Last week I got my W-2 form from the online school I teach for. I was shocked when I saw the actual number there in black and white. There, in the box marked "Gross Earnings," was a number roughly equivalent to the number of licks it takes to get the the tootsie roll center of a tootsie pop. I'm embarrassed to print the actual number, but let's just say it would take three times my yearly earnings to support a prisoner in the lap of luxury that is the state pen.
Yesterday, we were sitting at the co-op eating salad and dessert when Bill asked if I was comfortable with our vows of poverty. It was ironic, because in that moment it was hard to imagine a richer life. I told him that I was. In many ways our life is the Bohemian dream: no alarm clocks, plenty of time for reading, imagination, relationship. We are fat and happy...and poor.
Still there are those moments when a demon rises up in me and says: You earned how much? The number on the tax form turns into a measure of my worth as a human being, or at the very least an assessment of my competence as a professional. I used to earn 4 times as much money and I considered myself successful. But at what price?
Last night I was reminded of the sacrifices that the professional life entails for me. I went to a meeting as a representative of an organization I belong to. In this room full of "professionals" I felt like an impostor. I hear this is common among people who come from working class backgrounds. I had one of those out of body moments when I could see myself talking (nervously), making jokes (awkwardly), laughing (too loudly). I was performing, trying to assume the role of Miss America. Instead, I looked like a sad clown.
On some level I am convinced that if I show up as myself and live an authentic life, that life is destined to be one of poverty. I am willing to pay the price for freedom, but the real question is this: Is it necessary?
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