What's it All Worth?

There was a day last July when it was rumoured in the tabloid press that Ireland was officially entering a recession. On that day I was lying by a horizon pool in Portugal tanning with two friends of the female species. College was out, but the money was still coming in courtesy of our parents back home in Dublin. “It’s just the media”, said 20-year-old Laura, from North County Dublin, flicking her €150 highlighted honey blond hair out of her eyes and taking a sip of her second €15 mojito of the afternoon.

“I agree”, Sarah interrupted, “they love doom and gloom and I won’t play a part in it”. I on the other hand, wasn’t so sure. All the signs were pointing to a recession, even to those of us who read the newspapers only to find out if Jennifer Aniston and John Mayer are splitting up again. Property prices had plummeted - my parents’ home had been on the market for over nine months and hadn’t yet had a single offer, despite a forty thousand reduction in the asking price. Six months earlier, they would have had three couples recreating an auction on the front lawn. Add to this the already deconstructing US economy and more locally, the remaining family businesses along Grafton Street that were folding due to their inability to keep up with soaring rents combined with a declining customer base. All this considered, I announced: “We probably wouldn’t have got jobs anyway, the media is such a tough break!”

Fast-forward nine months and two of us are soon graduating from journalism college. A three-holiday summer is looking about as likely as Brian Cowen releasing a fashion line and recently, an already employed friend brought me down to earth with a bang during the third course at a well-known Stephens Green eatery: “You know it’s not a college summer, couldn’t you start looking for jobs right away instead of going to the states?” he said, matter-of-factly, adding “are you even eligible for a J1?”

I nearly spat a mouthful of Chablis at him, but deep down, I realised, for the past few years I’d always found something more important to do than work: between trips to Holland to record an album one year and jetting to Hollywood to try out for top casting agents the next. The truth is, during the years of the Celtic Tiger, young people thought they could achieve anything, but of course, everything needed financial backing. Really, my feet had left the ground for a time, but I certainly wasn’t the only one.

“This is Roisin Connolly reporting from the Leinster Road, in Pucci” my good friend and party animal announced in her dulcet private-school tones, before bursting into laughter and lowering her voice to almost a whisper to say: “I’m not actually going to become a broadcaster! Maybe I’ll go and study philosophy or interior design”. This girl, who has been called “the Peaches Geldof of Ireland” by Dublin’s socialites due to her partying ways, represents the attitude of time being limitless that affected many college-goers, a sort of “choose a course, if you don’t like it, choose another one” outlook. Perhaps one comfort we can take in the recession is that it’s no longer enough to drift through life aimlessly, we must focus, and establish a direction for ourselves.

For others, it will make them think about their hopes and desires. On a rare night on the town recently, my single friend Miriam turned to me and said “is it bad to want it all, do you think it’s unhealthy?” Did she mean the stockbroker husband, the double-fronted pile of bricks in Foxrock, the Hamptons getaway, his and hers Mercedes and two perfectly turned out if a little demanding designer children, I queried. The fact of the matter is, a year ago, we had aspirations that were beyond those of generations before us by miles, and while ambition is good, should life really be a check-list of must haves and deadlines. You have to wonder, what’s it all worth?

So what have I changed in life to make a difference to my rapidly-growing pre-recession debt? Since learning of my new-found conscience, I have taken some financial strain away from my parents, taking a job at a designer clothes shop in the city. My indulgent lunches with my equally deluded friends have come to a halt, or at least lessened in frequency, and I’ve finally surrendered my MasterCard to my mother. Now, instead of taking my “worn-out” Ralph Lauren suits to the local Oxfam, I take them to the dry cleaners. I have learned the worth of things, something I doubt would have happened without the recession. I even bought a lunchbox last week, acknowledging that I could lose my job any day now, and that it’s entirely possible I’ll be sporting “packed lunch chic” sooner than I ever imagined.