Why Is “Not Settling” So Difficult?

I have been asking myself this question a lot lately.

I find myself wondering if I ask too much of people, if I set my standards too high. I always come back to the “No, your standards are right where they should be” response.

But then, I recognize how easy it is to settle. How it can be stress-free if you don’t put any real thought or emotion into it. Anyone can settle for less and in truth, most people do.  I did that once, though, and it did not work. I simply could not endure it any longer. My self-esteem and self-worth are too high to settle the next time around.

Yet, by not settling, I find myself more often than not by myself. That is not so much a bad thing at this particular point in my life. I’m going through a transition, on the tail end of full recovery from an emotionally brutal marriage. So, I don’t exactly need someone right now, this very instant.

But… I always think about the future. I am a planner. I am organized. I have a son to think about so my future is his future. I have to be sure that if I do end up with someone, the person is someone I trust completely around my son and with his childrearing and upbringing.  I’m not 100% calculated in my actions, but I do like to have a handle or understanding of what is to come. So maybe I’d like to begin laying the groundwork for something. It’s been a year since “we” ended. I have done a lot of introspective processing and I’ve come to know what I want, what I need, and what I expect from a partner.

Honesty, loyalty, respect, honor, love, dedication, companionship, these are standard things I think anyone seeks when they want a partner. That’s not asking too much, is it? Or maybe it is…

Particulars like age, race, height, socioeconomic status, education are somewhat negotiable, but not really lol But I think we’re entitled to preferences because those are what we want and so long as they are not too extreme, we should be able to have what we want.

I don’t think I’m too particular. I just think I’m anti-settling and what I view as settling, others might not agree.

Having “been there, done that”, I know it is impossible for me to ever be truly happy by settling for less. I just wish it were not so difficult, because I would love to have someone take me to the movies and buy me ice cream every now and then.

And truth be told… I don’t think I can do this mommy thing alone.

In This House

I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, so much that figuring out what to write about for my post, which was supposed to have been put up yesterday, has left me without words. I’m in Philly right now, in the house in which I grew up, and every time I come here, so much stuff comes up that many times I am left speechless. In this house, I revert into the child I once was. In this house I am the child that was not actually without words, but the child that felt silenced, the child that had “friends” but no friends, the child that always felt like an adult on the inside but had to play the child on the outside. In this house I am a child that was perpetually confused about other people’s motives, actions, feelings. In this house, I am a child that felt like she needed to protect everyone else, but who never felt protected. In this house, I am all of the frightened children who witnessed and experienced generations of violence and dysfunction. All in this house.

I don’t blame anyone for my feelings or my experience. I know for a fact that my brother does not feel like I do. Our experiences as children are shaped not only by what objectively happened to us, but by how we perceive what happened to us, by where our souls are in our spiritual maturation process. I own my feelings and my experience. All that being said, I hate this house. I wish my parents would move far, far away from it. For  in every corner, behind every sofa, every chair, there is a memory. And while I am working to allow memories be just that – experiences in the past that dwell in the past – when I return to this house, new experiences begin to meld with old memories and the juxtaposition of the two threaten to overwhelm me.

And as my children roll around on the new blue carpet that used to be tattered red for all of the 23 years I lived here, and they make new memories with new bikes parked in the dining room where we used to park our bikes in the garage, I wonder if this house can ever fully redeem itself in my eyes. Can the new coats of paint cover the handprints on the walls that got me in trouble 20 years ago? Can the new carpet contain the negative energy of the lye that was thrown in faces, the punches that were lobbed at eyes, the belts that were swung at butts, the curses that were spat out of mouths that were supposed to love? Can the ceiling fans sweep away the hot air of resentment and bitterness? To me, they cannot. I feel it all over.

On Thursday I leave this house. But until my parents leave it, back to it I will always have to return. I pray that the memories my children have of this house are of sunshine and butterflies, bikes and toys, Nana and Papi, love and happiness.

A Change is Gonna Come

The single most contentious thing in my relationship with my mother is that she has always predicted gloom and doom about just about everything. There is not a doomsday scenario, accident and downside that my mother has not already envisioned in some form and expressed her opinion about quite vocally and repeatedly. And I have always resented her for what I perceived to be nonstop negativity.

