I've been thinking a lot about money recently. Most of the people with whom I socialise and interact are very comfortably off and enjoying the combined benefits of living and working for a well paying company in a low tax country (husband and I included). But not all.
Once a week I volunteer at a drop-in centre, Graih, for people who are homeless, living in insecure accommodation, or just generally marginalised. You wouldn't necessarily think that the Isle of Man has many people like this, and compared to London, it's not even close. But they are there. They are mostly unemployed and living off benefits. Many have addictions and other issues that they are fighting to keep at bay; some more successfully than others. The regulars that I see there weekly are a fascinating and entertaining bunch who have welcomed me and made me feel like part of the "gang".
Some are loud and cheerful, who use their time resourcefully to take on odd-jobs, others are silent and wary, speaking only to request what food they want to eat. Some are fit, healthy and active whilst some fight constant health problems. A lot come to fight off the boredom that threatens to push them back to drink, or other habits. Some come soaked in alcohol - as did one regular the other week who simply sat at the table for 3 hours, and only moved to make himself a mustard and jalapeno sandwich - and I think it was those two fillings because they were the nearest items that his shaking arms could reach.
Mostly we sit and drink tea and have conversations that range from the banal to the controversial to the hilarious to the truly bizarre, but it's a refreshing and humbling place to be. There, more than anywhere else, am I acutely aware of how lucky we are to be in the situation we are in.
I was having a chat with one of my favourites, a lively lady of around 70 who was talking about a day trip she had taken recently. She mentioned that she had eaten a bag of chips and they were £2 a bag and how expensive that was - an opinion shared by the rest of the room. Someone else was telling me about how his job hunt was hampered because he couldn't afford the phone credit to make calls to employers and find jobs.
Two days later, I was in the pub with husband and some of his work colleagues. People were fishing out note after note of cash from their pockets and wagering it on, well, whatever random bet the next person could think of. The contrast between people who, quite literally, throw money at another person because they can afford to think in £100s and not really mind about the little change in between, and the people who have to come and eat free mustard and jalapeno sandwiches is staggering and hits me each week.*
I'm not really sure how to end this post. Not with pleas to part with your money to charity nor with a lecture to always be grateful and take nothing for granted.
More with the realisation that, although when I start a job I will be grateful for the extra money that I can contribute to our household and savings, a part of me will be truly sad to give up those Wednesdays because, as much fun as living this lifestyle can be, they are probably what best keeps me in touch with real life on this little bubble of an island.
*As a disclaimer: I'm not judging the upper end of the wage scale with any of these comments; merely using the example to make the contrast. The people who formed the basis of the example above are all bright, exceptionally hard-working and deserve their remuneration. Conversely, the guys at the drop-in generally don't feel sorry for themselves and don't make us volunteers feel sorry for them either.
