Of Patrons and Practicalities – How to Fund Your Best Life

Some of you have got to be wondering – this girl has rambled on for eight posts about quitting her job with only one passing reference to money. Dreams are great, but how is she paying her bills?

That’s a fair question. One that held me back for years. One that very well may be leaving you paralyzed, ignoring catalysts as you keep living the same uninspired story.

There’s not a single one-size-fits-all answer here. The solution may be as unique as your dream.

My solution: I had a patron.

Ode to My Patron

According to Wikipedia, patronage of the arts was a lot more politically complex than I ever learned in school. The internet also thinks Queen Elizabeth wasn’t actually Shakespeare’s patron, so that’s kind of a bummer. But the basic concept still holds: artists and writers and other creative folks throughout history have long wrestled with the same question many modern day dreamers face – how can I do what I love without starving? Oftentimes the answer was wealthy people called patrons would financially support artists, sometimes with strings attached.

The idea seems kind of weird in our modern day capitalistic society. Was this a handout? A bribe? (Yes, historically, sometimes it was a bribe.) We’re okay with scholarships and grants and jobs, but something about one person blatantly giving significant sums of money to another person makes it uncomfortable. I think sometimes its generosity that we struggle with. (More on this later.)

Let me tell you about my patron.

Jacquelyn Cooper loved to entertain. Her family, her friends. Her family’s friends. She was an excellent cook who loved to tailor her menus to her guests’ tastes. She didn’t approve when someone didn’t like onions, or tomatoes–or meat–but she’d find a way to accommodate them. She was an excellent fisherwoman. A lover of games. A master of the lost art of wallpapering. Bad at bingo, and salty about it.

She was also my beloved grandmother. Gma, as we called her, loved her family dearly, and held us together with homecooked meals and unflagging traditions. She was extraordinarily generous. With hugs. With encouraging words. With far too many presents at Christmas and birthdays. And, when she passed away in March 2020, with inheritances for her grandchildren.

Gma passed away as the world descended into those early days of COVID madness. I’ll never forget pulling up to cemetery and listening to my mother apologizing for having 12 people at the funeral, when only 10 were technically allowed. My aunt hustled to put Gma’s financial affairs in order as every day her assets shrank due to tumbling markets–a feeling we can relate to again just two and a half years later. Isn’t that proof enough of the transience of money?

Do You Really Want to Wait For a Rainy Day?

I squirreled Gma’s last gift away, thinking one day maybe I’d put it toward a house I didn’t actually want to take care of on my own, or just save it for a rainy day — that hypothetical emergency that looms large in so many prudent middle class consciousnesses. I’m a planner. I hate risk. I get it. But isn’t it sad that we’re quicker to save our money for when we just might unexpectedly lose our job or face a medical emergency than use it to improve our quality of life right now?

If we get struck down tomorrow by a global pandemic, we can’t take our emergency fund with us.

That moment I contemplated volunteering as tribute my mind flashed to that little nest egg sitting safe but unincubated in the bank. I had some savings of my own, but not enough to sustain me very long. But with Gma’s gift the writer’s sabbatical I imagined in my office that day was actually a possibility.

For most of the past year when I’ve told this story I’ve qualified it. Gma would probably hate that I used her money to quit my job, but I know she’d be my biggest supporter once I’m published. Lately I’ve started to question the truth of that assumption. I thought basically everyone was going to disapprove of my actions — and no one did.

Gma might have been taken aback by my boldness. Hey, so was I. She always loved to hear stories about me being successful at work. Maybe she would have been sad or worried that I was leaving my current career behind, but she knew how much I loved to write. I think she would have been proud of the risk I was taking, and how hard I’ve worked since. I think she’d be glad that her last gift to me wasn’t spent on things, but on changing my life in a way that left me more fulfilled and less stressed than I ever was when she was alive.

You may not have an inheritance to count on or a patron in your corner. I know that I’m more than privileged in that regard. I also don’t have a spouse or children to support. I didn’t have to consult anyone else before I quit my job. The consequences of my success or failure fall only on me, so that makes the risk a little less risky.

But I think sometimes money is more of an excuse than a genuine obstacle. If all the factors I’ve been writing about hadn’t converged – if I hadn’t deleted my novel and worried about becoming Willy Loman and been pierced by my coworker’s exhaustion – I would probably still be at my last job, tired, stressed, concerned about wasting my life, and claiming I wasn’t able to make a go as a full-time writer even though I had more than a year’s worth of savings in the bank.

