Back in the early '90s, when I lived by the shores of Lake Superior, I came to understand that indeed there was a chasm between who I was and the activities that are assigned financial "worth" in this world. Something in me died at that moment, although the waters of the Great Lake sustained me, as did the conviction that within a few decades, these things would reach some kind of reckoning, which seems to be happening now. Since the things I believed in/loved were either out of my reach or unpaid, I hung on for dear life doing work that was at least tolerable, spiritually: selling books or stationery, waiting tables, teaching writing skills, etc. Despite excellent education and qualifications, I simply would not pursue the types of things that were clearly more lucrative, like law, medicine, advertising, or finance, since they did not align with my talents or beliefs. (In the end, you have to believe in what you do forty hours a week, don't you?) I have accepted limping along as the consequence of that decision (which was sort of the little sister of the decision to deep-six English church music).
I had an epiphany the other week. As some of you know, I have been writing this blog for about two-and-a-half years, and am close to my four hundredth post. I have chosen thus far not to sign up for advertising, because I just cannot stomach my readers having to navigate ads. And as of yet, other options for an income stream from this writing haven't felt right either. I realize that decades of limping along have been at work here, too, perhaps making me devalue my efforts.
One morning, I re-read my blog before posting it, and was so proud of it, I thought -- perhaps for the first time -- this is worth money. Even in a dying paradigm, even in a crazy, topsy-turvy world, this little essay is thoughtful enough and well-written enough to be worth a little money. So in my head, I have declared that my posts are worth $100 each. Of course, perhaps they are worth far more, or, on certain days, far less, but I have finally been comfortable saying that my life experience, writing skills, and wisdom have a small amount of monetary value. For this extraordinary woman who has lived for decades in minimum wage hell, this is a step forward. I would like to see every human being thrive doing their favorite work, but I guess I have to start with me, and within me, as usual. "Yes, I have worth. My writing has worth. My life has worth." Financial worth, whatever that means in 2018. It's a start.
