Soldier of Finance (3 page)

Part One is designed to help you take a deep look inside yourself. Before you can make any improvements to your current situation, you have to understand what got you there in the first place. This will require that you confront some tough personal issues about your past financial choices, so be prepared.

By the end of the Discovery Phase you'll have a better understanding of what makes you tick and how we can address that together.

“Why?” That is the first question you must ask yourself.

Why are you here? Why are you struggling with finances? Why haven't you been more successful? Why are you reading this book?

As straightforward as those questions appear, you will find that getting to the real root of your current situation in life requires honest reflection. For example, to simply claim that you are struggling because your job doesn't pay you enough is not getting to the heart of the problem. The real issue is much deeper. If your job doesn't pay enough, what are you doing to improve your situation? Complaining or feeling sorry for yourself will not get you anywhere.

For most people, there are two reasons for not making changes. One is that they don't know what to do. Presumably, the fact that you are reading this indicates that you are willing to try to fix that problem.

The second reason is more difficult: intimidation, or fear of the unknown. If you are not familiar with the world of finance, the terminology can be imposing. It's hard to try a new direction when nothing in your experience enables you to predict the outcome.

The question “Why?” is a useful tool in overcoming those obstacles. Before doing anything, you need to figure out what is holding you back, what habit patterns and thought processes keep you where you are. And equally important, what will push you enough to make a change?

Ask yourself some questions. What motivates you? Why do you want to get out of debt? What makes you want to take control of your financial life? What stirs enough passion in you to take action?

To find these answers, you will need to look back at the defining moments in your life, the ones that made you who you are today. I had to face the very questions that you have to ask yourself. And to answer them, I had to concede that some of my early perceptions of life were wrong.

When I was young, my dad was my hero, my Superman. As a kid, I believed he could do no wrong. He was a great father, and I wanted very much to be like him. But as I got older, I started to see some problems. I realized he did not manage his finances well. In fact, he was the epitome of what you shouldn't do. He struggled to pay bills. Every month he worried about where the money would come from. The reason became clear when I began to analyze his financial habits: Racking up credit card debt at an alarming rate, he used cash advance loans on one credit card to make the minimum payment on another one. He had a second mortgage and he repeatedly had his house reappraised so he could borrow more against it.

As I got older, I knew that I didn't want to struggle every month like my father. I did not want credit card debt. Nor did I want to worry all the time. I wanted nothing to do with those problems. Ultimately, that desire was strong enough to motivate me to change.

I'm not saying I did everything right the first time around. I screwed up almost from the beginning. Nearly everyone does. I share my own journey to encourage the understanding that you can make progress in your own life, even if you've managed to create serious damage from the start.

My dad was a very no-nonsense guy. He never attended college. Instead, he joined the 101st Airborne and served for two years. After the Army, he bounced around several odd jobs before realizing that not having a college degree hurt his ability to obtain a respectable, well-paying career. At the age of 55 he returned to school and finally got his degree.

The life lesson he sought to ingrain in me was to
not
follow in his footsteps: Go to school and get a degree. He adamantly wanted me to avoid the regrets that plagued him. I had every intention of following his advice. Fresh out of high school, my sights were set on a business career, not the military. I had a plan, simple and straightforward—I would enroll in community college, move on to a four-year degree, graduate, and begin my successful life as an adult. It sounded perfect and attainable. What could go wrong?

The problem was that I really wasn't quite prepared to be an adult. I didn't think the whole thing through very well. Failing to set clear goals, I didn't pursue my education with the persistence or forethought necessary for success. A series of obstacles proved too much for my aspirations.

In retrospect, some of my problems were glaringly obvious. To begin with, I relied on my mom to help me out. Without her financial support, I couldn't even get into college. She and my dad had been separated for several years, so I depended on her to take responsibility for my life. She was paying the bills, and I anticipated that would include college—not exactly an adult way to start. To her credit, she started the process of pushing me out of the nest. She expected me to do something. Instead of mailing a check to the college, she handed me her credit card and sent me off to the campus to make my first tuition payment.

We lived in Southern California at the time, in the San Fernando Valley. The school I chose to begin my adult journey was Santa Monica Community College. I confidently stepped into the registration office, borrowed credit card in hand. That's when I learned the first lesson of business. Pay attention to details. Those you do business with most likely will.

The woman behind the counter took the card, looked at it, looked at me, looked back at the card, and looked at me again. Then she spoke. “You don't look like
Lilly
.”

They wouldn't accept the card. I had no cash, no checkbook, and no way to pay.

Santa Monica Community College was a short 18-mile drive from my home down the 405 freeway. That sounds simple enough, but anyone who has ever lived in the Los Angeles area knows that the 405 often looks more like a parking lot than a major highway. I wasn't anxious to make the trip home, back to Santa Monica, and home again in one day. That short 18 miles could easily take three hours.

“Fine,” I said. “I'll come back later.” Later turned into several days. That's when I learned my second lesson about being an adult: If you want to succeed you have to take responsibility for your choices, and you must live with the consequences when you don't. I walked back into the registration office several days later, check in hand, ready to start my adult journey, but the woman at the counter shook her head.

“The deadline for tuition payments was three days ago. You've been dropped from all your classes.”

