#source: i watched old highlights in the spring break and he did the same back then

[apr1lias]

Martin’s screen is still intact after a win I am shocked

[cssns]

Hello everyone! We are BAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!!!!!

It is that time again! Time for the monthly roundup for July and to look ahead to what’s coming up in August! 

So y’all buckle up! We will start with those fics and art that dropped in July, then highlight the MC’s that updated in July. We will end the post with what we have to look forward to for the rest of the event! We had some INCREDIBLE fics and art drop in July and we have a lot more to look forward to in August! Make sure and let the authors and artists know how much you’re enjoying their hard work!!! So without further ado, HERE WE GOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!! Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

@snowbellewells started us off this month with Face to Face in the Broad Daylight, a sequel to her CSSNS submission from last year, Run to Me (In the Dead of Night). Beautiful artwork by @branlovestowrite! Rated T with 4 chapters so far.

@thejollyroger-writer gave us Love After Death: The Afterlife Hotel. A one shot and a bit of a different take on the soulmate trope with absolutely perfect artwork by @captainsjedi.

Emma Swan has spent sixty years in the afterlife believing she was never going to meet her real soulmate, after believing in the wrong name tattooed on her wrist. But when she keeps seeing the same new guest of the Afterlife Hotel around, might she be able to learn how to love again? Rated T

@gingerchangeling presented us with Luck of the Irish with lovely artwork by @resident-of-storybrooke

Emma needs parent volunteer hours. So she offers to chaperon Henry's upcoming field trip to the museum. Its just a pack of prepubescent angst ridden children, an exhibit about dead people, and a rock used in blood sacrifices with a curse carved into it. What's the worst that could happen? Rated M with 1 chapter so far.

@jarienn972 gave us A Simple Spell with beautiful artwork by @cocohook38

This story is my entry into the 2019 Captain Swan Supernatural Summer event and is my first venture into AU territory. Storybrooke remains our setting but I've switched up some of the characters and familial relations to better suit this tale of prodigal witch Emma who returns to her birthplace to learn lots of secrets about herself and cast a spell that could change everything. Rated T with 3 chapters so far.

@profdanglaisstuff presented us with The Very Witching Time with incredible  artwork by @gingerchangeling and extra artwork by @mariakov81.

Emma Swan is a hereditary witch, last in a long line of wise women who for centuries have guarded the coast of Maine and the small village of Storybrooke with their homemade cures and their ancient magic. She holds the delicate balance between magic and mundane, but now that balance is threatened by a new foe, one capable of bringing an end to everything Emma is and everything she loves. To defeat it she will need all her power, help from her friends and neighbours, and the loyalty of a very unusual dog who answers to the name of Killian. Rated M with 3 of 4 chapters so far.

@searchingwardrobes gave us An Education in Southern Gothic with some seriously spooky artwork by @hollyethecurious

Fact: there’s a graveyard between the football field and the science building. Debatable: a ghost haunts the halls of Misthaven Hills High. Emma Swan is about to get an education. Killian Jones is about to get a whole lot more. Rated T COMPLETE

@spartanguard presented us with Sick of Love with lovely artwork by @sherlockianwhovian

If Emma’s not careful, she just might bump into her soulmate. Physically. And while she might like the idea of what comes with that—an almost psychic connection whenever they make skin contact—she’d rather not deal with the awful withdrawal sickness that can come when they inevitably leave her; she’s got a son, so she doesn’t have time for that. So she keeps herself covered and thinks she’ll be okay. Until she meets Killian, who does the same thing. Will their barriers protect them, or just hurt them more? Rated M with 2 of 3 chapters so far.

@snidgetsafan gave us Whom the Gods Love Die Young with beautiful artwork by @tennant-the-tigger

The bride bit into the shiny red apple as everyone cheered around her, the wedding ceremony ending with this ritual gesture. The clapping and hurrahs soon turned to screams of horror as Snow dropped the apple, choking and clutching her throat as she fell in her groom’s arms, a last I love you leaving her lips before she died, David’s screams the loudest of all.

David and Emma travel to the Underworld to claim back Snow after her untimely death. In order to do so, they're going to have to face the dark and mysterious God of the Underworld and complete his challenges.

Seems simple enough until you add magic, divine quarrels, and the worst thing of all: feelings. Rated G (for the moment) with one chapter so far

@snowbellewells gave us a second fic this month as well! A Story Told at Last with gorgeous artwork by @branlovestowrite

Historical Literature Professor Henry Mills has the chance of a lifetime before him. He might finally uncover the truth of a folktale that has intrigued him for years. But, when the whole story comes to light, will he be able to accept the story that needs to be told? Rated T with a prologue so far and two parts yet to come.

@thejollyroger-writer gifted us a second fic this month too! What Happened in Berkshire. Artwork coming soon by @captainsjedi.

When Emma’s boyfriend leaves her for the woman he’s been cheating with, she accepts an offer from her hospital to move to England. While she is out celebrating her thirtieth birthday with her friends before they head back to America, she drunkenly kisses the statue of Captain Hook in front of Eton College, and he comes to life. Together, he and Emma try to figure out what this curse means for them by searching for the witch that cursed him in the first place — are they really True Love, as he wants to believe they are, or did Emma’s magic go awry? Rated G with one chapter so far. Part 2 coming soon.

We also had original art drop from @eastwesthomeisbest called The Love of the Samodiva Pts1 and 2.

In Bulgarian folklore Samodiva is an ethereal female wood nymph. She is unearthly beautiful and eternally young. Her hair is blond and long, her waist is thin and petite, her eyes can bewitch and dazzle or even kill. Any man who lays eyes on her instantly falls in love. Samodivas’ attire consists of long white gowns and shirts and a rainbow-coloured or green belt. They have a white mantel, also called a shadow, in which their power lies. They like to ride deer, using twisted snakes for reins and often carry with them bows and arrows.

If a huntsman accidentally kills a samodiva’s deer, she will make him blind or give him a disease which will inevitably lead to his death.

The wood nymphs live in dark forests, in big old trees, caves or forgotten huts which are near water sources, wells or rivers.

Samodivas can be spotted from spring to autumn. In winter they live in the mythical village Zmeykovo, which is located at the edge of the world and is a home to many mythical creatures. When they are on earth they are active at night and disappear immediately when the sun comes out, because they fear it.

At twilight, the samodivas go to fresh water sources, strip naked, wash themselves and their clothes which they lay out to dry in the moonlight. They keep a watchful eye on their drying clothes, because if a man steals their mantle, where their power lies, they turn into normal women and have to obey the man. After washing themselves and their clothes, the samodivas gather around and start singing and dancing. It is known that the samodiva’s songs are the most beautiful and their dances are the most graceful. If a late traveller sees the samodivas’ dance, he is enticed to join them and dances with them from midnight to dawn. When the sun’s rays appear, the nymphs disappear in haste and leave the traveller to die from exhaustion. The samodivas love music and often kidnap shepherds, so that they can play kaval (shepherd’s pipe) for them while they dance.

Samodivas are not always harmful. Sometimes they appear like normal working women and help with the harvest. They would especially help women with children. If a man does something good for a samodiva, she becomes his patron or a sworn sister. Sometimes, a samodiva can fall in love with a human and bear him children, who grow up to be great heroes.

Samodivas are forest creatures and therefore knowledgeable about herbs and cures. However, they never share their secrets willingly. The only way to obtain their knowledge is to eavesdrop on one of their gatherings.

As you can see, we’ve had wonderful fics and art drop this month! And we also had several fics from June update, and also 2 fics from last years event!!!

@welllpthisishappening updated All Was Golden in the Sky many times! The story is complete and she updates regularly on Tuesday and Friday. We are about a third of the way through the entire fic. Ch 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 Artwork by @resident-of-storybrooke and chapter art 1 2 4 5 6 7 8 9  by @distant-rose 

@let-it-raines had been updating Not Your (Soul)Mate chs 4 5 6 7 8 with artwork 1 2 3 by @captainsjedi.

@darkcolinodonorgasm updated One Day for us ch2 with gorgeous artwork by @sherlockianwhovian

Our two updated fics from last years event come to us courtesy of @kymbersmith-90 Divine Intervention ch7 with artwork by @hollyethecurious 

and 

@seriouslyhooked Lost Souls and Reveries ch19 with artwork by @shipsxahoy.

So that is all the fics and art that dropped or updated last month! And now, let’s look ahead to what we have to look forward to for the rest of the event!

Tomorrow @courtorderedcake will be dropping her first fic for the event Hallow with accompanying artwork. Her second fic, Roses will drop on Aug. 24 with artwork by @eastwesthomeisbest.

@searchingwardrobes will be dropping a Cupid and Psyche AU on Aug. 6, Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee. Artwork by @hollyethecurious.

