4 years BC (Before Covid) my life hit a scary financial pothole. I had a small, yet vital secondary income and theoretically it would have made my bad years okay indefinitely. Its disappearance could not have been planned for. It was literally the secondary effect of very positive federal legislation.
Some people think that a college educated woman who chooses an uncertain life in the arts is foolish, and a subset of that group unconsciously begrudges it because they didn’t take that chance. My attitude regarding the tough times has always been you made that security-diminished bed; you lie in it. One night my fear got the best of me and I was crying at dinner with a friend, and I don’t mean whining, I mean uncontrollable sobs. This friend is a frustrated writer but pulls down six figures within the financial sector. Her suggestions of different types of work were so inappropriate that it ended our friendship, not because of her delirious suggestions but because of her lack of anything close to empathy.
My worst fears (knock on a piano if there is one near you) did not come to pass. I am not sure what the future holds but these last four years have had some odd blessings. Resiliency and resourcefulness came to the forefront, and right around that time is when I started “thrifting.” You know something is hip when it inspires a verb to be born. The hunt could be fun like when
