2 dollars and 40 cents
Nicki got us all Christmas gifts. They're little coin jars, each one painted with a cute theme picked to match the receiver. Kim's jar is a Wine Fund, Becca's is Vacation Money, Maggie's is for Happy Hour and mine is for Hopeless Dreams.
I laugh. It's a good gift, not at all offensive because I'm forever complaining about wishing & hoping for things I can't have, things that most likely won't happen. To me, this is great, because it's someone else besides myself acknowleging that a lot of the time, when I find something in life that I really want to happen, the joke is on me. Now, I have a way to take my wishful thinking and transform it into something I can use as a financially-struggling college senior: a jar full of spare change.
While still laughing, I start taking change from off my desk and placing it into the jar. I proudly dedicate each coin to one of my many Hopeless Dreams, like the jar instructs me to. Nicki shakes her head, laughs, and leaves the room.
Over the next few days, I continue this routine of taking my coins and dropping them through the slot in the jar, pairing each one with another crazy and unlikely wish, just like a kid at a water fountain. Pennies are for everyday hopeless wishes; quarters are saved for the big important stuff. Nickels and dimes are for everything in between.
About three days and $2.35 later, I realize I've been doing it all wrong.
"Y'know, I was gonna say something to you about that," Nicki says, "but then I figured there was no way you read it wrong that many times, and you must have just thought you'd made a really funny joke, and I didn't want to crush that for you yet."
With that, I drop another nickel into my Hopes & Dreams coin jar: this one's for spontaneous free-of-cost vision improval.
Kinda got me thinking though... maybe all my hopes & dreams aren't as hopeless as I always think they are.
I laugh. It's a good gift, not at all offensive because I'm forever complaining about wishing & hoping for things I can't have, things that most likely won't happen. To me, this is great, because it's someone else besides myself acknowleging that a lot of the time, when I find something in life that I really want to happen, the joke is on me. Now, I have a way to take my wishful thinking and transform it into something I can use as a financially-struggling college senior: a jar full of spare change.
While still laughing, I start taking change from off my desk and placing it into the jar. I proudly dedicate each coin to one of my many Hopeless Dreams, like the jar instructs me to. Nicki shakes her head, laughs, and leaves the room.
Over the next few days, I continue this routine of taking my coins and dropping them through the slot in the jar, pairing each one with another crazy and unlikely wish, just like a kid at a water fountain. Pennies are for everyday hopeless wishes; quarters are saved for the big important stuff. Nickels and dimes are for everything in between.
About three days and $2.35 later, I realize I've been doing it all wrong.
"Y'know, I was gonna say something to you about that," Nicki says, "but then I figured there was no way you read it wrong that many times, and you must have just thought you'd made a really funny joke, and I didn't want to crush that for you yet."
With that, I drop another nickel into my Hopes & Dreams coin jar: this one's for spontaneous free-of-cost vision improval.
Kinda got me thinking though... maybe all my hopes & dreams aren't as hopeless as I always think they are.
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