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 |   The Good Life. |
| I used to make a lot of money. I earned an engineering degree and worked in management in manufacturing. I managed employees in production, maintenance, and quality assurance at different points in my career. I had good health benefits, and I was "breaking the glass ceiling" as an upwardly-mobile female in a largely male dominated world. I left it all behind. When I opened the music school, I had experience working for a competitor and thought, "I can do this better." I was right. I also thought I could make a lot of money. I was wrong. Back up a minute... that's not true. I *could* make more money. I choose not to. What?! Why would anyone do such a thing? ...apparently, because I'm a bleeding heart. Every time I had the opportunity to increase my income - every time my revenue exceeded my expenses again (that's called a "profit," if you didn't know) - I chose to improve the lives of the people around me instead. My reception manager complained that the employees couldn't get everything done. Instead of challenging her to work harder, I gave her more hours. I gave raises to two managers because, frankly, I don't pay any of my employees enough. I approved budgets for better teacher snacks and student prizes. I gave people more hours and better pay. My family suffers for it now. When my husband lost his job (again), I couldn't help but feel bad about that. But for the most part, I'm personally content with my own income. Yet I waffle at times. I remember my old job, with the boss I hated and the us-versus-them politics, where I was taking strides toward that glass ceiling. When my little brother (he's 36) passed six figures in his job, that coveted level both my parents had already achieved, I lamented the fact that I could be there right now, too. I choose not to because I'm happier, I love my job, and I feel like I'm making a difference to my community and the people around me. But sometimes, I'm jealous. When Keith lost his job, I calculated our family budget and determined that we could afford for him to cut his salary in half. His high-paying jobs are stressful, and he hates the stress. I've counselled him repeatedly that if he would just choose to pay for the cheaper cable, live in a smaller house, and keep his cute little 900 Kawasaki instead of trading it in for a limited edition Harley Davidson, he could earn even less. "Live below your means." Live happy. I want to be a writer. It's a crazy goal, considering I already balance three jobs and en unemployed husband (who requires sooooo much more of my time now than he did when he went off to work every day.) And, sometimes, I want to make a lot of money doing it. Recently, I had a conversation with myself. (Don't judge; you do it, too.) I realized that I secretly hoped to be the next Rowling (or whomever; insert-your-favorite-wealthy-author.) I wanted to hit it big. Why?? Is it for the money? How hypocritical would that be after all the advice to the contrary I've given my own husband? I've promised him that I can be happy with a much lower standard of living, and yet, I secretly dream of wild financial success? Or maybe it's the fame. Is it the fame? I thought back to what makes me happy as a musician, music educator, and business owner. I remembered that in practice, I'm really a bleeding heart. Even if I earned huge success as a writer, I would probably use it to pay my editors, illustrators, and publicists more. I'd probably hold lavish giveaways and throw money or free books at my fans, like Oprah does with cars. Here's the thing: The fear of failure has been holding me back. And somehow, I've defined failure as anything less than that Rowling-level success. What if I approached writing like I approach my music business? What if I didn't worry so much about the success or the money, but just worried that the lives of my music students readers are improved by the service I offer? What if I just teach perform write with wild abandon, with oodles of love in my heart, and just let the fame and fortune fall where it may? I've done that with my business. I may not be earning a lot of money, but I've made up the difference in friendship and loyalty. Maybe that should be my writing goal, too. |
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