And so imagine my shock when I observed last week that I have turned into a walking, talking warning label on all things random—from Red 40 food dye to fluoridated water to pesticide-laden fruit to partially hydrogenated oils.

For some reason it came to a head for us last weekend. A well-meaning friend offered my 4-year-old a treat and my boy looked him in the eye and asked: “Does it have high fructose corn syrup in it? If it does, I can’t eat it because I will die.” (For the record I never said he would die.)

And later that night, my 6-year-old asked her father during bath time if the water he was bathing her in had fluoride in it and whether that fluoride was going to get absorbed into her body through her skin. “Because you know, dad,” she told him earnestly, “our skin is our body’s biggest organ.”

It is all my fault, of course, every last bit of it. I have been obsessed with healthy living and a good diet since my health crisis several years ago. But after watching my small children parroting my worries about degenerated foods, environmental toxins and contaminated water supplies, I am appalled at myself. How unfair to fill their lives with bogeymen to be feared, lurking at every meal, in every lunch box, cupboard and grocery store.

It is one thing to educate the kids and help them make better choices. It’s yet another to raise them full of angst and paranoia about unseen, unknown evils.

I’m afraid I have not used wisdom or good judgment, though in my defense I had good intentions. (And lest we forget: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.)

Clearly some kind of change is in order. There is a balance to be struck here. Somewhere, somehow, someone is doing it well. But for me, it’s all somewhat hazy.

on forgiveness.

Something strange happened this week. Not strange in the usual sense of the word, you know, the  eerie-odd-frightening-makes you wonder kind of happening. Noo, this was different. More of a Wayne Dyer/Iyanla/Marianne Williamson, transformative kind of strange.   For most of my childhood I SWORE on unborn babies and my very LIFE that I would NEVER EVER IN A MILLION BILLION years become like “them”. Who? You know, “them”, the ones entrusted with new life before time began. The ones who were given the responsibility to love and protect  unconditionally. Yeah, “them”, the human ones, who caught up in their own consciousMESS, forgot to do and say the things that might have made a sojourn here a wee bit easier. The “I love yous”, the “good job baby”, “I’m proud of you”. “Them”. They who maybe skipped over the fine print that read something like:  “You promise to love, hold, cuddle, tickle, and honor this life that you’ve been chosen to bring into the world of the seen…”

I was well aware of the job description when I signed up 16 years ago. I read every book, magazine, internet article, and pamphlet on child rearing and development I could get my hands on. Did everything within my power (and beyond) to create an idyllic and cornucopic love fest for my child. He would want for nothing. He would know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was loved beyond measure, unconditionally, relentlessly and eternally.  Leading by example was my mantra.  Being honest and open yet firm and consistent would be my way.  I vowed that when he grew up, he’d be self-confident, strong, and independent.  No  ma’am, he will NEVER be able to use ME as an excuse for ANY egregious behavior OR emotional dysfunction… To be SUPERMOM, unlike these folk I see cussing their kids out, neglecting them, abusing and abandoning them.  I would be different.

But I’ve made mistakes. I’ve had challenges. I’ve done and said things toward my child that I regret.  And each time, I collapse into a fit of despair and sorrow which invariably leads to self-immolation…  I tried. I didn’t want to be like “them”. I spent 16 years putting everything I could into being a good mom. I did everything I could, that I knew how to do… wait… wait…. I did the best I could with the resources I had. I did the best I KNEW HOW TO DO…

Damn.

Maybe I am like “them” after all.

I did the BEST I KNEW HOW TO DO…

How might my life be different if I acknowledged that we are ALL doing the best we know how to do? How might my relationship with my parents have turned out? My siblings?

I’m sure I’ve heard this a million times before now. This idea resides dead heart center of forgiveness…of self and certainly others.

But in this moment, it feels brand. New.

strange.

Move Out

It’s amazing what we will do for our children.

In the summer of 2009 it took my husband and I (as well as my kids who came along for wayyyyyyyy tooooo many hot car rides) months to find the “perfect apartment.” We refused to pay over $1500, were determined to have at least a three-bedroom and there was another particular requirement we HAD to fulfill.

We moved into a mansion in Manayunk. It was huge and for as much fun as we had declaring a theatre room and computer lab, we were up to our arms in sweat, dust and sweat trying to make our mansion more than just big. We filled holes (o.k. so maybe my husband filled holes), laid tile, painted, spackled, and painted some more) and now, a mere 11 mos. later, we have moved out.

