Checks and Change
Last week, I wrote a check.
It’s funny to think that something once so commonplace is now worthy of note. When Denise and I opened our first bank account, we probably wrote twenty checks per month. It was how we paid bills, reimbursed friends, made donations, and bought groceries. I had blank checks hidden in my wallet and every vehicle, just in case I ran out of cash somewhere. Each time I entered a business, I would know from their signage if they accepted out-of-town checks, what their fee on returned checks was, and whether I could write a check for more than the amount of sale and receive cash back.
Not so much now, even in the anachronistic little town where I currently live. I pay almost entirely with credit cards or apps on my phone. I only keep cash so that I can tip the baristas when I buy coffee. I have written exactly six checks in all of 2022—three to the IRS for quarterly tax estimates, and three to my local auto service station, which charges a 2.5% fee on credit card transactions.
On one level, it’s a hassle to have to remember to take a check to Big E Auto. We live in a (mostly) cashless society now, and my backup payment method is in my digital wallet. More than once, when I’ve forgotten my checkbook, I’ve had to pick up my car with the promise to John at the front desk to drop off payment in the morning—one of the perks of small-town life. In any event, doing business there requires me to go back to something I rarely need to do anymore. Even holding the pen over the check feels strange.
Our 20-year-old checkbook, now so rarely used.
But when I stop to think about it, John’s policy makes a lot of sense. Most businesses absorb card processing fees in their price schedules, necessitating a small but not insignificant increase in across-the-board rates. Plus, those credit card fees don’t stay local. They go to big banks in big towns to create profits for people who, regardless of who they may be, are clearly not us—one more way that corporations siphon off resources from rural America.
All of this is hidden in plain sight. It only takes a moment of thought to wonder why we pay so much for such a small convenience. Is double-tapping the side of my phone really so much better than taking thirty seconds to write a check?
Almost no one I know ever asks that question, which is understandable. To paraphrase a classic scene from The Shawshank Redemption, the world has got itself into one big damned hurry. Most of us are too busy to consider the broader implications of relatively tiny fees. We just want to get through the self-checkout line without swearing at the cashier or punching the console.
Why? Because no one asked us if we wanted the world to change in this way. And because we ourselves don’t stop to ask if we will go along with it. Things just changed without any of us deciding or even really noticing, like a frog that can’t detect the rise in water temperature before it starts to boil.
I think about this a lot when I encounter grumpy old people. I used to roll my eyes. Now, I relate.
I’m not suggesting that we all start resisting change. In point of fact, I’m usually an early adopter for new ideas and new technology. Personally, I can’t wait to live in a world in which fossil fuels are a thing of the past and Harriet Tubman replaces Andrew Jackson on the $20 bill. Change is often good, and I’m on board with it.
it’s unconsidered change that bothers me, whether on a personal or an institutional level. Why do we allow some things and resist others? I suspect those decisions are usually more emotional than rational. Often, they are rooted in our political or religious tribes, which tend to place changes in categories of “good” or “evil” rather than “better” or “worse” than some alternative.
I’m also convinced that unconsidered change is the product of fear. If we go with the flow, allowing the world around us to make decisions on how we live, we will no doubt have an easier time living among the majority of our fellow humans. Plus, if the universe makes determinations for us, we don’t have to take on the anxiety of choosing, much less the guilt of choosing poorly.
Still, I don’t think that’s any way to really live. Almost nothing I can think of does more damage than fear. And when that fear gets mixed with inertia, we give away our agency. We no longer decide what we will take and what we will leave. We just let it happen.
Nine years ago this month, my friend Jason died. He didn’t do anything to deserve it, and he certainly didn’t choose it. But his death nonetheless became a watershed point for so many of his friends, me included. I realized how much I was holding on to destructive systems and toxic people because I was afraid of the unknown. I had not so much chosen to remain there, not really. I just had refused to see that another choice might be possible.
I remember the night Denise and I decided that we would no longer hold onto a world that was crumbling beneath us. We would move out in faith, which is to say we would step into the darkness and search for a light. If transition was upon us, we wanted to have some say in where and how those changes impacted our lives. When we at last found ourselves in a good place, I promised myself I would never again stay too long in an unhealthy situation because I was afraid to move. Every so often, I remind myself of that vow.
But whether change is embraced or resisted—whether it happens with our direction or not—is beside the point. The thing to remember is that, even if we don’t get to decide what time sets out on the buffet before us, we nonetheless have some say in what goes on our plates.
We can and should consider the way in which we participate in the processes of modern life, even down to whether or not to write a check. We won’t always make the right decision, even if there is a right decision to be made. But by exercising the mental and emotional muscles that help us make thoughtful choices, we will stay limber in thought and strong in resolve. We will find that, when the time comes to make a difficult choice, we can do more than just wish. We can follow through.