@ilovemesomekillianjones will be dropping a soulmate AU on Aug. 8. Artwork by @spartanguard.

@pirateherokillian will be dropping a modern day gods AU on Aug. 15. Artwork by @tennant-the-tigger.

@thejollyroger-writer will be dropping a THIRD one shot for us on Aug. 18. Artwork by @captainsjedi.

@wyntereyez will be dropping a werewolf Killian fic on Aug. 20. Artwork by @gingerchangeling.

@kymbersmith-90 will be dropping her fic on Aug 22. Artwork by @resident-of-storybrooke.

@whimsicallyenchantedrose will be dropping a Lord of the Rings inspired AU on Aug. 27. Artwork by @clockadile.

@lizzyc807shipscaptainswan will be dropping a vampire guardian angel fic on Aug. 29. Artwork by @courtorderedcake.

@teamhook will be closing out the event with her fic dropping on Sept. 2 Artwork by @hollyethecurious.

Ohhhh my WORD!!! Do we have some good stuff coming up!!!! I can’t wait for all this!!!! And of course, our other WIP’s will continue to update as well! Make sure that you let the authors and artists know how much you are enjoying their work! Sometimes it’s exactly that that keeps them motivated and posting! I’ll see you back here in a little over a month for the event roundup with links to everything that’s been posted since we started in June! Until then y’all!

[mermaid-of-the-valley]

Don’t Be Afraid (Pre-Paternal Moxiety)

Backstory to my Superhero AU. How Patton and Virgil met.

He was hiding, in his mother’s old room. It was hardly the safest spot, but in his distress, it was the only place he could think of. Now his sister was stomping around the house looking for him. He hadn’t meant to use his powers. They just-

“Get out here, you little freak! When I tell you not to play around like that you listen!”

Happened.

“I know I raised you better than that! Would it kill you to be normal for five minutes!”

He covered his ears. There was nothing wrong with him… right?

“You selfish brat!” A bang startled a yelp from him and everything went quiet. Moments later the noise redoubled at the door. “I know you’re in there, and if you don’t come out now, I’ll report you to the Collectors! Don’t pretend it wouldn’t do me any favors!”

He retreated further, sealing himself in the closet. It smelled like perfume and moth balls. They’d seen him playing with his shadow, the people his sister had wanted to take him in, and they’d run out convinced that he was possessed.

Maybe he was. It would certainly explain some things.

She gave him to the count of three. The blood rushed in his ears.

Then he heard her paper puppet slip under the door. The lock clicked open and he heard her come in.

His heartrate shot up; this was it. She’d never forgive him for this one. The knob turned.

A draft of air hit his face as he looked up. There, standing like an avenging angel with a papyrus body guard, was his sister. With the light at her back he couldn’t make out her expression. She must have said something, but for the life of him he couldn’t hear it over the sound of his own breaths.

The puppet reached for him.

He screamed.

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Logan had just started rinsing the shampoo from his hair when an obnoxious series of tones railed through his bedroom. He stumbled in a sudsy mess over the tub’s rim, barely avoiding the door frame as he grabbed the beeping device before it could alert his roommates. He spent several precious seconds squinting at the screen before he realized he’d left his glasses by the sink.

Once that, completely reasonable and not at all embarrassing, scene was handled, Logan read the digital scroll.  A set of coordinates, the request for assistance from all available heroes, and the presumed hazard level of the emergency in question. That was perhaps the most alarming aspect. The level was somewhere among 6 to 7. The former due to the need for evacuation and the latter due to the phenomenon steadily expanding. The actual casualties were, as of yet, unknown.

Logan allowed himself the very short mercy of a quick spray from the shower to disperse the rest of the soap. There was no time to waste! He was half way from his bedroom door before he realized.

…Clothes, he still needed clothes. Newton, he hated working without coffee.

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Meanwhile, across town, Patton was awake and working. He’d actually been up since 4:30 to catch the morning rush at the bakery. The tiny tv in kitchen was buzzing with the sounds of gossip and talk shows when he heard the breaking news screech.

“All residents of the Bellmara area are ordered to evacuate immediately. An incident of potentially villainous inception is developing in the lower sector and expanding at a fixed rate. Citizens are to remain away while the appropriate response is mounted. More information to be determined.”

The message continued to repeat with obnoxious alerts breaking in intermittently to draw attention. The other bakers and decorators whispered in concern. Patton wiped some flour from his hands and surreptitiously glanced down at his watch. The digital numbers remained as they had always been, no shift or sign of detail.

Patton frowned. This seemed like a big deal, shouldn’t they be calling in everyone?

“Oh! Guys, guys look!” Patton’s eyes snapped back up as a coworker with a rainbow frosting bag waved for their attention.

The screen switched to an aerial view. Several houses on a street were engulfed or being engulfed by a cloud of black mist. Thin wisps swirled and swiped around an epicenter that could not be determined, and even from the grainy footage, Patton could see that the radius was ever so slowly expanding outwards.

“Authorities have determined the emergency is power based!” Shouted the on-site reporter over the whirring of her chopper. “Efforts to breach have apparently been met with unusual resistance, but no injuries have been verified!” The scene spun around the phenomena. “There are no gaps that we can see, bu-“

A tendril of smoke made a wide arc near them and the helicopter was forced back, disrupting their words as the reporter and cameraman braced themselves in the cabin.

One more look down at his wrist. Nothing. Okay, this was ridiculous! He couldn’t just wait around for a summons when people were in trouble. With another glance at his coworkers, Patton slipped out the back door.

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Logos was staring up at the tempest when a pastel colored hero rode up on a motorcycle with an equally baffling color scheme. The figure swung of the bike and popped off his helmet, revealing his domino masked face and curly blond hair.

He gave the technopath a grin and a wave. “Hiya! Logos, right?” He held out his hand.

Logos reacted without thinking, shaking his colleague’s hand. “Um, yes. Good to meet you…” He took notice of the large P pasted to the front of the uniform. “Patriarch?” Why call in an empath?

“Oh, I actually pronounce it Pat-triarch!” He corrected with a giggle, like he was sharing a private joke with himself.

“So, with a French lean? I will endeavor to remember your preferred pronunciation.” He realized they were still holding hands and jerked away. “My apologies.”

“No worries, Kiddo.” Logos played with something on his suit cuff. “Have you figured out how to get in there?”

Logos frowned. “Well, therein lies the problem.” He approached a thinker wall of the mist and reached in.

Patriarch watched curiously as an exact copy of Logos hand reached out above his own and pushed the hero away, retracting back at the same time he did. “The thin parts of the barrier are imperfect lashes that push away and the thicker parts create perfect reflections with the same effect. I have been attempting to calibrate a device that the matter will not perceive to see the inside.” He picked up a piece of gravel and tossed it unimpeded through the wall. “Inorganic matter does not evoke a reaction.”

Patriarch hovered over his shoulder to see the technopath making gestures over his cuff, like flipping the pages of a book or adding pieces of something only he could see. Finally, he presses down on the outline of disk and sections of the metal spring up into the shape of a sp-

“Spider!” Logos jerked his head towards the exclamation finding Patriarch decidedly further away.

“What?” He shifted his gaze between the little robot and the cowering man. “Fear not. I assure you that while my device might appear arachnidan in nature it is not in fact-”

“Please! Please just- I am terribly afraid of those little…” He made a shooing motion at the probe. “Monsters. And I would much rather stand way over here.”

“I- very well.” Logos shuffled as close the wall as he could before directing the probe down his hand and into the barrier. He then showed the other hero his empty fingers and was allowed to move next to him. The technopath drew up a small screen for Patriarch to see what he could through his A.I.’s lens. At first it was nothing but blackness, but soon thin spots of color began to peek in between the thick clouds. Logos directed the probe forward with a thought.

The thin patches became more and more noticeable the further the bug went until the shape of a home could be discerned. “Whatever this vapor is, it is not capable of filling space without dispersing to an extent. I suspect the phenomena is only capable of defending itself at the outermost edges.”

A pulse emanated from the structure, stirring the vapor at the windows and reverberating out. They watched as it flew past the probe and saw moments later when it hit the barrier from the inside, pushing it several near imperceptible inches forward. Patriarch hissed beside him. His hands folded over his chest.

“Oh. Logos, I think someone’s in there.” His blinked rapidly, wetness present in his eyes. “They’re so scared.”

Logos flicked a finger and the camera’s vision became highlighted with thermal colors. Sure enough, in one of the upper level rooms was a white and red splotch, pacing. “It appears we have found our source, though what motive they might have for subsuming a neighborhood I do not know.” He turned to his companion, but instead found him marching intently towards the barrier. “Patriarch?”

“You said it doesn’t react to inorganic stuff, right?” He asked, slipping off a glove and flapping it through the mist a few times to test.

