I ain't ever been broke

A contemplation on currency and love.

I ain’t ever been broke, and if you see that as gloating, then good because I am. I am. I am. With my whole chest and stuffed to the gums with pride, I ain’t ever been broke.

We assume worth from the notes in our wallets to the coins in our pockets and the numbers in our bank accounts. From the car we drive to where we rest our heads, but every car I have ever owned has been red and rundown, but I ain’t ever been broke.

Even in the house on West Street where four of us gathered our pennies to buy discounted pizza to eat around a makeshift table with beer crates for legs, surrounded by discarded patio chairs we bought for only a few bucks. We somehow still felt ripped off but broke? No, not once.

It was a regular thing for us to search down the side of sofa cushions to afford dinner, but we had each other, and we made it through every day, and then conquered weeks, and then monkey. We found the sofa on the corner, and it buckled in the middle, meaning we all leaned into one another a little bit more, and we rested weary heads on each other's shoulders and kept surviving. I was lucky to have people who would pick up my heart anytime it fell out of my chest because the lock was faulty and I couldn't afford to fix it, but I ain't ever been broke.

Now I am years beyond those struggles with new struggles, and some evolved same and I still haven't fixed the door in my chest, but I still have people with palms designed as safety nets for anything that might fall out of me. Even now there are some months I don't make my bill dates but I ain't ever been broke.

I am not in the sport of defining myself by a currency other than love. I have never had much money, but I have always gotten by. I learnt to listen and got rich on other people's stories, and despite not having gold, I filled the treasure chest with kindness and handed everybody a map. I have people to wish Merry Christmas to, and on Halloween, I have friends to eat too much sugar with. Most of the time I can ask for help and receive it. Sometimes, my loneliness is a stronger beast than I dare credit it but I am finding more people who speak my language, who aren't just interested in my clock face but are curious about my mechanisms and cogs and people who want to know how to fix me if I ever should break down. Don't get me wrong, there have been plenty who have let me tick tock until I fade into the background, but there are those who want to make a song out of you, who want to learn your national anthem and sing it with pride despite being from a different continent.

Love is wealth, as is acceptance, patience and kindness. Give me the keys to a Tesla, and I will still be late for work. Give me the six-thousand-dollar shirt, and I will still spill my morning coffee on it without any remorse. I am saying everything is practicality, and I am all for the comforts of life. Give me the six-dollar oversized hoodies and the shoes with the holes, but keep my table full. Promise me you will replace all of the oxygen with laughter and turn the wonky garden shed into a confession booth. What matters the most is the people, and the key to the people is listening.

We all want somewhere to put down our stories. To empty our chests and to give our worries the weightlessness to be able to float away. We want the long, it'll be okay, hugs. The nonsensical evenings that rattle on into the morning hours. We want hot drinks on cold mornings in quaint coffee shops. We all just need a little love, and as long as we have that, we will never be broke.

Challenge three coming soon.