The “perfect” school that I refused to settle on was a perfect disappointment and we have moved solely to put Mekhi in the number one school in the city. I am subletting a colleagues place in what is arguably the most sought after “hot box” (around the school) this side of the mason dixon.

I have gotten my hopes up before though and until I see for myself, I refuse to believe the hype.

Dear Hot Box,

We meet again. I did not miss your roaches or other creepy crawlers 😦 I also did not miss your frat boys! However, my friend, I received a costly but dynamite education here. I pray you will be equally kind to my son (and I appreciate that it’s free this time).

I pray to you and whatever deity or merciful benefactors that have birthed you that this move is not for nothing.

Love,

All Moved Out

The Pre-K Shuffle

I’m currently trying to figure out a plan for Pre-K for my son. I thought I had it all figured out, but things fell through. 

Here’s the conflict:

In NYC, public pre-k is free and open to any child born in 2006. However, there not enough slots for every child in the city to attend Pre-K. This is not that bad because there are many day care centers and private schools that have Universal Pre-K programs. However, entry into these schools is done by lottery, with preference given to children who reside in the district. You can select up to 12 schools and wait and hope that your child not only get into one of your top choices, but into any school at all. They let you know up front that they do NOT guarantee placement.  They notify parents of placement about two weeks before children need to register. Ok…

The affordable Pre-K programs at various centers or those run by Community-Based Organizations are a slim option because they reserve most of their slot for children in the Administration for Children’s Services (ACS) system or Human Resources Administration (HRA). The former are usually foster children, abused children, etc. The latter are children whose parents are on welfare or are so low-income they qualify for financial assistance for childcare from the city.  The reserve these slots for them because that money is guaranteed and they receive incentives for accepting more of those children.  That leaves private payers like us out of those affordable options. Ok…

Specialized schools are an option, but there is a lottery there too AND they cost more money than I’d feel comfortable paying. However, those lotteries aren’t fair lotteries and it is really about who you know. We could pull some strings, but I know I’d always feel bad about going about it the “wrong” way.

Private schools cost a GRIP!! One places was $383/week, another $1700/month. And this is for 9-3. Extra if you need coverage from 8-6.  Whoa… Ok…

The main issue: I’m moving. I’m not renewing my lease and my heart is set on moving one state over. Its a lower cost-of-living, it gives me more distance from his father, its a new fresh environment; I can truly start over. However, with this Pre-K situation in limbo, I’m not sure I can do that. For the public lottery, I put schools by my job and schools by his dad’s home and job. I dont LIVE in any of the districts though, so I’m not feeling too great about this. The schools by my job are SO amazing!!! It would mean G living with me full time though, which wasnt the original plan.  It would be a dream to get him in there, but its highly unlikely. The schools by his dad are so-so, but I figure its only Pre-K so he won’t suffer too much. PLus that would go along with the plan for his dad to keep him until he starts Kindergarten, giving me time to get settled, hit the reset button, and get things in line for him.

This is stressing me out!!! All this just to make sure your kid is on the right path. Jumping through hurdles, possibly sacrificing peace of mind, just so he gets off to the right start. Boys have it harder as it is… so I’m being really proactive about this. I just want what’s best for my son and my city is leaving me few viable options. Too rich to be poor, too poor to be rich! I think he will thrive in any environment, but I can tell more and more that he needs to be challenged.

What 3 y/o responds, “Why… certainly, mommy” when you ask if he would like something to drink??

Crossing my fingers and waiting for August…

You Know I’m Bad

Wow. It’s been an intense couple of weeks over here at CocoaMamas. And, I’ve been laying it down at other sites too, commenting away.

But one thing that’s got me really drawn in recently is about judging. Judging parenting. When I was younger, before I had my children, I considered myself to be a moral absolutist. I had a line – some things, some people, were on the good side of the line, other things were on the bad side of the line. I had no patience for cultural relativism, no sense that something that was “bad” could be “good” in certain circumstances. I could agree that I knew a “bad” parent when I saw one, based on their actions, their kid, or a combination of the two. I would have probably agreed with a list like this one, that lays out pretty well what most folks consider a ‘bad’ parent:

They cuss around and at their kids in the middle of the cereal aisle.