How much money would you need to take a chance that rewrites your life? Do you know? Maybe it’s time to figure it out.

Budgeting For Your New Life

As soon as the idea of leaving my job to take a writer’s sabbatical took root, I knew before I committed to it I had to create a budget.

I’d tried to create personal budgets before, and never returned to my original spreadsheet after the first month. They’re tedious, I know–unless you’re the kind of person who likes number and spreadsheets. I prefer words, myself (clearly). I had a general sense of where my money went. But I knew before I cut off my salary I needed to determine how long I intended to remain unemployed, and how much money I needed for that length of time.

There are apps that can help you with this, I’m sure, if you want to get down to the penny. I did some general calculations and ran with those. It gave me a loose framework of what was possible. If the change you’re considering hinges on money, I recommend you determine how much you actually need, and critically assess your existing resources.

Probably, whatever you want to do doesn’t involved accepting you are going to devote 100% of your professional time for six months toward something that you know will pay you zero dollars. Again, I was lucky–thanks Gma. Odds are, even if you need to take a pay cut, you’re going to be bringing in some income. So you should calculate what you realistically believe you can make. Add that to any savings you’re willing to spend, and then compare to your expenses.

Decide What You Can (and Can’t) Live Without

Once I started telling people my plans, several folks asked if I was going to move back in with my parents. My joking reply was, “I don’t want to be published that badly.” My parents and I are close, and we live about ten minutes apart. I lived with them for years after college, as I paid down my loans on a non-profit salary. But the instant those loans were paid off, I moved out to split an apartment with a friend. After a few years I got my own place. My quip was meant to be funny, but I was also serious. I wasn’t willing to give up my independence, even for my book. Rent needed to be part of my sabbatical budget.

But maybe you could live with your parents — or a friend — or pick up a roommate or rent you garage apartment on Airbnb. Everyone’s situation is different, and we’re all willing to make different concessions. Before I embarked on this journey, I had to decide what I was willing to give up, and what I wasn’t. What things were more important than my dream? What was I willing to sacrifice to get my book published?

You know what else I wasn’t willing to give up? My cleaning service. I know, I know. Gma is actually mad at me about this one. But I hate cleaning. It repeatedly takes up time I’d much rather spend doing something else, and I’m somehow bad at it, so my place doesn’t even look clean afterwards. When I got a promotion at my last job, I decided I didn’t care if it was ridiculous, I was paying someone else to clean my apartment.

When I left that job, I intended to cancel my cleaner. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I ended up doubling the time between cleanings and budgeting that in. Ultimately, my time was still more important than the cost of paying someone else to do what I hated. The cleaning service decreased my stress and improved my mental health, and to me that was worth it. One year later, I 100% stand by that decision. Something may seen frivolous, but if it’s truly important to you, it’s okay to find a way to pay for it.

I’ll let you draw your own conclusions about how often I clean in between visits.

Cut Extraneous Expenses – and Subscriptions

I may have been the last millennial to cancel my cable. It became abundantly clear once I realized that I’d only watched one Doctor Who holiday special and 6 weeks of Hallmark Christmas movies in the past year that I shouldn’t have been spending nearly $100 a month on cable even if I was gainfully employed. The things you realize when you slow down enough to actually consider your finances.

But I needed my Hallmark fix. So I did a little googling. Turns out you can stream 40+ live channels, including both Hallmark ones, with 3 month DVR feature for $8.99/month on Friendlytv — you’re welcome. Two months of Hallmark movies cost $18 instead of nearly $1,200 a year on cable. When Doctor Who finally aired another season I sprang for one month of AMC+ — another $8.99. All it took was a little research and a little creative thinking, and I saved a significant amount of money without losing anything I actually needed.

If you’re under 35, you’ve probably already cancelled your cable — if you ever paid for it in the first place. But how many streaming services do you pay for every month? Do you really need Netflix and Hulu and Disney+ and AppleTV and HBOMax and Peacock and Paramount and … If you’re paying for it, and you’re not watching it, then put it on pause at least until the next big release.

It’s not just streaming subscriptions. Take a look at your credit card statement and see what comes out every month. Do you even remember what all these subscriptions are for? You may be throwing money away every month and you’re too busy to notice.

Confessions of a Shopaholic

Truth be told, my biggest expenses weren’t on a regular schedule. It was all the shopping I did — online and sometimes in person — when I was a ball of stress hoping to impose some order on my chaotic life or make myself feel better by buying something shiny.

