I'm 30 years old and only make enough money to cover the essentials. I rely on my parents to pay for fun things.
I went from having a full time office job to being a freelancer and had to adjust my spending.
I cut down on fun things, like going out for dinner or buying fancy things in the supermarket.
I rely on my parents to pay for those fun things, and I eagerly accept their help.
When I changed my career from a salaried office job to going freelance, it came with the understanding that my relationship with money would change. Even so, I still wasn't prepared for how often I'd have to reckon with the same gnawing question dejectedly, "Is there a cheaper way to do this?"
Every trip to the store, every weekend plan, and every activity require that I do the least expensive version of it or skip it altogether.
I basically downgraded my lifestyle.
I stopped doing a lot of the things I liked because of money
When my total income began to look like the portion of my past paychecks I put into savings, the first expenses to be cut were those little pleasant parts of life. As much as I may enjoy them, I don't need them the same way I need to pay rent and buy groceries. No more fancy IPAs, I drink Miller now. No more appetizers, in fact, no more eating out at all. No more Gatorade when I pass by a Wawa, I have water at home. If it's hot out, turn off the AC and put some ice cubes in your water bottle. New clothes are for when you need them, not when you want them.
Recently, at CVS, I found myself standing in the conditioner aisle, using my phone's calculator to divide milliliters by price. Do you know what's a great snack? Yes, chips and salsa, but you know what's a great snack when you don't have any money? A three-pound bag of great-value peanuts.
My parents pay for the fun things
That's where my parents come in. It's with them that I finally have a chance to partake in the finer things — mind you, not the "finest" things — just finer.
It's not rent or utilities or the many things I'm fortunate enough to be at least able to afford. But if you've ever eaten ramen with sliced carrots day after day while your apartment gets stuffier and warmer, sometimes just knowing your folks are taking you to lunch in a couple of weekends keeps you going.
It's not life and death, but enjoying something outside your budget, even for an hour, goes a long way to making spartan weeks and months bearable. I don't buy a lot of groceries, mostly rice, cheese, and occasionally eggs. A lot of bagels. Bagels are recession-proof. When my parents come to visit and offer to buy me groceries, I get bread from a bakery, whatever coffee beans are not on sale, and Cheez-Its. Everything I usually don't allow for myself.
I don't purchase top-shelf alcohol. I buy cheap beer, which is a bummer because back when I did have money, I allowed myself to become an IPA snob. But when my parents are here, I'm ordering the Weissbeer that's new on the draft list for a limited time only. I might get two. Salad and appetizers? If my parents are offering them, then it's a yes.
I turn on my AC unit for an hour at a time a few days a week, and only when it's sweltering. But when I visit home, the question, "Is it too cold in here?" does not have an affirmative answer. When I get to my parents, after I eat deli meat for the first time in weeks, I watch TV in their ice box of a den because I also canceled my streaming services.
I used to be embarrassed to accept my parents' help when I had an office job; I'm not sure why. But now that money is tight, they've become like an airline unexpectedly boosting a passenger to business. They upgrade me, and I eagerly accept.
My mom has caught on. Recently she offered me two bags of walnuts that had been sitting in her cupboard for, I want to say, years. She may as well have offered me sacks of gold. I had salads all week. It's still a Waldorf if there are no grapes or blue cheese crumbles, right? Of course, it had apples. Someone has to buy those marked-down reds delicious.
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