okay. You have a student loan debt of [impressive-sounding figure I didn't pay attention to]. When can I expect payments on this account?"

Me: "I can't pay anything."

Her: "we can set up a payment plan. Let me get more information and we can give you your options."

Me: "Um...you know, there's no need for that. I pretty much already know the kinds of payment plans you can offer and..."

Her: [suddenly irate] "You know? You know the plans I can offer? I'm trying to help you," [now in Simpsons-Comic-Book-Store-Guy-sarcasm] "but please, tell me about the plans I can offer."

Me: "Do you have options for a payment plan of zero? Because I don't have any money."

Her: "Are you currently employed?"

Me: "No."

Her: "How long have you been unemployed?"

Me: "A few years."
Now I was starting to feel really bad. I felt myself sinking back into those old feelings again. I felt like I was being twisted into a trap.

Her: "How do you get by?"

Me: "I've worked on some farms for room and board. Right now I live with my mom."
How was I being trapped into doing this again? What was I supposed to say? I cringed. I only wanted her to say, "Okay, we have enough information to know we can't get anything out of you at this time, so we'll pester you another time." But it kept going.

Her: "Well, we can set up a [financial-speak that was rendered even more incomprehensible by a bad connection] payment plan. But first, I'll need some more information. Can you provide the names and phones numbers of two references?"

I thought about getting two other people linked with this horrible thing and the feeling that went with it.

Me: "No, I don't want to do that. Why don't you just send it to me in the mail and I can see if it's something I want to do?"

Her: [Getting testy again] "I'm trying to tell you the plan right now. I can't send you anything if you don't give me references."

Me: "well, I'm not going to give you references if I don't know what I'm getting into, and I want to see it in writing."

Her: "please hold."

Released from her voice, I was squatting down looking over my grandfather's old fallow garden plot behind the house. Birds were darting between it and the woods. I waited several minutes. "Why am I holding this phone to my face?" I asked myself. "Screw this." I hung up.

But that feeling didn't go away. I had been forced to tell that old story about myself again, trapped into it, compelled into it, and now I felt its influence back in my life. And I didn't want it anymore. I didn't want that story, I didn't need that story. I wanted to be done with that story. What could I say the next time they called? I thought about it. Then it struck me.

It was simple and powerful. It was the same thing I've been realizing in general lately. Tell a different story. And I wasn't going to wait for them to call back to say it. I made myself a cup of tea and went out to the swing in the front yard. I called the number again, and I heard the same voice as before.

Me: "hi, we were speaking a few minutes ago."

Her: "Uh...is this [blah blah blah information...]?"

Me: "yes it is."

Her: "I was telling you I need two references--are you able to provide those now?"

Me: "no, I won't be doing that. But, I realized I shouldn't be misleading you the way I've been. It didn't feel right. I want to be honest."

Her: "okay, what do you mean?"

Me: "I've been making it sound like I'm poor. I'm not really though. I'm actually quite wealthy."

Her: "I don't get it. You mean your parents?"

Me: "No, I mean me. I am quite wealthy."

Her: [sounding surprised] "okay, well then can I set you up to pay this account?"

Me: "well, you see, the thing is, I enjoy spending it on myself and giving it to poor people so much more..."
This time I found myself suddenly smiling!

Her: "Well I'm trying to tell you that you have a debt account of [impressive-sounding figure] with your lender for student loans that needs to be paid."

Me: "Oh, but I'm not worried about that."

Her: "What do you mean you're not worried about it?!"

Me: "I mean, I'm sorry, but it's just not my problem."

Her: [irrate again] "Are you saying that the [impressive-sounding figure] that you owe is not your problem?!"

Me: "Yes, that's what I'm saying!" I was feeling all kinds of giddiness now.

Her: [sounding shocked and exasperated] "You borrowed this [impressive-sounding figure] from your lender and signed a statement promising to pay it back. You have to. Your wages will be garnished."

Me: "Wage-garnishment doesn't affect me. I'm wealthy, remember? I don't have to work for what I want. I don't have to do anything. More importantly, The world is changing now. The loan-scams have lost their power. We're not doing that anymore."

Her: [clearly at ends] "Hold on, I'm going to give you to someone else."

Me: "Okay!"

half a minute went by.

Next Lady: "Hi, I understand we're trying to set up a payment plan and you're confused about something?"

Me: "Hi! No, I'm not confused at all."

Next Lady: "Okay, so were you going to pay the account?"

Me: "No, nope, I'm all set, thanks!"

Next Lady: "Well, [list of threats for forcibly collecting money]."

Me: "Oh, those don't affect me, I'm securely and independently wealthy."

Next Lady: "I see. So I can tell the lender you have no intention to pay?"

Me: "Yeah, sure, go ahead."

Next Lady: "Okay. Have a good day."

Me: "Okay, thanks! Have a good day!"

When I put down the phone, still sitting on the swing, I looked at the cloud-drifted sky and breathed in the air. It was perfect. The weight was gone. I realized that the debt-and-poverty-monster that had haunted me for years was just a boogeyman that I had gotten energetically-entangled with the day I walked into the financial aid office, waded through the awful feeling and then signed the papers. And today, I was free from it. Free to tell my own story the way I wanted to tell it--not of struggling to survive, but of being excited to live, thrive, create, share, and enjoy abundantly, without struggling at all.

And we can all do that. Let's all do that together, right now.

Love,

J-