Russ Roca’s latest entry at PathLessPedaled was thought-provoking for me. With the July 30 launch date for their cross country bicycle adventure looming, the couple are divesting themselves of possessions and taking serious financial perspective of what lies ahead. Sometimes I wonder if there’s been a day in the last three years when I haven’t thought about money.

That’s roughly the time when we fell victim to office politics during our broker’s protracted illness. It’s a long story, but his dirty linen caused us to lose money. We changed financial advisors and the new fellow, a former Episcopal priest, talked turkey with me — cold turkey. That’s when my freelance efforts shifted into overdrive. I’m proud to say with each passing year I’ve made more and we’ve taken out less, but in recent months that’s been against the frightening backdrop of a tanking economy.

Back at the end of April, when it looked as if my major consulting contract would disappear altogether, I didn’t just tighten the belt around here, I cut new holes and drew it in to the point of pain. And considering that we’ve been steadily trimming right along, I would have said there wasn’t much left to cut — but there always is, it just depends on when you’re ready for the pain.

Getting half the amount of that contract back helped — and was a blessing for which I’m grateful — but it didn’t allow for anything I’d cut to return. Recently, I’ve been wondering if that will ever happen now. I realize more and more that I’ve been changed by these last three years.

Even when those lost wages are restored — and thank the Universe it looks as if that will happen by summer’s end — I can’t see bringing back any of those cuts. I’ve reached the point where doing with less is the only thing that makes me feel safe. I’m not sure I have the capacity to enjoy “more.” Now “more” just means the ability to put something away for the next series of hits. Preparation has, to a large extent taken over from anticipation.

Are there things I want? Of course there are. But if I can’t pay them out at a discount rate built into the budget — one item at a time regardless of how long it takes — they just don’t happen. And I find that the things that fall into that category are more practical and much less expensive than ever.

I’ve stopped reading gadget blogs. There’s no point. I have a functioning computer. I have functioning cameras. They’re all paid for. Good enough. I don’t look at clothes or accessories. I don’t buy music. I buy books only rarely and then only in electronic form. I’ve given up television in my room although I’ll confess I sorely miss my DVR. I catch up online and if that doesn’t work (as it apparently isn’t going to with TNT’s The Closer), I give up my interest in the show.

Am I patting myself on the back? Not one bit. I can and do bitch vehemently about every one of these things. I grapple with a sense of bitterness as I reflect on what was a privileged upbringing and young adulthood — but frankly most of that is not bitterness for doing with less now, but bitterness that I was not appropriately grateful at the time for the advantages I was given.

I have learned to economize. In fact, I’m learning to be tighter than bark on a tree. There are hints of downright chincy-ness peeking through. Have I learned to like it? Oh, hell no. But I didn’t notice “like” on the list of options.

I nodded knowingly when Roca wrote:

Now, every time I purchase something, I think about what it means in terms of travel time. Our rough estimate puts our daily travel budget between $20-$40. Ideally, we’ll be doing more sub $20 days since we’ll be camping or couch surfing and cooking a majority of our meals. So in my head, every time I hand over a $20 bill I’m thinking, “that’s an entire day of travel! Do I really want/need this thing or would I rather spend a day travelling?”

In my mind, amounts become trips to the grocery store or the water bill. Right now I can’t quite meet all the expenses and I don’t like to see the credit card balance inch up no matter how small it is in relation to what it was a year ago before the refinance.

I remind myself every day that we are not poor — that it would be a sin to have that thought when we are not facing the loss of our home and R. gets the medications she needs. It doesn’t matter how I sometimes feel. (The one thing on which I will not compromise is health care for my cats, especially Dorey. I would and will do without a lot less for their benefit. If that makes me the crazy cat lady, well, keep that opinion to yourself, because I don’t give a fuzzy rodent’s backside.)

These are, I think, the lessons of this recession for people like me. All my life I’ve known folks who never got over the Great Depression. In graduate school I worked for a professor who had been so scarred by his family’s inability to afford pencils (he was forced to use the stubs other children threw away in school) that he hoarded new pencils by the box.

My parents were of that generation. Papa was born in 1921 and Mother in 1923. Papa wanted his daughters to have the things he did not have as a boy. He spoiled us rotten. He should have told us no more often. Learning this level of self-discipline as a 46-year-old woman is not easy and I will readily confess that there are many days I just want my Dad to come fix it all. Also not an option.

I suspect I am not alone in saying that while I have no dreams of being rich and have no dreams of things that take lots of money — I do dream of feeling safe again. Above all else, that is what Papa gave me. He may have thought he was providing us with material things and opportunities, but the real gift was safety. Nothing. Not one thing could touch me or hurt me as long as my Dad was standing between me and the world. I know I will never get over losing that.

R. likes to play this game. I call it the “what would you do if” game. I don’t play. I always answer her the same way. “I don’t think like that.” And I don’t. Not any more. And I don’t think I ever will again.