The Math Ain’t Mathing

I’m sorry, but I have several people on my feed selling different get rich type things, so I’m just gonna say it. If you’re constantly on social media telling people how to get rich and achieve “financial freedom,” eventually people are going to look at your life and realize the math ain’t mathing.

You don’t have to actually be rich to look successful, but if you’re selling wealth, there should eventually be some evidence that what you’re selling works. If you’re still working a regular job, living in a rental, driving the same cars and using the same old technology while telling everyone else how much money your “investments” are making—people are going to start questioning it.

And you can only use “I’m paying off debt” for so long. At some point, if this opportunity is making the kind of money you claim it is, something should change.

There’s nothing wrong with working a job. There’s nothing wrong with renting. There’s nothing wrong with not having expensive things. But don’t sell those same people a fantasy of financial freedom when you aren’t living it yourself.

Meanwhile, people who have spent decades working, building careers, saving and investing are buying the cars they want, building their dream homes and enjoying what all those years of work created.

If you’re selling “get rich,” eventually you need to look like it worked.

Otherwise, stop selling the dream and READ THE ROOM.

Some Kind of Dennis Voodoo Shit

I have memories from childhood that make sense to remember. Driving the boat with my dad. Going to Clothes World with my mom. Things that actually happened and were important enough to stick with me.

And then I have THIS one.

I was probably 9 or 10, right around that age when your little world starts getting bigger. I was old enough to venture farther from my own yard, play with more kids on the block, and start meeting the older kids my friends and siblings knew.

There was a boy named Scot who played with my best friend’s brother. Scot had older brothers and sisters, just like I did. One of his brothers was named Dennis, and for some reason, I can still see myself standing there on our block, looking toward their house.

Nothing special was happening. It wasn’t some big childhood moment. As far as I remember, it was just an ordinary day, an ordinary house, and a 9- or 10-year-old girl thinking about absolutely nothing important. Then somebody mentioned his brother. Dennis. And I remember looking toward that house and thinking, **“I don’t like that name.” **That’s it. That is the ENTIRE memory. Nothing happened. Nobody named Dennis traumatized me. 😂 I apparently just stood there, heard the name Dennis, and decided I did NOT like it.

But WHY do I remember that? Think about how many conversations I had as a kid. How many people I met. How many names I heard. How many completely ordinary days came and went that I couldn’t tell you one thing about today. But my brain decided THIS needed permanent storage.

And then, years later… I MARRIED A DENNIS.

Every once in a while, I think about that little girl standing there looking at that house and having that completely random thought. Of ALL the things my brain could have saved from childhood, why that?

Was it coincidence? Was the universe screwing with me? Was 9-year-old me getting some weird little preview of my future? Or was it some kind of voodoo shit that eventually sentenced me to a lifetime with a Dennis? 😂 I have absolutely no idea.

But maybe this is exactly why my blog is called Insignificant Thoughts, because that’s exactly what this was.... One completely insignificant little thought from a little girl standing on her street. It meant absolutely NOTHING at the time. Yet somehow, my brain held onto it for more than 50 years.

And after all these years, I can still picture myself standing there thinking: I don’t like that name.

Apparently, life said…

“You will.”

When the House Goes Quiet

Nobody really prepares you for the day your children grow up and leave. You spend years raising them to become independent adults, and then they have the nerve to actually do it.

For years, I was the center of their little universe. I knew where they were, who they were with, what they ate and usually what they were mad about. “Mom, can you bring me my bloomers?” “What’s for dinner?” “Where are my shoes?” “Do I have to ride with him?” “Tell her to stop!” “If you go somewhere… come and get me!”

The house was loud. Band practice in the garage... and I am talking with a full on drum kit!  Guitar, bass, a cowbell and a friend on a pogo stick! Friends came and went. Someone always needed a ride, food, money or a referee. And while I was busy with all that, childhood was quietly slipping by. Then one leaves, then another, until eventually the last one walks out the door.

They come for dinner and bring spouses, grandchildren, dogs and enough chaos to remind you of the old days. Then they go home—to their own homes, schedules and lives. Exactly what we raised them to have.