Honestly, if I’d had better coping mechanisms I’d probably have had enough savings to take this sabbatical without Gma’s help.

In college, when I had a strange side gig back home as a peacock breeder, I would literally browse the now defunct eggbid.com for fancy types of peafowl I could buy when I was supposed to be writing papers. What was wrong with me? Stress.

As an adult my shopping vice of choice became Sorrelli jewelry. Sorrelli is a locally based jewelry store that I now walk past 5 times a week that sells flashy, sparkly, costume style jewelry that I absolutely love. I’m not actually a very fancy person, but even when I was trapped in lockdown and working from my kitchen table before my company started video meetings I still put on my Sorrelli jewelry everyday. Earrings, necklaces, bracelet, ring. No one could see me! Now I wear it to go to my coworking space even though there’s truly no need for me to be glam here. But I like it, and it puts me in the mindset that it’s time to get to work.

Here’s the thing though. I have an embarrassing amount of Sorrelli jewelry.

So much. And while it’s not made of precious gemstones – and I got most of it wildly on sale – add it all together and it ain’t cheap.

Stop Using Money to Self-Medicate

Why do I have so much? Because when I’m stressed or sad my brain says I need it. I know going in that store — or browsing their website — will give me a nice little dopamine hit that I desperately need. And it does. And I was stressed or sad basically all the time.

It’s also why I have more clothes than can fit in my closet, and so many different pairs of boots that even a male former colleague noticed.

I liked shopping, and I liked what I bought. I rarely had buyers remorse, because I wasn’t spending more than I earned. But I knew when I left my job that the shopping sprees had to go.

But you know the miraculous thing? I don’t miss them. Now that I enjoy what I do every day and cut out the mountains of stress I was buried under at my two previous careers I don’t need to buy things to self-soothe. I’d rather live as a frugal aspiring author than a free-spending sales analyst.

There’s nothing wrong with aspiring to make enough money that you can buy what you want without worrying about it. But there’s a reason everyone says “money doesn’t buy happiness.” Yes, it buys necessities. And if used well it can buy experiences or objects that do bring you joy. But it also buys distractions that don’t get to the heart of the problem.

You may have a different spending vice. Eating out too frequently. A fancy car. An expensive hobby. Even a daily Starbucks habit. They’re not necessarily bad. But are they more important to you than living a fulfilling life?

Could you go without for awhile if the reward was worth it?

Find A Creative Solution

There are many circumstances where money is truly an obstacle, and I don’t mean to downplay that. But money is often an excuse, so rote we don’t even know whether it’s true. More often than not, “I can’t afford that,” means “I’m not willing to think this through.”

Could I have left my job sooner and made a go at being a full time writer before I turned 35? Maybe. It would have looked different without Gma’s gift. Maybe I would have moved back with my parents, or come up with a lucrative side gig, or went back to selling peafowl. But I bet I could have found a way to work something out.

But it was easier not to. It all goes back to that important concept of agency — in life and in fiction. We all face choices every day — and often we let them pass us by.

Once your basic needs are met, how you spend the rest of your money is a choice. How you make your money is another choice. If you’re serious about rewriting your life, start with examining what is more important to you — what you buy or the way you live.

Accept Generosity – and Pay it Forward

I don’t know if it’s a Pennsylvania Dutch thing, or an American self-reliance thing, or some other cultural subset, but I’ve noticed that where I live it’s practically expected for you to try to reject generosity. If someone offers to buy me lunch, I’m supposed to say something like, “Oh no, you don’t have to do that” and protest at least once before giving in. Is this supposed to be polite? Honestly I’ve always found it to be awkward.

In my new life I’ve decided to embrace generosity. I don’t expect anyone to give me stuff because they know I’m underemployed. But if someone offers I’m not going to fight them. I love giving gifts, and I’d rather people accept them joyously instead of fighting me. So I’m going to assume other people feel the same.

It may seem awkward at first, but if you have people who care for you and believe in you and want to support whatever endeavor you’re about to embark upon — my advice is to let them.

I’m going to embrace this wonderful life that my grandmother left me from beyond the grave with gratitude. And I’m going to pay forward her generosity whenever I can. That may not be with material things right now. But I can be generous with my time, my expertise, my connections. And one day, after I’ve landed a lucrative book deal, I can be generous with money again.

And on that day, I’m hitting Sorrelli hard.