“Yes, but,” He waved up and down the empath. “You ARE organic.”

“Yeah, but whoever is in there needs help and your little robot can’t talk to them. I want to see if I can trick the lock.”

“How?”

“I’m going to shield the emotions and energy I give off and see if I can stretch the definition of inorganic.” He pressed the sides of his domino and the mask stretched to cover his face and hair down to the neck. When every inch of skin was covered, Patriarch focused. If one looked close enough, they might see the air around the hero heat rapidly and then go flat.

He reached out to the wall, only the material of his suit being perceived, and pressed in. No copy sprang forth to defend the perimeter. A foot edged forward, no response. Patriarch inhaled and slipped right through the mist.

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Inside it was just like the footage. Waves of shadow floating in odd, uncontrolled directions, but nowhere near as firmly as the outside. He took a few more steps forward and released a breath. He started forward, carefully feeling his way along the roadway and cautiously stepping onto the curb.

The spaces between became more pronounced. He squinted through the lenses of his mask at a label on the house’s mailbox. ‘Shae’. Not much to go on, but it was a start. He moved on up what he assumed to be the driveway and then the walkway to the front stoop. He decided to test his theory there, opening himself up the interference of the dome and its occupant. His mask peeled back to its original position. Still no reaction, but now the air was palpable with a myriad of negative emotions.

Grief. Fear. Sadness. Regret. All of these came at him in waves. Patriarch tried the doorknob. Unsurprisingly locked like the vapor, but not very easily jimmied.

Something crawled over his boot.

Patton kicked out with a yelp and the thing hit the door hard. He watched with horror as Logos’ little spider-bot flailed on its back with its limbs wriggling. After a couple seconds the joints stilled abruptly, rotating to stand in a new manner with the camera tilting up. The lens ‘blinked’.

“…Sorry?” The empath squeaked. The machine ambled to the side of the porch and crawled up a small rock. It tapped in a circle on the top of the stone and then scampered off. Tipping it revealed a plastic hatch.

Patton retrieved the key from its hiding place and then bashfully thanked the air around him in case Logos tiny friend happened to be nearby. The door was unlocked, and he stepped inside.

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The emotions were far more present in the house along with the scent of mildew and… paper? He called out as loudly as he dared. “Hello?”

Terror. A wave of it pouring from the staircase. Patton couldn’t tell whether it was because of him or not though. It shifted the smoke still inside the foyer and lightly rattled the wood of the door behind him. Distress. Grief. Sadness. He followed the negative feelings up the stairs.

They emanated most strongly from a room at the top of the steps. The door was cracked and hanging open by a single intact hinge like it had been blown back in the wrong direction by the force behind it. Patton winced at the sound of sobbing. He got as close to the frame as he dared before peering in.

A kid, probably barely a teen, was curled in on himself. He was gasping and crying over every breath. He would sometimes seem to gain some calm only to pitch forward with renewed horror spilling out.

That was the only way Patton could think to describe it later as thick black vapor would spill from the boy’s mouth with each wave of panic.

The room was in great disarray, objects scattered against the walls, scraps of fabric and paper strewn about the floor and- a mass encased in front of the boy. The empath swallowed hard against the lump in his throat.

After a moment’s consideration, he knocked on the door frame. No change. The teen was still spiraling, powers and emotions flapping around like the disjointed mess in the room. Patton went in, approaching slowly and knelt down next to him.

“Hey.” A slight hitch in the breaths. “It’ll be okay. You don’t need to be scared.” A sob. “I’m Patriarch.” He introduced. Shivers from the other party. “Easy, just try to breathe.” A heavy exhale. “Good, that’s good.”

Patton bit his lip, not completely sure how to proceed. “I’m- I’m going to count for you. Okay, Kiddo? Can you try to match me?”

Some confusion mixed with hesitance. His eyes jerked towards Patton for the first time, like he was trying to understand how the hero had gotten so close. “It’s okay,” He held up his hands. “I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” He took a slow, deliberate breath. “Can you try to breathe with me? One… Two… Three… Four…”

There were some false starts before they managed to follow the pattern. The cries became less stilted and more firm. “That’s great, Kiddo. You’re doing really well.”

“Wh-who’re you?” He jolted back a few inches in jerky movements.

“Patriarch.” He repeated, unbothered. “I’m a superhero, Kiddo. I got worried that someone in here needed help.”

“M’not a kid.”

Patton smiled gently. “Aww, that’s just what I call everyone. I’m a Dad at heart. What would you prefer?”

“…Virgil.” He mumbled for the first time without the smoke. His eyes caught on the mass in front of him and his expression twisted in on itself. Looking around didn’t help the situation, and Patton rushed to prevent the new influx of grief from impacting them.

“Virgil, look at me. I need you to stay calm.”

A strangled whimper slipped out. “I’m sorry. I don’t- I didn’t mean to-” A puff of vapor that Virgil fought to hide with his hands. “I can’t make it stop! She was so mad, I just wanted her to leave me alone!”

Patton tapped his hand lightly to regain his attention. “Virgil, I’m an Empath. I can tell where this is coming from. If you want me to, I can help you control this and then we’ll help her.” That last part was iffy, but they couldn’t do anything if Virgil kept panicking.

Virgil made hard eye contact with him, no doubt weighing his concerns with Patton’s promises. Another flicker of fear jumped across the air and, with the same force of will he’d shown in hiding his power’s expression, he shoved it back. “Fine, fine! Just do it! Whatever it is!”

Patton made all of his movements slowly, giving the kid time to opt out. His fingertips settled against Virgil’s temples.

Scared. Regret. Bad.

The feelings flew forward immediately, much clearer now. Patton could trace how they affected his powers, pushing and crashing like an ocean storm. It explained how they were slipping out of control. He asked Virgil to focus on his breathing once more, and directed a series of calm waves at the turbulent source. It thundered in response, equally reactive to the diminishing negativity and Patton’s efforts.

Even so, it was growing dormant. The mist still hovering in the room coalesced together and started fizzling away. The darkest shadow beside them crumbled like dust.

Inside was a black-haired woman wrapped up in paper, ripped at the edges and stained with signs of struggle against the dark matter. The barrier fell around her.

She was still breathing, thank goodness. His relief echoed back at him. Glancing up, he could see Virgil was crying.

A bang rattled the house as the front door burst open. Patton bit back a curse at the reflexive power surge that was startled out of Virgil, reassuring him with nonsense platitudes and soothing pulses. “I got you, kidd- Virgil… Sorry. It’s probably just the med team for her.”

Bootsteps on the stairs, closer, closer. Patton turned, desperate not to disappoint the younger super. Logos stood in the doorway, a stark contrast to the riot gear covered police behind him.

Patton squeezed Virgil’s shoulder and grinned up at the technopath. “Hey, Logos! Great timing, we need some paramedics up here for…” He trailed off, realizing he didn’t yet know the girl’s name and eyed Virgil for help.

“Lavinia, but she prefers Vinnie.” He mumbled, darting his gaze back to his sister.

Patton leapt back in, keeping his tone as light as possible. “Right. Well, you heard me! Go get some help for Vinnie. Please.”

Logos reiterated the instructions much more forcefully and the officers behind him split, one half going back down stairs and the other half following him into the room. Logos personally approached Lavinia and maneuvered her into a recovery position. The lack of reaction from her incited another sob from Virgil. “Please keep calm. It is not uncommon for injuries sustained to prevent immediate response and she seems to be stable.”

Patton could have hugged the man for his unflappable demeanor. Virgil’s emotions deescalated with his assurances in a way Patton wouldn’t have expected from the dark boy. It must have been the certainty Logos spoke with, it definitely put Patton more at ease.

The EMTs arrived in short succession and took over for the supers. Lavinia was rolled onto the backboard and lifted away. Scraps of paper floated after them on an invisible breeze and Virgil’s whole posture loosened at the display. “I- I almost. She almost-”

Logos put a hand on his opposite shoulder, urging him to stand. “You don’t have to explain yet. There will be time enough for that later.” It was slow going out of the home. Not least of which because of Virgil’s apprehension and the police herding them outside.

Virgil barely stepped over the threshold when everything went to hell. City officials and paparazzi pressed into the flimsy caution tape to get a better look, flashes and sirens disorienting him. He was brought suddenly to the ground. A hand grabbed the back of his neck. Something pricked his skin. There was a rush of cold and then everything turned fuzzy.

Patton should have known that the cops were being too docile, but Virgil’s emotions were so much more intense than the surface level calm being projected. He was shoved from the kid before his foot left the porch and Logos had only seconds before the same happened to him. The empath caught himself on the walk and spun back to see Virgil roughly restrained on his stomach, head jerked to side and a needle being pushed into his skin.

