The Story of the Fancy Checks

When I was 14 a box arrived on our front doorstep for my mother. Actually, it was four small boxes wrapped in plain brown paper. Never judge a box by its wrapping. Inside the boxes were a great treasure.

Checks.

Not just any checks though. Not the plain, grayish colored, bank issued checks I was used to. No, these were the most amazing checks I had ever seen. They had four different images on them that rotated. A lush, green forest. A summer's day sky. The desert. The ocean. Now, I know that many children have some level of fascination with their parent's bank accounts, but mine had nothing to do with money. I LOVED those checks. I would sit and flip through them, one-by-one. Forest. Sky. Desert. Ocean. Forest. Sky. Desert. Ocean.Forest.Sky.Desert.Ocean. I dreamt of the day when I could get colorful checks.

One immediate issue: I had no bank account. At fourteen, I had no job therefore, no money therefore, no need for a bank account therefore no need for fancy checks.

But there was hope.
When I was 16, I got my first job.
With my first job, I earned my first money.
With my first money I was allowed to open my first checking account.
And with my first checking account ...

I remember the first question I asked my mother, as we walked out of the bank and back to the car:
"When can I choose my special checks?"

"Kindra, I didn't get special checks until I was forty."

Ug.

I know it sounds stupid. I know it sounds very "sixteen," but I was really bummed. I wanted those special checks. I didn't want to wait until I was forty. I thought I did everything I was supposed to do. I went through the steps. Didn't that mean I should get the thing I want? I was bummed and, a little embarrassed. Embarrassed I had been so foolish. Foolish to believe, to expect, that I could have fancy checks, especially at my young age. Obviously special checks were something you had to earn. Something you had to wait years, a lifetime, to have.

It was a quiet ride home from the bank.
-----

I was recently having an email conversation with a professional friend of mine whose opinion I greatly value. We were talking about diligence in pursuing your passion. As an extremely successful entrepreneur, he was offering me sound advice and perspective on the subject; what I'm doing well, where I might improve.

At one point in the conversation he said something to the effect of:
"I worked for 20 years and now I am finally pursuing my passion... it'll be exciting when you are able to pursue yours."

As ridiculous as it is, I was suddenly 16 again. And I was really bummed. I wanted to pursue my passion. I didn't want to have to wait 20 years (which would make me almost 50). I was bummed and, a little embarrassed. Embarrassed I had been so foolish. Foolish to believe, to expect, that I could have the success I wanted, especially at my "young" age. Obviously the career goals and lifestyle that I was seeking was something you had to wait a lifetime, to have. I was asking out of turn. Moving too fast. Expecting too much, too soon.

I was thinking about that email in the days following; how it made me feel, what I should do about it, and if I should back off the pursuit of my happiness. I tried to remember other times I have felt this way and how I handled it. That is when I remembered the "Fancy Check" incident, and what happened after I left the bank...

----

After that long, silent car ride home, I devised a plan. I knew I was a long way from forty and therefore a long way from special checks, however, I wanted to be prepared for when that day came. So, every Sunday morning I would shake the pages of the paper until the 'check ad' came loose - you know the ad. The one with hundreds of check options printed on it -- Garfield, Mickey, hearts, flowers, other nature images... This of course drove my father crazy because it got the paper all messy, but I didn't care. I would stare at this advertisement every Sunday morning, analyzing the designs, debating which one I would want when I was forty.

Then I started saving the ads, pulling them out of the drawer in my night table before I went to sleep. Eventually, I started comparing the check companies -- who offered more checks for a better price? What were the check trends from week to week, month to month? Which checks came with the most free stuff: return labels, checkbook cases, stickers with the letter K in fancy script?

Finally, I started doing the math. How much money would I have to save before I was able to buy the fancy checks ... And that's when I realized...

Fancy checks weren't that expensive.

Really. I could work one afternoon at the Drive-In Restaurant and earn enough for 10 boxes of them. Which begged the question, if the expense of the checks wasn't the reason for the "Not til you're Forty" barrier... what was?

In the end, there really was no better answer than :Forty was some invisible line my mother had drawn based on her own experience and passed on to me:. It was MY decision whether or not I wanted to adopt this barrier, this time marker, this belief - for myself.

I decided I didn't want to.

By the end of the summer, at the age of 16, and after careful deliberation, I had ordered my first round of fancy checks. There were four different patterns. Not the nature-scapes like my mom's, but instead crayons. Lots of different colored lines drawn with crayons. When those four plain brown wrapped boxes came to my door, it was the best day of my life (that week).
-----

Now, many years (and many more checkbooks) later, I am empowered by the behavior of an earlier me. When given a imaginary timeline, I quickly realized that, while that particular timeline worked for someone else, I didn't have to accept it as my own. I made conscious, measured steps in the direction that I wanted to go and soon realized that my time had come much earlier than the "other timelines" would have led me to believe. I decided to apply that same principle to my current situation.

I will become aware of and remove any irrelevant barriers from my path that have been placed there by others (even if their intentions were pure). I will make conscious, measured steps in the direction I want to go until I get there. I don't want to wait twenty years to pursue my passion. If it takes twenty years, then that's how long it takes -- but not because I'm walking someone else's timeline. The only thing that will determine how long it takes is ME. Therefore, because I still greatly value the thoughts of my friend, I have decided to pay more attention to the second half of his statement (which is what I believe he intended to begin with)... "It'll be exciting when you are able to pursue yours."

Ladies and gentlemen, the pursuit has begun.
It is very exciting.
----

Sadly, while fancy checks are more or less a thing of the past, I vaguely remember one other timeline my mother imposed upon me: She didn't get her first speeding ticket until she was 42.
I still have never been pulled over.
Hey, I have no problem following timelines I like.