They fight with their significant others in public, in front of their kids, and slap the little ones when they get out of pocket, especially if there’s an audience to witness their discipline.

They let their kids roam the streets until somebody else’s mother tells the kid to go home.

They ride around in their cars with the windows rolled up, chain smoking while their babies bounce around in the back seat, sans seatbelts and boosters.

When it comes to showing up for parent/teacher conferences, or sending in donations for a teacher gift, or chipping in at the PTA-sponsored events, they’re nowhere to be found.

But then two things happened to me, and made me forever change the way I saw morality, the way I saw right and wrong, the way I saw parenting.

***

First, I became a parent. Twice. Now I do not believe that you have to experience something to understand it. I don’t need to eat a chili pepper to know it’s hot. I don’t need to dive into the deep end of the pool to know I’m going to drown cause I don’t know how to swim. I don’t need to touch the hot burner to know my skin will burn if I do. But there are some things in life that nothing but experience will truly allow you to understand, and parenting is one of them. (I think sex, being drunk, and actually driving a car are others.)

Consider the cussing at the kids in the cereal aisle. I’ve NEVER cussed at my kids, and I never will. (I don’t think I’ve ever cussed AT anyone.) But I can understand why one might want to. Imagine you’re in the supermarket, not in the cereal aisle, but in the produce department. You are inspecting the the peaches, looking for the best ones, and suddenly you hear, “Ummm…” You whip your head around, and your child has just taken a big ole bite out of several peaches right on down the row! You want to say, “What the F@*K!” because you’ve been through this before and she was instructed not to touch anything and especially not to take bites of fruit in the produce section. You were sure that THIS time you’d gotten through to her. But you hold it in as you hurriedly throw all the bitten peaches into your bag, which at $2.99 a lb, just decimated your budget for peaches. Again, I’ve never cussed at my kids and try my hardest not to cuss around them either, but damn, I can understand.

***

The second thing that happened to me was I was diagnosed with a serious mental illness and spent a week in the hospital when my children were 3 years and 18 months. From that day on, I could never find it in me to call another parent a bad parent. When you’ve wanted to do something as horrific as leave your children without a mother, and believed that was the best thing for them…

I don’t think I’ve turned into someone who doesn’t believe in right and wrong anymore, or good and bad. I’ve just come to believe that almost everything “depends.” I do believe that what other people do to and with their kids has an effect on the rest of us, as we are all interconnected and live in this society together. But when it comes to parenting, and knowing the hard choices that I made and continue to make every day, that right and wrong don’t have much meaning to me any more.

I hate to judge. And I hate being judged. Even if a parent does every single thing on that list, I’m not going to call him or her a bad parent. Why? Because I think it’s a waste of time and not very productive. Instead of sending positive vibes and energy about how to help that parent and especially that child, all I’d be doing in pointing out the flaws, gossiping about the defects. I’m sure many people could have did that while I had two babies at home, having a nervous breakdown in the hospital, saying that I was selfish and not taking care of my responsibilities. Or they could of helped me and my kids, which is what a lot of people did. If you see a kid out at all times of night, do send him home. You see a family without car seats, give them yours when your kids outgrow them. You see  mom about to go off on her kid in the cereal aisle, distract her so she doesn’t. You see adults fighting in front of the kids, in public? Take the kids and distract them, bring them to your house to play for a while. Befriend these so-called “bad” parents, bring them into your fold, your group, teach them some things. Don’t just label them and cast them aside.

I have friends now, who, when they see me discipline my children, will tell me a better way they think I could have handled the situation. I absolutely appreciate that. Would you?

Growing Up Too Fast

I was in the car with my 10 year old daughter listening to a segment on a morning radio show in which a listener asks the host for advice. In this particular letter the listener was a young lady who was in an abusive relationship, had been taken advantage of as a pre-teen.

I took it as an opportunity to discuss a few things with my daughter; first & most importantly she will NOT be dating anyone at age 12 (as had the young lady who wrote the letter). Secondly, if she ever, at any age, found herself in a position where a man was hurting her physically then she was immediately to tell someone. Perhaps the subject matter was a little strong for a 10 year old, perhaps not. I need her to know that there is no reason to ever be physically abused by someone. I needed her to know today and forever that that is the case.

