Money Safely in New Bank, or Wherever

Last week I went to see Deborah, my mental health professional, for the second time in a month because I was having trouble making a small decision that involved air travel, which makes it a largish decision. “Also,” I told her, “my life is completely miserable and I have no friends; maybe we can tackle that after the other thing.”

Close questioning revealed that I do have friends, but most of them don’t live in San Francisco anymore, if they ever did. I said I’d like to have a few new friends as long as it doesn’t take any time. She rolled her eyes and said that she’s been hearing about this time thing for many years, and that maybe it’s time to stop announcing to myself that I have no time.

Possibly that is a good idea. Possibly it is also a good idea not to argue with my therapist about every little thing. Possibly there are a few other things I should stop announcing to myself, such as that there is no way I will ever have a primary relationship again.

That the best years of my life are behind me. That I have such-and-such job and I have no fun and that’s just how it is—oh, until I get sick and then die. That, basically, I’m just letting the clock run out.

I tell myself those things all the time, and then wonder why I’m not cheery. Actually, I’m amazingly cheery for someone with so many anti-cheer practices, come to think of it.

The vast amount of grief I cause myself is becoming glaringly obvious, and I have recently vowed that if I accomplish nothing else in this lifetime, I will learn to accept my life as it is and I will rid myself of the habit of agonizing about the future.

My biggest problem is that I believe everything I think.

It might also be not a bad thing to learn to mind my own business and to take responsibility for my own happiness and pleasure in life, but then, anyone who has just finished Eat, Pray, Love thinks that.

Deborah pondered my problems and said, “You need more yummies.” That’s exactly what I need. Now I need to drum some up, and I think she can help with that. She said that on the weekends, I need to do things with people, and also suggested that a book club might be up my alley. It sounds simple, but these are some of the building blocks of a satisfying life, and the results depend on whether the actions are actually undertaken.

But in the end, book club or no, it is mostly to do with attitude. As they say of peace, there is no way to happiness: happiness is the way.

Per Deborah’s instructions, I went to the birthday party of a friend of Tom’s family this past weekend in Sacramento, and had a really great time. Sarah and I took the train together, and the party itself was wonderful, and then I spent the night at Steve and Julie’s.

My bank failed, but I only found out about it when I got a letter from the bank that bought the old one. The new bank has one nice feature that probably no other bank on earth has: an opt-IN policy regarding sharing of customer information—they won’t share your information unless you ask them to.

When you call them up and are on hold, a recorded voice says, “It’s way cheaper just to bring a sandwich to work than to go out to lunch! Don’t buy a bottle of water every time you feel like it—refill an old bottle!” Etc.

The transition has been a bit confusing so far. One day they say there is nothing I need to do, then that there is, then that they don’t provide checkbooks to customers (so old-fashioned!), then that they are going to provide customers of the failed bank with checkbooks since we’re used to having them.

I was told to relax and let them move my accounts over, then that I’d better get in there and do it myself, then that if I touched any piece of it, I’d end up having to do the whole thing (all my BillPay arrangements, for instance) myself manually.

I also got a letter saying my ATM card won’t work after such-and-such day, with no mention whatsoever of when I would again have an ATM card that works.

Finally I went ahead and opened a couple of accounts at the new bank. I happened to be on the phone with my mother when I was choosing my “security image.” I chose a photo of a green rotary phone and named it “Good Old Landline.”

My mother said, “That’s sick. I didn’t realize where this was going.”

I transferred some money (a fair amount, by my standards) from the old account to the new bank and received a confirmation number of 15. Good to know they got to try this 14 times before I entrusted them with my money.