I would have liked to blame my mom for sending me off with a form of payment that she should have known wouldn't be accepted. I could have blamed the registration person, who neglected to tell me that the deadline was approaching. And I could have blamed it on Southern California traffic engineers, who ought to have designed a more efficient and less intimidating freeway system. Blame shifting, however, is a sign of immaturity, and will never lead you to success.

I screwed up. I had to admit it to myself and take the steps to correct the problem. Gathering the information I needed to proceed, I asked, “What do I have to do to get back into my classes?”

“First, you have to take the responsibility to go to each class instructor.” At that point, I didn't really
like
that word, “responsibility,” very much. But it wouldn't go away. Once I contacted each instructor, I essentially had to beg to get back into that class and hope the instructor would approve. I've never liked begging, but there was no alternative.

Making the 18-mile drive again, I tracked down two instructors, both of whom gave me the same story. The classes had filled and there were no slots available. There was nothing they could do.

Discouraged, I did what any not-quite-adult-yet person would do. I moped back to my car. Tucked unobtrusively under the windshield wiper was a parking ticket for $75. That was the last straw. I quit. Apparently it wasn't meant to be. Not for that semester, maybe not ever.

Decisions have consequences, and consequences are often painful. I now had to tell my family. I wasn't worried about my mom; she had learned to let me be me. The call I dreaded was to my father, who I knew would be terribly disappointed.

Nervously pacing back and forth, I dialed his number, putting my deodorant to the test. I hoped he would be too busy to answer. Unfortunately, he answered on the first ring. I eased into the conversation. “Hey Dad! How are things?” We exchanged the usual pleasantries. Finding no easy segue to what I needed to say, I finally blurted it out. “Dad, I got dropped from my classes and I'm taking the semester off.”

Silence.

A little bit of yelling would have been easier to take. His disappointment was palpable. He wanted me to avoid his failures, and I was letting the opportunity slip away from me.

I tried to reassure him that it was only temporary. I would only take off one semester, just a few months. He understood the reality, though. One semester turns into two, and two into a lifetime. He had already been down that road.

Reminding me how much he regretted waiting all of those years to get his college education, he calculated what the delay cost him, and affirmed that he wanted better for me.

That gentle exhortation was the extent of my dad's comments. He could have been as harsh as I feared he might be, but that wasn't my dad. He remained even-keeled in spite of his disappointment.

During the next few months I never got close to a classroom. Instead, I moved into a cubicle. My mom convinced her boss to give me a temporary full-time position. She was an account manager at Applause Inc., a company that made stuffed animals. Monday through Friday, eight hours a day, I sat in my tiny cell, entering data. It didn't take long to realize this was not what I wanted to do with my life. I began to truly regret missing the tuition deadline.

My unhappiness started to affect every aspect of my life. Butting heads with my mom, I avoided her whenever I could and stayed isolated in my room, jamming out to '90s grunge music whenever I was home. The rest of the time, I worked out at the gym or hung out with friends. I remember that part of my life odiously. Nothing I was doing was getting me to where I wanted to be.

A couple of friends in Illinois where I used to live with my father had joined the Army National Guard. They raved about the benefits, which included the chance to fully fund their college degrees with a six-year obligation of one weekend per month and two weeks in the summer.

The biggest problem with failure is not that we failed, but that we so often let the past dictate our future. Initially, I dismissed the idea. I was not even responsible enough to pay my own tuition on time; how could I possibly take on the responsibility to serve my country?

What motivated me to finally take action was the simple fact that I was so miserable where I was. I looked at my life and I hated what I saw. I had to do something. I was miserable enough that I decided I had nothing to lose. So I picked up the phone and called the recruiter.

Then I called my dad. This time the conversation was different. He would never have encouraged me to join the military, but I know he was pleased with my choice, especially when I told him about the benefits. He was particularly excited to learn that the Army would pay for me to go back to school.

Why do I share this with you? To let you know that I was a screwup. We all make mistakes. I am not suggesting that if you are having financial difficulties, you need to join the Army. I joined, and I'm sharing my lessons so you can learn without taking several years out of your life. Don't worry about finding your local recruiter's number! By applying the lessons I have learned, you will be able to take responsibility for your life, and regain control.

Understand that nothing you've done in the past can prevent you from succeeding now, if you are willing to make changes and take the initiative to do something positive. I made many mistakes along the way. I never needed to join the Army. In many ways, it was an unnecessary detour. But while I was there, I gained valuable experience that I use today and will continue to benefit from for the rest of my life. Instead of letting your past hold you back, learn to let it drive you. Determine why you want to succeed, and allow that knowledge to sustain you when things are rough.

As a financial advisor, I encounter people daily in a state of financial ruin who are unwilling to accept the fact they are the culprits. It's always someone else's fault—the economy, the president, their family, or their heritage. I'm sure you know people like this. Perhaps it describes you. If so, until you stop blaming others and take responsibility for your own life, you will never make progress. Know that you are not alone. Many people struggle with finances:

• $3,800: average American's savings account balance
  
• 40%: percentage of Americans who are
  not
  saving for retirement
  
• 25%: percentage of Americans who have nothing saved for retirement
  
• $117,951: average American household debt
  

It doesn't have to be that way. I realized that there was something better for me than the eight-to-five cubicle life, and I made a choice that changed my future. I became a Soldier of Finance.