The Victory Candle, part 2

I had a victory this week. A victory of an unexpected girth.
Not so long ago, I posted a question to my social media circle that ballooned with both productive and critical responses. I considered removing it multiple times, but I didn't because of stubborn commitment to myself. I didn't because I had done the very thing that several responses seemed to suggest I surely hadn't taken the time to do - answer the question for myself. Of course I had already carefully considered it. If I hadn't, I would have asked a different question. I would have asked how people would answer a question for me. Eventually, though, I accepted that people were compelled to try to solve my problem.  As a result, my love language came back to me.

I asked my circle:
If you needed to add $200 to your monthly income immediately without adding a third job or changing your job, how would you do it?

It was a real question I was trying to answer for myself.
I knew I would be stretched and inspired to think more deeply with the input of how others might tackle it for themselves. You know, like checking game slots for an unclaimed coin, looking into the corners of all the coexistent minds around me. Yet I found myself explaining a lot of reasons why their unsolicited suggestions for me didn't work for me, and that didn't feel good at all. One suggestion stumped me. It capitalized on a skill I possess, enjoy, and was reasonable as well as possible. I was initially confused why it didn't appeal to me.

And then I realized, this thing that I enjoyed was too sacred to me to turn into a profit. It was too sacred to turn into a profit because it respected my love language that makes me joyful to have the power of giving to others. It's because this thing, my garden, is my breathing space, my place to go for space and the one from which I can give freely and joyfully what I have grown there. To profit on this space felt wrong and defeating. And then....naming that was a kind of liberation. A victory of the highest kind. A solution within a problem. My unsuspecting victory.

As I packed up a couple lbs of tomatoes to take to work, I realized I could joyfully offer a couple of garden produce baskets to local friends for a fee. My victory.
 
Whereas I didn't think I could take my garden produce and sell it rather than give away what I had to spare because it would rob me of the joy that brings, I found that I could accept new parameters of joy. My victory.

And so, my question may not get answered,  and my problem may not be solved. So often what we ask is what we need - and we can benefit from needing to learn something else.

The Victory Candle

Anyone who wants to be a superhero..... could just be a parent and meet the same demand and supply for extraordinary vision, strength and power. 

Do superheroes make mistakes? Parents sure do.
Parents are human. So are superheroes.
If there exists a parent who hasn't yelled when their child was already down, made a self-serving choice or been wrong, please get in touch. And if you have made it to their teen years without doing so, well, congratulations. If you're a guiltless parent of an adult, I'm officially skeptical of your honesty.

I can't name more than a handful of common superheroes. That phase never infiltrated my household. But I do have a lingering sense of two primary traits of superheroes - honesty and humility. As parents I think we have a great responsibility to tell the truth, including our own truths. That gets so hard when the cards are down. On a subconscious level, I think that's what I was after with the victory candle. Years and years ago I read an idea in a family magazine that adapted to my dinner table as The Victory Candle. The victory candle might be lit at dinner during the week and provide a doorway to reflecting on positivity and celebration. Taking turns to recount something that felt good or a challenge overcome in a formal setting was important for me to share with my girls. And it was honest. It measured our personal yard sticks of accomplishment - most often highlighting seemingly small things that most people would not see. Victories are things that others might not know to notice. Personal truths. Perspectives.

It can be so hard to admit when we are wrong. It's equally hard to admit when we are right with ourselves. That's humility, both ways. When things are both wrong and right, a lot of ugly can arise.
We grow when we own our ugly parts; I have many ugly parts. I have been in those dark places of exhaustion and frustration saying things I did but did not mean, and that is the humanity and humility in me. We live with our missteps, mothers, fathers and non-parents alike, always. We are superheroes

My super power is perspective. I fail every time to work with anyone who does not allow perspective. And it is the perspectives that walk into the light allowing for grief and anger their valued places in the human experience. It requires extraordinary vision, strength and power. It makes us superheroes.

How Asking for a 10,000 Raise Started Sinking My Ship

I didn't get the raise, and I didn't expect to.
But by coincidence, extra work and unexpected fortune, my income did rise by about $10,000 in the last year. And it turned out that while I knew that sum would be the first step to growing out of a very particular income bracket into which I had arrived and was just a hair beyond public assistance territory, I didn't imagine it would be as staggeringly paralyzing as it turned out to be.

You see, it is the case that between a dollar and the next lies the qualification for $350 in food assistance each month. Imagine the impact. The difference of a dollar adds up to the difference in thousands of public assistance. So that happened. Money that might be sparingly saved literally got eaten at the table.

There was an actual raise, a carefully crafted number that would preserve qualification for public health assistance or affordable health care. Neither change reared immediately, rendering a false sense of security.

And there was a surprise bonus. That was great fortune at the time, as it eased the burden of a pay drought and accommodated a change in work availability. Between the food and typical monthly expenses, it kept everything afloat.

When it all added up, there was the nearly $10K. The magic number that erased the magic.
I never foresaw it would erase the glorious and welcome ritual of a tax return. I certainly never anticipated it would require tax be paid. I failed to consider that sustainable income would quickly convert a few comfort dollars into a burden to be paid. In taxes alone, my $10,000 gain cost at least $2000.

Having more money, even just a bit more, costs more.
Enough more that I can only expect to keep having less.

Currently, I can't afford health insurance, as in I don't have the income beyond my existing expenses to pay that bill each month.
To be more specific, I could 'afford' health insurance if my daughters didn't wear braces or need an educational boost or cultivate musicianship, or if I didn't financially contribute to having those things.
If I don't pay for those things, who would?
Uniquely, I actually had all of those things along with health insurance until my income was deemed to high to qualify for the insurance. Subsequently, my income has been deemed grand enough to spare 40% of what is left after paying typical bills (housing, food, gas, utilities) for health insurance. With 92% of that income on the child-rearing ship, I'm sunk.