I was out on a date with this guy from the financial world, and we were having basic first date conversations.
Him: What do you do for a living?
Me: Im a writer.
Him: I know, but like, what do you do for a living?
Me: "I am a writer.
Him: But like, how do you make money?
Me: I. Am. A. Writer.
is this guy stupid or just that corporate? I pondered on top of how I could end the date faster.
Him: So how much do you make?
Me: Do you want to know how much I weigh, too?
I told him, a mean estimate of my earnings as it varies month to month. His response
Him: That's it?! You could be making twice that if you worked in sales.
Oh. No. He. Didnt.
Well, no shit, Sherlock.
I am an artist. Which in summations means I make a living off my creativity and work in an industry with absolutely no job security.
But I am doing what I love for a living. To me that's living large. I am getting paid to do what I am passionate about, and to me, that makes me rich. I followed my dreams and took a leap of faith with no financial net, and that is priceless. Sometimes Im balling on a budget, sometimes Im frugal, but no matter what, I am always happy, which you can't buy with a six-figure sales salary.
I moved to New York City right out of college with nothing but a dream and a degree so I could work an entry level job at MAXIM Magazine, making $28,000 a year. I made it in NYC, on that salary. And I have done it all myself. Well, maybe with a little help from mom sometimes, but with absolutely no help from a man. None.
So, I don't need you coming in now and trying to tell me to reroute my career just so I could have more money and require your services, Mr. Money Bags ... is what I was thinking.
But with the rolling of the eyes and the biting of the tongue, I just replied, Clearly, we dont care about the same things. Now lets order. I only went on this date because I'm too poor to buy food myself."