“What are you doing?! Get off of him!” It was Logos, surprisingly, whom screamed first, rushing at the team he’d lead only moments earlier. More officers blocked him. “He wasn’t a threat anymore; you have no right! Get away!” The older heroes could only watch in horror as Virgil’s hair was released and his head dropped forward without support. “What was that?!”

The man holding Virgil’s arms finally responded. “A sedative. You saw what this punk was capable of. He’s going into lock up.”

“He’s a child. He didn’t intend any of this. The last thing he needs is to be treated like a criminal!” Patton interjected.

“Patriarch!”

Patton whipped around at the call. For a moment he was relieved. “Commissioner Sanders.”

A man in a truly horrible church suit stood by the ambulance Lavinia was being loaded in. He looked like he was trying to be stern. Patton felt less relieved. Thomas huffed a breath through his nose. “Come on, guys. See this from my point of view.”

“Wha- But!” Virgil was wrapped up in a restraint vest and hefted past them. “Hey! Wait! Commissioner you can’t just- I mean, he’s not! Gosh, words are hard!”

Logos jumped in. “What he’s trying to say is, we don’t think locking him up is the best decision. In fact, it would most likely only exacerbate what allowed his powers to spiral out of control. Surely you can understand that!”

The man watched the heroes closely and then switched to Virgil as he was loaded into the back of the police van. The boy slumped limply where he was placed, eyes glazed with the drug in his system. He didn’t look like a threat now, but that could change on a dime. There was a reason he was called to the scene after all. Thomas closed the door and knocked against the back of the van.

He tried not to flinch at Logan and Patton’s betrayed expressions. He sighed as the van pulled away. “Let’s talk.”

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His wrists hurt. Why was that? There were bracelets on them. Too tight. Why? Everything was so sloppy.

“Virge?”

Who?

“Come on, V. Push past it. We need to talk about some stuff.”

Someone had his hands. Did they put on the bracelets? No, wait that was…? He looked different than before. Where was his mask? “P-” He tried.

“Easy. I got you. Can you hear me? Understand me?”

He wasn’t quite sure if he nodded or just jerked his head from where it was falling.

“Can you move your fingers? Give me a squeeze if you understand.” He managed that much. “M’kay. Wearing off then. Virgil, I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

What happened? He didn’t fight, so why was he…? Eyes slid around the room. One of those cells with a mirror on the wall, like on Lavinia’s crime dramas.

“We talked it over with the commissioner. He’s willing to give you a shot, but we have to establish a few things first.”

This was an interrogation room. That should scare him. Why wasn’t he scared? Was it the bracelets? Patriarch? He didn’t seem the type, but then why was he here? Where was his sister? Was she okay?

“La-Lvini?” He choked.

“She’s still resting at the hospital, Virgil.”

Virgil surprised them both with how fast he pulled his right wrist free. “I need to see her!” A surge of something shot through him, but he was left suddenly winded as the force was stifled. It crumpled into a ball, putting pressure on his head until he curled over the table. Patriarch squeezed his other hand in sympathy.

“I’m sorry, Virge.” He repeated.

Virgil cringed. “What was that?”

“Backlash. Virgil, you have a profound amount of power, but what happened at your house made everyone nervous.” He pointed at the manacles. “These put a cap on how much you can do. I felt you panic, so I guess your power reacted past the limit.”

Virgil’s eyes bubbled with regret. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” They sat in silence waiting for the teen to regain control of his emotions. “Commissioner Sanders does too. But you didn’t see what we did. The way your powers reacted was bizarre and uncontrolled. Which means, people are scared.”

“Am I going to jail?”

“I don’t want you to. Logos and I think you could be great if you get ahold of those abilities, but you’d need to keep those on until we’re sure you do.”

“Can I stay at my house if I practice?”

“It’s not the easiest thing to figure out on your own. Plus, you’re still a minor. As long as Lavinia is in the hospital, you shouldn’t be alone.”

Virgil’s face scrunched. “How long is she going to be there?” Patton flicked his eyes around, debating with himself.

“I’m not sure, Virgil. She’s stable, just not very responsive.” He sighed. “Even when she wakes up, she’ll need to recuperate for a while. Do you have any other family at all that can take you in? Or any friends with powers?”

“…No. ‘Cause I’m wrong and scary. I only hang out with my own shadow.”

“You sound like you’ve heard that a lot.” Virgil looked away. “You could, I mean if you wanted to, I might be able to-”

Patriarch fumbled uselessly at the air like the perfect words would appear to him. Virgil frowned. “What?”

“Um, I could help? Teach you, I mean! Feelings are my thing, I’m sure I can handle that much.”

“Handle?”

“Mentor! I can mentor you in how to regulate your feelings and how they affect your abilities. You can even stay with me if you want!”

Virgil had gone wide-eyed.

Oh, did he just say that? Yes. Yes, he had. Did he mean it? Patriarch opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

“I- You’re serious?”

“No, I’m Patton.” Oh. My. God. Why did he say that? “…Patton-ly heroic?” Smooth save.

A watery half-laugh slipped from his companion. “Nice try. I almost believed you for a minute there.”

“I still meant it!” And Patton was surprised to realize that it was true. He couldn’t live with himself if this kiddo ended up in the hoosegow when he could have done something about it. “I want to help you and if you need a place to stay in the process, then so be it.”

“If I say yes, can I get these things loosened? My fingers are going numb.” Virgil grumbled, flopping back in his chair and raising the bracelets with an air of apathy. Relief.

“No problem, Kiddo.” It may have been rocky, but at least it was a start.

----------------------------------------------------

Backstory! Hope it was enjoyed. I’m going to pass out now.

[andrewdburton]

Identity economics: Who are you? And how does it affect your spending?

“Who are you?” my cousin Duane asked me on Saturday afternoon. We'd spent the day playing nerd games together and were taking a break for pizza.

“What?” I said. I wasn't expecting a philosophical question over supper.

“I don't think you know who you are,” Duane said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don't think you know who you are,” he repeated. “You write about money and frugality, yet you spend $200 on dinner.” Duane was referring to the fancy meal we'd had in May at a Michelin-star restaurant in France. I knew it had been bugging him, but he hadn't said anything about it until now. (And that meal cost $267.41 for the two of us, not $200.)

“You paid $1900 for your used pickup, but you don't wash it. It's filthy. You buy new clothes that you don't need, but you leave your old clothes on the floor so that your cats pee on them.” It's true. Kim and I have a cat that will, from time to time, pee on my clothes.

“You say you don't like attention, that you don't want to be a celebrity, yet you're always taking on new work that puts you in the spotlight. You're thinking of doing a course for Audible, for instance, and you're talking about doing more speaking gigs — even though you hate speaking gigs,” Duane said.

All of these things were true. I couldn't argue.

“Who are you?” Duane asked. Well, that's a mighty fine question, Duane. That's a mighty fine question.

A Digression

In 1862, French novelist Victor Hugo published Les Miserables, one of the greatest novels of the nineteenth century. Long and sprawling and full of digressions (just like Get Rich Slowly!), the book explores the many facets of human nature: the good and bad, the humorous and poignant, the ordinary and sublime.

Les Miserables wasn't popular with critics when it was released, but everybody else loved it. It sold well when it was published and continues to sell well more than 150 years later. The book has inspired several several film and television adaptations. And, of course, it's the source of one of the most successful stage musicals of all time.

Turns out PBS recently aired a new six-part Les Miserables miniseries written by the always-awesome Andrew Davies. It's on my watch list.

Although Les Miserables contains a ginormous cast of characters, two stand at the heart of the story:

Jean Valjean is the novel's protagonist. Arrested for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his sister's seven starving children, he spends nineteen years in prison (five for the original crime, fourteen more for various misdeeds). Upon parole, he assumes the identity of Monsieur Madeleine. As Madeleine, he builds two factories, becomes rich, and is appointed mayor of a small seaside town. Valjean is a good man who occasionally finds himself on the wrong side of the law.

Javert is the novel's antagonist. (It's not right to call him a villain. Nothing about him is villanous.) Born in prison to deplorable parents, he grows up to become a prison guard — then police inspector. Javert is obsessed with upholding the law, which includes pursuing and punishing Valjean for his past misdeeds. His worldview is shattered when he realizes that not all laws are moral, that sometimes the moral course is not the lawful one.

What's fascinating — mind-blowing, actually — is that Victor Hugo based both Valjean and Javert on the exact same real-life person. They're both loosely modelled on Eugène François Vidocq, a French criminal turned criminalist. (You should open that link in a separate tab for later reading. Vidocq's life is fascinating. Among other things, he's regarded as the first-ever private detective and the “father” of modern criminology.)

