Soul work and security
How can I balance the work I feel called towards, and my need for financial security?
Of all the questions I'm living right now, this is the one I've been most humbled by.
For the last decade, I've tried to thread the needle between my soul work (aka what feels most alive and resonant), and my desire for financial security. I've hustled and pushed and forced my way through the land of internet business, trying to crack the code of how I can make my art pay the bills. And truthfully, I'm fucking exhausted. I don't think I can do it anymore.
What I'm starting to see is that my efforts to achieve financial stability from soul work have corrupted both goals. For a decade, I've been treading water with money. I've made enough to keep myself alive, but never enough to feel anything resembling safety. All the while, I've put so much pressure on my art, trying to force it into a shape that will please the Capitalist Machine, that in many cases, it's ceased to really feel like my art at all. Worst of both worlds.
Another question I've been sitting with this year is around what it means to be an adult, which is downstream of a lot of the 12-step recovery work I've been immersed in. And one of my working definitions of an adult is someone who does what's required to take care of themselves, so they can show up for the people they care about. An adult knows what their needs are, and does what they have to do to meet them. I’m starting to see how when we don't take responsibility for our needs, we become more of a liability to the people around us, rather than a source of strength.
In my case, I have a legit need to do my soul work. If I just got a fancy tech job that stuffed my bank account with VC money, but I wasn't giving my gifts and pulling the threads I've been put on this earth to pull, then I would fucking die inside. That said, I also have a need to feel financially secure. I'm deeply tired of the ways money anxiety has hijacked my enjoyment of life, and my sense of self-worth, and want to do something different in the coming decade.
So as I step into this new era, there are a few questions I'm living here. How can I experiment, and try new things to meet these two needs, given the old ways aren't working? How can I show up as an adult for myself in the realm of money and art, rather than stubbornly clinging to adolescent stories that no longer serve me?
Right now, my answers are pretty simple. For money, I'm aiming at serving the tech world with my writing. Ghostwriting for founders. Writing manifestos for startups. Doing storytelling/brand strategy work to help companies differentiate and matter. A lot of the "1,000 true fans" stuff I've explored for years is more relevant than ever in that domain, and I want to be of service to founders and companies drawn to that path.
And on the art front, I'm feeling stoked about writing this publication, with zero expectation of it paying my bills. I'm exploring the frontiers of writing personal manifestos, and using them as a vehicle for self-renewal and transformation. I'm writing poetry. Playing a bit more guitar than I used to.
It's early, and I've still got a lot to figure out on the money and work front. But I will say, giving myself permission to decouple art and money feels like a tremendous relief. I've been playing the game of money on hard mode for a decade, and it hasn't served me well. Grateful for this new chapter of learning how to truly take care of myself.
Onwards.
I can completely relate. Appreciate your honesty
In 'Big Magic' Elizabeth Gilbert has a really beautiful and brutal takedown of the idea that your art has to pay your bills. After reading her book, I decided to stop 'corrupting both goals' by demanding my art pay my bills, and found a way to do my art on the side, so I could just have a job. It's been a lot nicer, both on the artistic front and the financial side.
What surprised me was, that I could find another avenue for my art. I learned a new instrument and joined a band. I had a totally new outlet for my creative self, exclusively on Friday nights for band practice, and it meant I could be a lot more forgiving about taking writing work that wasn't artistically fulfilling, if it paid the bills well.
You'll find the balance, just keep shifting.