Living With The Budget, Part I

Living With The Budget, Part II 

Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht. (Yiddish)  Man plans, God laughs.

Phase III: The Budget As Compass North 

Just when I’ve settled cozily into complacency, something happens to remind me that not only have I not arrived, I never will. The learning never stops. The Budget, like a lodestone, has guided my way more than once.

The Hank Situation

After two decades of throwing money away on rent, Hubby and I bought an investment property, a triplex with two rental apartments upstairs. We practice psychiatry (…and practice and practice. Will we ever get it right?) on the main floor. Despite our best efforts, and in consultation with supposed experts, we went over budget with the renovations. Naturally. Murphy’s Law.

How to cover these expenses? Without borrowing, of course. We noticed a space in the building, other than the two apartments, that was rent-able. Enter Hank, stage right. Fast-forwarding, he seemed perfect.  He gave us a deposit. We signed papers. 

Then, the daily e-mails started. What-about-this, did-you-do-that, and just-one-more-thing. He was proving not so perfect. But, I wanted the income. I didn’t want to look for another tenant. I didn’t want to think about it. I ignored my increasingly ookey stomach and achey head.

A few days before the move in date, he and I met. One minute, relations were cordial. The next, I was the lady from Niger becoming lunch for the tiger. I heard someone— Was that me? offering him two weeks free rent.  A voice screamed in my head: What are you doing? The Budget! You can’t afford that!  The Budget!  You’re hurting yourself! The Budget!

I zipped my lip mid-sentence, and somehow pushed him out the door. Two weeks free rent wouldn’t break The Budget; it would break me. I had made the offer for emotional, not business reasons. He bullied: I groveled. As if that would work. If I let him move in, I would be agreeing to an emotional contract delivering more of the same. My inner voice was right: I couldn’t afford that, I’d be hurting myself.

Hubby found me collapsed in a sweat on a chair in the office kitchen. His reaction: “Let him go! We don’t need his money at that price.” The next day, Hank got his deposit back and the shredder got his lease agreement. The unit rented within the week, to a tenant so content, the only proof she used the space was the regular arrival of her check on the first of the month.

There are always signs heralding trouble. Ignore them at your peril. To The Budget, a.k.a. Thine Own Self, be true. 

PHOTO CREDIT: scratanut

Finale next week: Phase IV, Mastery