That's right: Both the protagonist and the antagonist of Les Miserables were inspired by the same man. And, even more mind-blowing? Vidocq was also the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes. (Go read that article!)

Who Am I?

The amazing thing (to me) is that Jean Valjean himself is two people! He is Jean Valjean, yes, but he spends years posing as Monsieur Madeleine. As the latter, he's a wealthy factory owner, he's mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer. He is a force for good in his small world. He is, at once, both Valjean and Madeleine, just as Vidocq is at once both Valjean and Javert.

In a 2012 New Yorker piece praising “the persistent greatness” of Les Miserables, Adam Gopnik wrote, “Hugo believed in, relished, luxuriated in, contradiction — he thought that we show ourselves most truly when we are seemingly most opposed to our double natures.”

When I posted about this on Facebook in April, John from ESI Money observed that this adds a whole new meaning to the song “Who Am I?” from the musical.

“Who am I?” Valjean sings as he's forced to reveal his identity in order to save an innocent man. “Who am I? I'm Jean Valjean!”

Yes, that's true — but Jean Valjean is also police inspector Javert.

True story: I'm a devoted fan of musical theater, and “Who Am I?” is one of my favorite songs from any show. It induces frisson — it gives me goosebumps — every time I hear it. Every time.

What I like about this clever bit of character creation from Victor Hugo is how it highlights our inherent dual natures. We, as humans, are inconsistent. We are complex creatures. At the same time, we can be both good and bad. I truly believe that most of us do what is right most of the time — but each of us also sometimes makes poor choices. We do things that seem to go against who we say we are and what we believe.

In Valjean and Javert, we get to see human nature dramatized in two men forever at odds, just as we are each forever at odds with ourselves.

Me, Myself, and I

As I was walking the dog this morning, I found myself meditating on my own personal duality. I am at once the hardest working person I know…and the laziest. I am the smartest person I know…and the stupidest. I am the kindest person I know…and the meanest.

Recently, I've grown increasingly frustrated with my seeming inability to “do the right thing”. I know that there are certain actions I could take (and should take) to improve my health, to build this website, to maintain relationships with my friends. Yet I do not do these things. I actively avoid them.

Why is this?

Here's an example. I could solve a whole host of problems if I were to get regular aerobic exercise. Over the past year, I've done a fine job of strength training, but for some reason I've become allergic to sweat. I do whatever I can to avoid running or biking or otherwise increasing my heart rate.

It's not that I can't do these things. I know I can. And I like them. I've run half marathons (and walked a full marathon). I've completed a century ride — one-hundred miserable miles on a hot and windy summer day. I did Crossfit for five years. I'm capable of strenuous exercise, and I know it.

But I'm not doing that exercise right now. I'm avoiding it.

Three months ago, as the sun started to show its face here in Portland, I wheeled my bicycle from the bottom of the hill to the back office. I wanted to make it easy to hop in the saddle and go. But you know what? I've ridden the thing exactly once this year. The bike is just sitting there, pleading with me to ride it.

The same goes with the website. You all know that I can crank out an article a day. I did it for three years between 2006 and 2009. I did it for the first three months of 2018. When I put my mind to it, I can write well without sacrificing quality.

Yet, for some reason, it's tough for me to publish even once a week lately. My mind is elsewhere. I have no inspiration. This wouldn't be so bad if I were at least handling other site maintenance chores, but I'm not. The site redesign is nearly finished, but it isn't live because there are still things I need to do. I'm not processing guest articles. I'm not posting to social media.

I've no doubt that some of this malaise stems from my chronic depression. But I also know the best way to shake the self-loathing is to actually do something, you know?

Which leads me to fundamental question I find myself facing: If I know what is right, why don't I do it?

I have no answer.

Impossible Expectations

This year, as every year, my depression and anxiety became especially strong during the spring. What's different about this year is that I sought out a therapist.

A few weeks ago, she asked me about my writing. We hadn't talked about it before. “What does success look like for you when it comes to your work?” she asked.

“Success means publishing three articles per week,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because then I'm giving my readers lots of material. I'm helping them. When I give them a lot of material, they want to come back more often. When I publish more material, more people find the site by search. When I publish more material, I make more money.”

“So, you want to publish three times per week?”

“I guess so,” I said. I thought about it a little. “But I hate the pressure that pace puts on me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I don't enjoy it. I don't do great work under time pressure like that. I want to take my time. If I decide to write an article on, say, the history of retirement, then I want to read a book on the subject. Maybe two or three. I want to think deeply about it. Then, I want to take the time to write the best article out there about the history of retirement.”

“You realize you've just told me two very different things, right?” my therapist said. “You've set up contradictory goals for yourself. Plus, you're asking yourself to be the best. That's a tall order. No wonder you're stressed. You have impossible expectations for yourself.”

When I think about it, my therapist is right. I do have impossible expectations for myself — on a lot of things. I have contradictory goals. It's as if there's a Jean Valjean inside of me and an Inspector Javert. And they want different things. Neither is wrong — but they can't both have their way.

But to which do I yield? Am I Valjean or Javert?

At the end of the session, I lamented my dual nature. “I tell other people to be proactive,” I said, “to take charge of their own lives, but I have a hard time doing that myself.”

“Do you think that makes you a hypocrite?” my therapist asked.

“No,” I said without hesitation.

“Good,” she said.

“I think it makes me human,” I said. “I write about the things I struggle with personally. When I started writing about money and getting out of debt, that's because I needed to get out of debt. Now, when I write about tracking spending or having a sense of purpose, that's because I need these things.”

Mindful Spending

So, this is all very interesting on a philosophical level, but what does it have to do with personal finance? Lots, actually.

We make our purchasing decisions based on who we are and who we want to be. If we're not clear on who we are and who we want to be, our choices tend to be arbitrary. They're spontaneous and not based on anything other than immediate desire.

When you're clear on who you are and what you want, it's much easier to practice mindful spending, to be deliberate about the things you buy and own. If you identify as fitness-conscious, for instance, you'll be much less likely to be tempted by cookies and snacks in the grocery store. If, like me at the moment, you identify as a “lapsed” fitness junkie, well then it's much easier to succumb to temptation.

Who we want to be also affects how we spend. In fact, I suspect that much wasted spending — not just for me, but for everybody — is what I'd call “aspirational”. It's not based on our actual habits and actions but on what we wish we did.

Take my bike, for example. I bought it last year but have ridden it only three times in fifteen months. Like I mentioned earlier, it simply sits there, pleading with me to ride it.

I have a good friend who once decided he'd like to learn woodworking. His father had always built and repaired things around the house, and my friend aspired to do the same — even though he had never done so in 35 years of life. He bought a stack of woodworking books, then acquired several expensive tools. He never used them. These were aspirational purchases, based on somebody he wanted to be, not the person he was.

From what I've seen, a lot of folks do this sort of thing with cookbooks. They want to try new recipes and new cuisines, so they gradually fill a shelf with cooking manuals — cooking manuals that they seldom use.

It's because of this relationship between money and identity that I'm so insistent that GRS readers write a personal mission statement. When you're clear on your purpose, it's much easier to make sure your spending is aligned with your values, that your financial decisions are based on who you are instead of some idealized version of who you want to be.

Identity Economics

In their fascinating (if dry and academic) book Identity Economics, George Akerlof and Rachel Kranton explore how our identities shape our work, wages, and well-being.

“In every social context,” the authors write, “people have a notion of who they are, which is associated with beliefs about how they and others are supposed to behave. These notions…play important roles in how economies work.” Our identities determine how we earn a living and how we spend our money.

Akerloff and Kranton say that large portions of our identities are shaped by the environment:

Identity, norms, and social categories may appear to be abstract concepts, but their reality is both powerful and easy to see. Norms are particularly clear when people hold an ideal of who they should be and how they should act.

Here's an example: Many folks who discover the early retirement movement do so through the awesome work of Mr. Money Mustache. He has a strong voice and a popular website. Over the past few years, he's accumulated a passionate army of followers who call themselves Mustachians.

When a person identifies himself as Mustachian, he subscribes to a certain set of values, to particular ways of working with money. Driving is frowned upon. A high saving rate is encouraged. Thrift is a prized virtue. This is identity economics in action.

Akerloff and Kranton are careful to note that our personal identities are not static. They change. Our larger identities change slowly over time, but we can also shift roles rapidly in daily life.

The latter is easiest to see. “Over the course of a day,” they write, “a woman may see herself as a mother at home and a professional at work.” I'd add that she might see herself as an athlete in her running group, a civic leader as a member of the city council, and a Mustachian when she's hanging with her financial friends online.

Each of these is a different identity — or perhaps a different facet of her overall identity. And each affects how she works, saves, and spends.