As a person who was in a violent relationship it is especially important to me that women and girls understand that there is no normalcy, no rationalizing and no expectation that they be understanding or patient in these situations. Make a plan and GET OUT.

Things I didn’t discuss with my daughter but need some attention:

  1. Why is a 12 year old allowed to be alone with a high school boy?
  2. How do you have 4 children before age 23?
  3. What kind of people allow a 27 year old man to date a 12 year old? I don’t care how young he looked and how old she looked, somebody knew how old they actually were and should have said something!
  4. As a community, how can we make it clear what is acceptable to us, for our children. It seems that shame is non-existent these days

I’m very interested to hear your thoughts on this topic; how you have addressed or plan to address the issues brought forth.

Related links:

RAINN Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network

Love Is Respect – National Teen Dating Abuse Helpline

You First, Me Second

Back when I lived in New York City and couldn’t figure out what to do with myself, I would sometimes go to the Barnes and Noble on Sixth Avenue and West 8th Street in the Village and read books I would never ever buy.

My favorite among these books was a tome which listed every single day of the year, along with characteristics of persons born on that day. Even as I snorted my contempt about the idea that someone’s date of birth could actually cast some legitimate light on their personality and habits, I would be astounded by how eerily accurate the book’s descriptions were. And each and every time I came back with the birthday of someone new, hoping to disprove the book’s accuracy, I was thwarted.

Along those same lines, I’ve been thinking about birth order lately. I have a girl who’s now six and a boy who is four. I myself was the younger of two siblings. As I watch my kids and the way they are and have been since pretty much they were born, I have to admit that there may be something to this birth order stuff.

A quick literature review tells me that birth order theories are quite controversial. But, those who subscribe to them assert that the oldest child is the most likely to be a high academic achiever and to have a slightly higher IQ, and that older children are far more likely to be demanding and perfectionists, and also depressed and anxious. It is also a known fact that the vast majority of CEOs from Fortune 500 companies happen to be first-borns.

Younger children, on the other hand, are said to be happier and more laid-back. They also can be more sensitive and have a harder time delaying gratification. It is said that they tend to be more idealistic and bigger risk-takers.

These generalities all appear to be true of the dynamics with and between my two kids, as well as my brother and me. But what does that mean for us all? How much of these outcomes is nature versus nurture?

I’m not sure. I’m still considering whether to give it some or any weight in my parenting.

My hunch, though, is that even when there are strong correlations between birth order theories and your children’s personalities and propensities, they should be given little weight in the bigger picture. Theories should remain just that—theories that may or may not apply today, this week, next month or ever. At the end of the day, each of our children is an individual, shaped, guided and taught by a million different experiences he or she has had since birth.

I guess I have a tough time believing in what my mind interprets–perhaps unfairly–as “hocus pocus,” even when I see it with my own eyes or confirm it with my own experiences. In general, the idea of pre-destiny irks me, makes me feel as if I’m somehow unable to change something fate is catapulting me towards. And I just don’t like that.

Only The Lonely?

Time magazine recently ran and interesting article on “Onlies” or “Only Children” also known as children without siblings. The point of the article was to debunk the long-standing myths of “single children [being] perceived as spoiled, selfish, solitary misfits”. The article caught my attention because I was raised an only child and my son is being raised in an interesting situation where he can be the “only” child 80% of the time.

Here is an interesting trend of note:

“The recession has dramatically reshaped women’s childbearing desires,” says Larry Finer, the director of domestic policy at the Guttmacher Institute, a leading ­reproductive-health-research organization. The institute found that 64% of women polled said that with the economy the way it is, they couldn’t afford to have a baby now. Forty-four percent said they plan to reduce or delay their childbearing — again, because of the economy. This happens during financial meltdowns: the Great Depression saw single-child families spike at 23%. Since the early ’60s, according to the National Center for Health Statistics, single-child families have almost doubled in number, to about 1 in 5 — and that’s from before the markets crashed.

I admit that finances are a major part of why I have no interest in having another child. I can’t imagine taking on the added responsibility of having another being to feed, clothe, entertain, educate, etc. right now. And I’m not poor! I can’t imagine being working class or living in poverty and having multiple children. I know many rely on government assistance, but even that does not make for a comfortable life. Some feel the benefits of having more children outweigh the downside of financial struggle. I’m not one of them.