What I miss most is the ordinary stuff: everyone asleep under my roof, the door opening after school, the pantry door opening 20 times a day. I  miss being the chauffeur or referee. I miss the children they were.

Then grandchildren come along and, for a little while, the house gets noisy again. There are toys on the floor, little voices in the kitchen and someone wanting a snack five minutes after refusing lunch. Sometimes you catch your own child’s face in your grandchild’s, and it stops you cold. This time, though, you know how fast it goes. So you read one more book, give one more hug and care a whole lot less about the mess. And let them have the snack they want.

There’s also the small pleasure of watching your children become parents. Sooner or later, you hear your own words coming out of their mouths and think, Well, well, well. Look who turned into me.

People say children need wings. Sweet thought, but they’re not birds. We spend nearly two decades building a life around them, then smile proudly while they walk into theirs. And we are proud. We just might cry all the way home. Because while you rejoice in their accomplishments you find sorrow in an ending of your dreams.

Eventually you realize their leaving is proof you did your job. The little people who needed you for everything became adults who built lives of their own. That’s the goal. It just hurts like hell when you succeed.

And if you’re lucky, those children someday bring children of their own through your front door. For a few wonderfully loud hours, there are shoes by the door, toys on the floor and someone hollering, “What’s for dinner?”

Then everyone leaves. The door closes. The house goes quiet. And you finally understand: all those years you thought you were raising children, you were also living the days you would spend the rest of your life missing.

Everybody Needs Money. Unfortunately, I’m Everybody.

When everyone around you seems to need something, how do you stay on task and just take care of yourself? I’m not talking about needing a favor or somebody needing a shoulder to cry on. I’m talking about money. Because it seems like everybody needs money.

Somebody needs help with a bill. Somebody needs a little extra. Somebody has an unexpected expense. Somebody needs this or that. And while I genuinely wish I could help everybody, there is one small problem: I don’t have money for everybody.

I’m trying to make responsible decisions with what I have. I have my own bills, my own plans and my own future to think about. I can’t keep reaching into my pocket every time someone else comes up short.

And honestly, that’s hard to say sometimes. When you love people, you want to help. You don’t want to be the person who says, “Sorry, I can’t.” But at some point, you have to realize that helping everyone else financially can leave you needing help yourself. I am not a bank. I don’t have a vault in the backyard. There isn’t a money tree growing behind the shed that I forgot to mention.

So I’m learning that it’s okay to say, “I can’t.” Not because I don’t care or because I don’t want good things for you. I simply have to take care of my own household, too. Because if I give away everything I have trying to help everybody else, who’s going to help me?  Everyone I know is broke! lol.

I'm Just Talking to Myself on the Internet 😂

Not many people visit my blog, and that's perfectly fine because I don't really have it listed for public viewing. It's a personal thing I do for fun, for therapy, and kind of like a diary. Only I'm not going to tell you what I had for lunch or that I went to Walmart and bought toilet paper. Although, depending on the day, that might be the most exciting thing that happened. 😂 I write about my experiences, my memories, my opinions, and whatever else my brain decides needs to be put into words. I love to write, and I love documenting the things that happen in my life. It's a way for me to get things out of my head, sort through my thoughts, and occasionally get something off my chest without making someone sit through a three-hour conversation about it. You're welcome! I like voicing my opinions, even if nobody agrees with them, and honestly, it doesn't make much difference to me whether ten people read what I write or ten thousand. I'm not trying to become famous, make money, or become the next big thing on the internet. Lord knows the world has enough people trying to do that already. I do this because I enjoy it. It's my little corner of the internet where I can write what I want, how I want, and nobody has to read a single word unless they choose to. I also like having a record of my life, my thoughts, and the things I've experienced. Someday, I can look back and remember what I was thinking at this particular stage of my life, assuming I can remember where I put the password to get into the blog. And to those of you who do take the time to read it, I appreciate you more than you know. I realize you have approximately a million other things you could be doing, so the fact that you make an effort to stay connected to me through my ramblings means something. I may mostly be writing for myself, but it's nice knowing a few of you are along for the ride. Just don't expect daily updates on what I had for breakfast. Unless something really interesting happens to the toast.