People change over their lifetimes too. From the book:

People often make decisions that come back to haunt them. We overeat, we smoke, we spend too much, and we regret it. [This is due to] time inconsistency. People have different selves at different points in their lives. The new self could regret the decisions made by the old self…

Sometimes these transitions are anticipated, and people plan accordingly. But often, people only imperfectly anticipate who they will later become.

Look at my own life over the past decade. Who I am today is drastically different than who I was ten years ago. And twenty years ago. Sure, the core J.D. remains the same — once a nerd, always a nerd! — but my values, which are constantly evolving, have morphed and my day-to-day life is sometimes unrecognizable.

During the past ten years, much about my personal identity (and my resulting financial choices) has changed:

I deliberately chose to purchase a small home in “the country”.

I drink beer. I drink coffee. I ride a motorcycle. All of these actions are new.

I lost fifty pounds through years of exercise and healthy eating. Then I gained back forty of those pounds through years of neglect.

I sold Get Rich Slowly — then I bought it back.

These changes, large and small, all affect how I manage my money and how I spend my time. As my identity changes, so do my financial habits.

Related reading: In a strange coincidence, The Guardian published an article on a similar subject last Saturday: “Are you really the ‘real' you?” This piece, which is terrific and well worth reading, looks at how some people change their lives entirely — and why.

Order and Light

At the end of the Les Miserables, after Jean Valjean frees Javert instead of killing him, the police inspector faces an existential crisis. Victor Hugo writes:

He saw before him two roads, both equally straight; but he saw two; and that terrified him — him, who who had never in his life known but one straight line. And, bitter anguish, these two roads were contradictory. One of these two straight lines excluded the other. Which of the two was the true one? His condition was inexpressible.

Inspector Javert's moral certitude proves to be his undoing. Like many folks who are certain they know what is real and what is right, Javert spends years ignoring evidence that controverts his beliefs. He thinks he knows the truth but in reality is blind to it.

When, at last, Javert recognizes that he's been in error all this time, that things are not as black and white as he believed them to be, it's too much for him to bear. Rather than face a world filled with ambiguity and uncertainty, he takes his own life. He jumps in the river and drowns.

Before he kills himself, though, Javert has a sort of revelation. He realizes that Jean Valjean and his alter-ego, Monsieur Madeleine, may have seemed like two different people, but they were one all along. They were two sides of the same person. Valjean was both criminal and hero.

It's all well and good to want to be a fixed, constant person, to have an identity that never changes. But that's not how healthy people work. Healthy people learn and adapt and grow. Who you are today is not the same as who you'll be tomorrow — or who you were yesterday.

As you change, your values will change too. Your goals will change. Your spending will change. What you want to do for work will change. And, yes, there will be many times when you are internally conflicted, when like Javert you are faced with two parallel roads, both of which are “true”.

Summing Up

Who am I? That's a great question.

I'm a guy who writes about money and frugality, but I'm also a man who is willing to — once in a lifetime — spend $267.41 to experience a Michelin-star restaurant in rural France. That's a clear example of mindful spending: I planned the meal weeks in advance and looked forward to it with great anticipation.

I'm a guy who can't bring himself to purchase a new car, so I buy a 25-year-old pickup for $1900. And I don't wash it. I value the vehicle but see no sense in spending the time, money, and energy to clean something that will never look pretty.

I'm a guy who buys new clothes from time to time — don't we all? — but who, yes, is careless enough to leave them on the bedroom floor even though I know my cat likes to pee on them. (Stupid cat!)

I'm a guy who hates public speaking and who doesn't want to be the center of attention, yet who has a deep desire to teach people about personal finance. (Especially the personal side of it all.) This leads me to do things that seem incongruent with what I say I want. I take on months-long projects that stress me out. I agree to fly across the world to talk to people. (Just yesterday, Paula Pant and I had a conversation about how the hassle of attending events is worth it for the friends we make.)

Who am I? I'm J.D. Roth.

The post Identity economics: Who are you? And how does it affect your spending? appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

from Finance https://www.getrichslowly.org/identity-economics/ via http://www.rssmix.com/

[theconservativebrief]

I heard a rumor my senior year of high school that I was gay.

I forget who told me the rumor, but I never forgot its message. Of course, it took me completely by surprise because I wasn’t gay. I definitely, absolutely, positively could not be gay. Because I wasn’t!

As I entered my first year of college with that rumor buzzing in my ear, I was convinced that any bit of insecurity could be overcome by a boring business-casual outfit. I had a pair of tan chinos that matched the self-doubt barely contained under my emotionally muted veneer.

And that’s how my first year of college went.

After clocking out from my freshman year, I traveled the two hours back home from college.

In preparation for my summer retail job, I ordered some clothes from JCPenney. In those days, I oscillated between 40-year-old-office-park-dad-chic and frat-tastic enough to fit in among the beer pong tables at some Epsilon Epsilon Epsilon party.

I was determined to wear my pullover before the end of summer, even though the average daily temperatures were above 90 degrees in my Ohio hometown’s ferocious summer heat. One day, I was feeling sweat accumulate under my collar as I restocked the granola bars, volcano-scented candles, and cake mix when I heard the store’s front door open. I looked up, out of habit more than anything, and saw a young man with curly blond hair walk in. He was wearing a plain white T-shirt and black Converse, and he had the most distinctive freckles on his cheeks. He was with a girl wearing some kind of romper.

It took me a minute to realize I was staring at something other than the candles, and I abruptly averted my eyes.

My college had an incredibly large campus. You could walk for miles and still be within the confines of Ohio State’s domain.

Walking so often, and for so long, teaches you a lot. You should always walk with your back straight up, moderating each step to be even-keeled and well-paced. You can keep your head up to look confident or look down to blend in, just so long as you aren’t bopping it along to “Dark Horse” by Katy Perry. Never show too much expression. Walk stoically, slowly, methodically. Don’t show excitement, and definitely never, ever be flamboyant.

Don’t worry, you’ll mess it up sometimes. If you sense anything resembling a spring in your step, just push your hands into your chino pockets — or if it’s chilly, the fleece pockets of your black North Face jacket — and resume the proper form.

In the last weeks of October, I ordered a pair of blue chinos to match a yellow Polo Ralph Lauren shirt that I was sure would finally make me feel cool enough to belong at college.

Somehow, there was a mix-up with the order, and when I ripped open the bag of merchandise, they had sent green chinos instead.

I decided I had a Halloween costume.

Picking up an (almost) matching shirt from Target or Old Navy or somewhere like that, I painted numbers on my outfit and called myself a chalkboard.

My friends and I went to a party in an apartment so small you definitely couldn’t call it a “house” party. The hosts were trying to break a record for how many people they fit in their apartment, and I was trying to make everyone pay attention to how funny I was.

There was a lot of sexual tension in the air. A Harry Potter was flirting with a Raven from Teen Titans, and a “This is fine!” dog was making out with a cheerleader (I think she actually was a cheerleader, so it was a particularly bad costume).

I had never hooked up with anyone at a party. I hadn’t even ever flirted, unless trying to trade my jungle juice for the last cup of pumpkin pie moonshine was flirting.

I squeezed myself through the crowd to the porch, where a group of my friends had congregated. I pushed past a boy dressed as Link from Legend of Zelda. He had light blue eyes, and we locked gazes for a minute. He smiled. I turned away.

I didn’t go to another party for a few months. (Unless, of course, you count the gigantic pity party I threw for myself on a daily basis.)

A few weeks after Halloween, I coughed out the words, “I think I’m bisexual,” to my best friend and roommate. I then proceeded to do absolutely nothing of interest. I didn’t go to clubs; I didn’t go on dates; I didn’t sleep with anyone. I was barely able to get to sleep alone.

I wrote a lot. I thought a lot. I watched three whole seasons of Pawn Stars. Self-discovery wasn’t as sexy as it always seemed on TV.

After one existential crisis too many, my supportive friends did my job for me and got me an invitation to a “gay party.” I ordered a pair of super-skinny jeans. That’s what I was supposed to do, right?

I slipped on a pair of Converse and a plain white T-shirt and joined an old acquaintance and his boyfriend to pregame for this party. I had no idea what to do except keep drinking IPAs and laugh nervously. They were both nice. They had both gone through this.

After sitting in my friend’s apartment for about an hour, he asked me if I was ready to go to the party.

I said I was. That was a lie.

I told him I didn’t feel so good. That was the truth.

Self-discovery wasn’t as sexy as it always seemed on TV

It was a highlighter party, so the most common way of introducing yourself to people was to draw a dick on their T-shirt. A lot of people introduced themselves to me.

I sipped my first shot of Fireball and then took two more in rapid succession.

I did laps around the living room, talking to people. At college parties, it’s often the same conversation over and over again: What’s your year? What’s your major? What are you into?