The interesting thing is that the information about only children that so many people have sighted come from the flawed work of Granville Stanley Hall in the late 1800s. His studies have since been proven to be based on flawed data collection and other issues. His work has also been debunked several times over throughout the years by newer, more accurate research, but for whatever reason, people still hold onto this idea that being an only child is a fate worse than death.

“Generally, those studies showed that singletons aren’t measurably different from other kids — except that they, along with firstborns and people who have only one sibling, score higher in measures of intelligence and achievement. Of course, part of the reason we assume only children are spoiled is that whatever parents have to give, the only child gets it all. The argument Judith Blake makes in Family Size and Achievement as to why onlies are higher achievers across socioeconomic lines can be stated simply: there’s no “dilution of resources,” as she terms it, between siblings. No matter their income or occupation, parents of only children have more time, energy and money to invest in their kid.”

I was often called “spoiled”, though I disgareed then AND now. I was always smarter than those around me and I often was involved in more activities, given more opportunities, and received more parental attention than others. My parents had no other focus, so it was all on me. Sure there were various times of struggle, but as life progressed, everything, the good and the bad, came to me. I’m not sure I would have been able to attend the private schools, summer camps, have the latest toys and clothes, etc. had I a sibling. My parents were by no means rich or close to it, but as the article says, socioeconomic status is irrelevant; undivided resources benefit only children.

The only time I felt like I needed siblings was when my mother died and I was left with the responsibility of tending to her affairs. I would have loved to have a sibling to help assist financially, emotionally, etc. (For full disclosure, my father had a son when I was 13, but we never had any real relationship with him, so that’s why he is referred to as my father’s son. By age 13, the characteristics of being an only child are more than likely set in anyway, so it didn’t really matter one way or the other.)

Being an only child made me more creative, more independent. I started writing stories at a young age, I had imaginary friends, and I wanted to do everything by myself. The article (extended version in the magazine) made a point about how only children are more used to engaging in conversations with adults, so their vocabulary is more expansive and their thought process and conversation skills mature earlier. I would agree with this, at least it was my experience, and one I’m witnessing in my son. That is a good and bad thing. He doesn’t understand that when adults are having a conversation, it isn’t for him to jump in. He does anyway, though, because he doesn’t make any distinction; he thinks we’re ALL just talking. He also has a more expansive vocabulary than other children his age, from what I’ve witnessed. He is often complimented for “speaking well” and he uses words other kids generally do not. I love this (I’m a nerdmom) but I can see how it might lead to playground issues lol

I was able to put my son in gymnastics classes at 2 and not have to worry about enrolling another child. My step-daughter did not factor into the equation because she spends the majority of her time with her own mother. As I said, my son is in a unique situation. He has a sister who is the youngest of 4, so she has the experience of sharing resources and attention every day. He only sees her maybe 2-3 weekends a month and while he enjoys that time with her, she is not really much of a threat to the attention and resources focused on him. He can still take expensive classes, get new clothes and shoes regularly, eat out at his favorite restaurants, get new toys, go to the bookstore for new books weekly, etc. We would not be doing these things if I had another child after him.

Is this the best choice for him? I don’t know, maybe. It’s certainly the best choice for me… and others.

“Most people are saying, I can’t divide myself anymore,” says social psychologist Susan Newman. Before technology made the office a 24-hour presence, we actually spent less time actively parenting, she explains. “We no longer send a child out to play for three hours and have those three hours to ourselves,” she says. “Now you take them to the next practice, the next class. We’ve been consumed by our children. But we’re moving back slowly to parents wanting to have a life too. And people are realizing that’s simply easier with one.”

So, if you’ve read any of my previous blog entries, you know that it is really important to me that being a mother doesn’t consume every single inch of my life. I enjoy it, wouldn’t trade it for anything, but being ME is important too. Other people are feeling similarly it seems. I’m not alone.

People need to get past this idea that children MUST have siblings to turn out “OK”. Some of the most famous successful people in history were only children. These negative ideas need to stop so that parents don’t feel pressured into having more children that 1) they can’t afford and 2) they really don’t want. Only children are not being doomed to some social purgatory by not having siblings.  Family planning is a private choice, from every perspective.

What are your thoughts? Have you had to weigh this in your own mind or discuss with your family? How does your partner feel? Do finances impact your thoughts on this?