Slowly, I began to get into a groove. The loudness of the music masked the softness of my confidence. I forgot to police how I walked, or how I laughed, or how I talked.

I forgot I was supposed to be pretending to be someone else.

Bit by bit, I started incorporating little pieces of that party into my life.

I started walking the way I wanted. I started buying the clothing I wanted. I remember ordering my first pair of jean shorts and thinking, “It doesn’t matter if these make me look gay, because I probably am gay!”

I still struggled a lot. Instead of going to class or doing my homework, I stared at guys, trying to make sure I was actually attracted to them and not just losing my mind. I obsessed over labels, once making a list on my dry-erase board of ways my life would change if I was “full-on gay��� versus bisexual.

But day by day, I was owning who I was more. I bagged up a bunch of old clothes for our residence hall’s donation drive. I started talking about guys that I found hot. I stopped forcing myself to act “masculine” or “straight.”

I wasn’t completely sure who I was yet, but I was starting to become comfortable with that.

That summer, I went back to my hometown, where I rendezvoused with all my old friends from high school. Some of them knew about my coming-out process the year before; some of them didn’t.

We sat around a bonfire, reveling in being 20-year-olds drinking warm beers and red wine out of plastic cups. At some point, somebody brought up me being gay.

“Not much of a surprise,” one of my friends laughed.

Only one of my friends seemed truly caught off-guard. He hadn’t been in the loop. We talked to each other one on one later on, and while reiterating his support for me as a person, he said he wasn’t yet totally comfortable with it.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “Neither am I. Not yet. But I’m going to just keep being myself until I am.”

And that’s what I did.

Original Source -> What it was like to come out as gay, as told by my online shopping history

via The Conservative Brief

[andrewdburton]

Identity economics: Who are you? And how does it affect your spending?

“Who are you?” my cousin Duane asked me on Saturday afternoon. We'd spent the day playing nerd games together and were taking a break for pizza.

“What?” I said. I wasn't expecting a philosophical question over supper.

“I don't think you know who you are,” Duane said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I don't think you know who you are,” he repeated. “You write about money and frugality, yet you spend $200 on dinner.” Duane was referring to the fancy meal we'd had in May at a Michelin-star restaurant in France. I knew it had been bugging him, but he hadn't said anything about it until now. (And that meal cost $267.41 for the two of us, not $200.)

“You paid $1900 for your used pickup, but you don't wash it. It's filthy. You buy new clothes that you don't need, but you leave your old clothes on the floor so that your cats pee on them.” It's true. Kim and I have a cat that will, from time to time, pee on my clothes.

“You say you don't like attention, that you don't want to be a celebrity, yet you're always taking on new work that puts you in the spotlight. You're thinking of doing a course for Audible, for instance, and you're talking about doing more speaking gigs — even though you hate speaking gigs,” Duane said.

All of these things were true. I couldn't argue.

“Who are you?” Duane asked. Well, that's a mighty fine question, Duane. That's a mighty fine question.

A Digression

In 1862, French novelist Victor Hugo published Les Miserables, one of the greatest novels of the nineteenth century. Long and sprawling and full of digressions (just like Get Rich Slowly!), the book explores the many facets of human nature: the good and bad, the humorous and poignant, the ordinary and sublime.

Les Miserables wasn't popular with critics when it was released, but everybody else loved it. It sold well when it was published and continues to sell well more than 150 years later. The book has inspired several several film and television adaptations. And, of course, it's the source of one of the most successful stage musicals of all time.

Turns out PBS recently aired a new six-part Les Miserables miniseries written by the always-awesome Andrew Davies. It's on my watch list.

Although Les Miserables contains a ginormous cast of characters, two stand at the heart of the story:

Jean Valjean is the novel's protagonist. Arrested for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his sister's seven starving children, he spends nineteen years in prison (five for the original crime, fourteen more for various misdeeds). Upon parole, he assumes the identity of Monsieur Madeleine. As Madeleine, he builds two factories, becomes rich, and is appointed mayor of a small seaside town. Valjean is a good man who occasionally finds himself on the wrong side of the law.

Javert is the novel's antagonist. (It's not right to call him a villain. Nothing about him is villanous.) Born in prison to deplorable parents, he grows up to become a prison guard — then police inspector. Javert is obsessed with upholding the law, which includes pursuing and punishing Valjean for his past misdeeds. His worldview is shattered when he realizes that not all laws are moral, that sometimes the moral course is not the lawful one.

What's fascinating — mind-blowing, actually — is that Victor Hugo based both Valjean and Javert on the exact same real-life person. They're both loosely modelled on Eugène François Vidocq, a French criminal turned criminalist. (You should open that link in a separate tab for later reading. Vidocq's life is fascinating. Among other things, he's regarded as the first-ever private detective and the “father” of modern criminology.)

That's right: Both the protagonist and the antagonist of Les Miserables were inspired by the same man. And, even more mind-blowing? Vidocq was also the inspiration for Sherlock Holmes. (Go read that article!)

Who Am I?

The amazing thing (to me) is that Jean Valjean himself is two people! He is Jean Valjean, yes, but he spends years posing as Monsieur Madeleine. As the latter, he's a wealthy factory owner, he's mayor of Montreuil-sur-Mer. He is a force for good in his small world. He is, at once, both Valjean and Madeleine, just as Vidocq is at once both Valjean and Javert.

In a 2012 New Yorker piece praising “the persistent greatness” of Les Miserables, Adam Gopnik wrote, “Hugo believed in, relished, luxuriated in, contradiction — he thought that we show ourselves most truly when we are seemingly most opposed to our double natures.”

When I posted about this on Facebook in April, John from ESI Money observed that this adds a whole new meaning to the song “Who Am I?” from the musical.

“Who am I?” Valjean sings as he's forced to reveal his identity in order to save an innocent man. “Who am I? I'm Jean Valjean!”

Yes, that's true — but Jean Valjean is also police inspector Javert.

True story: I'm a devoted fan of musical theater, and “Who Am I?” is one of my favorite songs from any show. It induces frisson — it gives me goosebumps — every time I hear it. Every time.

What I like about this clever bit of character creation from Victor Hugo is how it highlights our inherent dual natures. We, as humans, are inconsistent. We are complex creatures. At the same time, we can be both good and bad. I truly believe that most of us do what is right most of the time — but each of us also sometimes makes poor choices. We do things that seem to go against who we say we are and what we believe.

In Valjean and Javert, we get to see human nature dramatized in two men forever at odds, just as we are each forever at odds with ourselves.

Me, Myself, and I

As I was walking the dog this morning, I found myself meditating on my own personal duality. I am at once the hardest working person I know…and the laziest. I am the smartest person I know…and the stupidest. I am the kindest person I know…and the meanest.

Recently, I've grown increasingly frustrated with my seeming inability to “do the right thing”. I know that there are certain actions I could take (and should take) to improve my health, to build this website, to maintain relationships with my friends. Yet I do not do these things. I actively avoid them.

Why is this?

Here's an example. I could solve a whole host of problems if I were to get regular aerobic exercise. Over the past year, I've done a fine job of strength training, but for some reason I've become allergic to sweat. I do whatever I can to avoid running or biking or otherwise increasing my heart rate.

It's not that I can't do these things. I know I can. And I like them. I've run half marathons (and walked a full marathon). I've completed a century ride — one-hundred miserable miles on a hot and windy summer day. I did Crossfit for five years. I'm capable of strenuous exercise, and I know it.

But I'm not doing that exercise right now. I'm avoiding it.

Three months ago, as the sun started to show its face here in Portland, I wheeled my bicycle from the bottom of the hill to the back office. I wanted to make it easy to hop in the saddle and go. But you know what? I've ridden the thing exactly once this year. The bike is just sitting there, pleading with me to ride it.

The same goes with the website. You all know that I can crank out an article a day. I did it for three years between 2006 and 2009. I did it for the first three months of 2018. When I put my mind to it, I can write well without sacrificing quality.

Yet, for some reason, it's tough for me to publish even once a week lately. My mind is elsewhere. I have no inspiration. This wouldn't be so bad if I were at least handling other site maintenance chores, but I'm not. The site redesign is nearly finished, but it isn't live because there are still things I need to do. I'm not processing guest articles. I'm not posting to social media.

I've no doubt that some of this malaise stems from my chronic depression. But I also know the best way to shake the self-loathing is to actually do something, you know?

Which leads me to fundamental question I find myself facing: If I know what is right, why don't I do it?

I have no answer.

Impossible Expectations

This year, as every year, my depression and anxiety became especially strong during the spring. What's different about this year is that I sought out a therapist.

A few weeks ago, she asked me about my writing. We hadn't talked about it before. “What does success look like for you when it comes to your work?” she asked.

“Success means publishing three articles per week,” I said.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because then I'm giving my readers lots of material. I'm helping them. When I give them a lot of material, they want to come back more often. When I publish more material, more people find the site by search. When I publish more material, I make more money.”

“So, you want to publish three times per week?”

“I guess so,” I said. I thought about it a little. “But I hate the pressure that pace puts on me.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I don't enjoy it. I don't do great work under time pressure like that. I want to take my time. If I decide to write an article on, say, the history of retirement, then I want to read a book on the subject. Maybe two or three. I want to think deeply about it. Then, I want to take the time to write the best article out there about the history of retirement.”

“You realize you've just told me two very different things, right?” my therapist said. “You've set up contradictory goals for yourself. Plus, you're asking yourself to be the best. That's a tall order. No wonder you're stressed. You have impossible expectations for yourself.”

When I think about it, my therapist is right. I do have impossible expectations for myself — on a lot of things. I have contradictory goals. It's as if there's a Jean Valjean inside of me and an Inspector Javert. And they want different things. Neither is wrong — but they can't both have their way.

But to which do I yield? Am I Valjean or Javert?

At the end of the session, I lamented my dual nature. “I tell other people to be proactive,” I said, “to take charge of their own lives, but I have a hard time doing that myself.”

“Do you think that makes you a hypocrite?” my therapist asked.

“No,” I said without hesitation.

“Good,” she said.

“I think it makes me human,” I said. “I write about the things I struggle with personally. When I started writing about money and getting out of debt, that's because I needed to get out of debt. Now, when I write about tracking spending or having a sense of purpose, that's because I need these things.”

Mindful Spending

So, this is all very interesting on a philosophical level, but what does it have to do with personal finance? Lots, actually.

We make our purchasing decisions based on who we are and who we want to be. If we're not clear on who we are and who we want to be, our choices tend to be arbitrary. They're spontaneous and not based on anything other than immediate desire.

When you're clear on who you are and what you want, it's much easier to practice mindful spending, to be deliberate about the things you buy and own. If you identify as fitness-conscious, for instance, you'll be much less likely to be tempted by cookies and snacks in the grocery store. If, like me at the moment, you identify as a “lapsed” fitness junkie, well then it's much easier to succumb to temptation.

Who we want to be also affects how we spend. In fact, I suspect that much wasted spending — not just for me, but for everybody — is what I'd call “aspirational”. It's not based on our actual habits and actions but on what we wish we did.

Take my bike, for example. I bought it last year but have ridden it only three times in fifteen months. Like I mentioned earlier, it simply sits there, pleading with me to ride it.

I have a good friend who once decided he'd like to learn woodworking. His father had always built and repaired things around the house, and my friend aspired to do the same — even though he had never done so in 35 years of life. He bought a stack of woodworking books, then acquired several expensive tools. He never used them. These were aspirational purchases, based on somebody he wanted to be, not the person he was.

From what I've seen, a lot of folks do this sort of thing with cookbooks. They want to try new recipes and new cuisines, so they gradually fill a shelf with cooking manuals — cooking manuals that they seldom use.

It's because of this relationship between money and identity that I'm so insistent that GRS readers write a personal mission statement. When you're clear on your purpose, it's much easier to make sure your spending is aligned with your values, that your financial decisions are based on who you are instead of some idealized version of who you want to be.

Identity Economics

In their fascinating (if dry and academic) book Identity Economics, George Akerlof and Rachel Kranton explore how our identities shape our work, wages, and well-being.

“In every social context,” the authors write, “people have a notion of who they are, which is associated with beliefs about how they and others are supposed to behave. These notions…play important roles in how economies work.” Our identities determine how we earn a living and how we spend our money.

Akerloff and Kranton say that large portions of our identities are shaped by the environment:

Identity, norms, and social categories may appear to be abstract concepts, but their reality is both powerful and easy to see. Norms are particularly clear when people hold an ideal of who they should be and how they should act.

Here's an example: Many folks who discover the early retirement movement do so through the awesome work of Mr. Money Mustache. He has a strong voice and a popular website. Over the past few years, he's accumulated a passionate army of followers who call themselves Mustachians.

When a person identifies himself as Mustachian, he subscribes to a certain set of values, to particular ways of working with money. Driving is frowned upon. A high saving rate is encouraged. Thrift is a prized virtue. This is identity economics in action.

Akerloff and Kranton are careful to note that our personal identities are not static. They change. Our larger identities change slowly over time, but we can also shift roles rapidly in daily life.

The latter is easiest to see. “Over the course of a day,” they write, “a woman may see herself as a mother at home and a professional at work.” I'd add that she might see herself as an athlete in her running group, a civic leader as a member of the city council, and a Mustachian when she's hanging with her financial friends online.

Each of these is a different identity — or perhaps a different facet of her overall identity. And each affects how she works, saves, and spends.

People change over their lifetimes too. From the book:

People often make decisions that come back to haunt them. We overeat, we smoke, we spend too much, and we regret it. [This is due to] time inconsistency. People have different selves at different points in their lives. The new self could regret the decisions made by the old self…

Sometimes these transitions are anticipated, and people plan accordingly. But often, people only imperfectly anticipate who they will later become.

Look at my own life over the past decade. Who I am today is drastically different than who I was ten years ago. And twenty years ago. Sure, the core J.D. remains the same — once a nerd, always a nerd! — but my values, which are constantly evolving, have morphed and my day-to-day life is sometimes unrecognizable.

During the past ten years, much about my personal identity (and my resulting financial choices) has changed:

I deliberately chose to purchase a small home in “the country”.

I drink beer. I drink coffee. I ride a motorcycle. All of these actions are new.

I lost fifty pounds through years of exercise and healthy eating. Then I gained back forty of those pounds through years of neglect.

I sold Get Rich Slowly — then I bought it back.

These changes, large and small, all affect how I manage my money and how I spend my time. As my identity changes, so do my financial habits.

Related reading: In a strange coincidence, The Guardian published an article on a similar subject last Saturday: “Are you really the ‘real' you?” This piece, which is terrific and well worth reading, looks at how some people change their lives entirely — and why.

Order and Light

At the end of the Les Miserables, after Jean Valjean frees Javert instead of killing him, the police inspector faces an existential crisis. Victor Hugo writes:

He saw before him two roads, both equally straight; but he saw two; and that terrified him — him, who who had never in his life known but one straight line. And, bitter anguish, these two roads were contradictory. One of these two straight lines excluded the other. Which of the two was the true one? His condition was inexpressible.

Inspector Javert's moral certitude proves to be his undoing. Like many folks who are certain they know what is real and what is right, Javert spends years ignoring evidence that controverts his beliefs. He thinks he knows the truth but in reality is blind to it.

When, at last, Javert recognizes that he's been in error all this time, that things are not as black and white as he believed them to be, it's too much for him to bear. Rather than face a world filled with ambiguity and uncertainty, he takes his own life. He jumps in the river and drowns.

Before he kills himself, though, Javert has a sort of revelation. He realizes that Jean Valjean and his alter-ego, Monsieur Madeleine, may have seemed like two different people, but they were one all along. They were two sides of the same person. Valjean was both criminal and hero.

It's all well and good to want to be a fixed, constant person, to have an identity that never changes. But that's not how healthy people work. Healthy people learn and adapt and grow. Who you are today is not the same as who you'll be tomorrow — or who you were yesterday.

As you change, your values will change too. Your goals will change. Your spending will change. What you want to do for work will change. And, yes, there will be many times when you are internally conflicted, when like Javert you are faced with two parallel roads, both of which are “true”.

Summing Up

Who am I? That's a great question.

I'm a guy who writes about money and frugality, but I'm also a man who is willing to — once in a lifetime — spend $267.41 to experience a Michelin-star restaurant in rural France. That's a clear example of mindful spending: I planned the meal weeks in advance and looked forward to it with great anticipation.

I'm a guy who can't bring himself to purchase a new car, so I buy a 25-year-old pickup for $1900. And I don't wash it. I value the vehicle but see no sense in spending the time, money, and energy to clean something that will never look pretty.

I'm a guy who buys new clothes from time to time — don't we all? — but who, yes, is careless enough to leave them on the bedroom floor even though I know my cat likes to pee on them. (Stupid cat!)

I'm a guy who hates public speaking and who doesn't want to be the center of attention, yet who has a deep desire to teach people about personal finance. (Especially the personal side of it all.) This leads me to do things that seem incongruent with what I say I want. I take on months-long projects that stress me out. I agree to fly across the world to talk to people. (Just yesterday, Paula Pant and I had a conversation about how the hassle of attending events is worth it for the friends we make.)

Who am I? I'm J.D. Roth.

The post Identity economics: Who are you? And how does it affect your spending? appeared first on Get Rich Slowly.

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