...pastels

...human trafficking.

Bear with me for a minute here.

This post is about self-worth, but not in the beautiful, happy, flowery, "we're all pricelessly unique" kind of way. I'm talking about money. How much am I worth? Not how much to I make or own or have access to. How much money am I worth? It's a difficult question because, yes, I am pricelessly unique, but I KNOW that, and that information isn't helping me form an idea of how much money I believe I deserve to make each year. I hit a wall when it comes to thinking about myself monetarily, and I'm taking a wrecking ball to that wall right now.

So, to make the question more palatable I'll change it up a bit. The new, and more effective question, is this. How much money are my skills worth? Well, hmmm. The question is more specific now, but also somehow more overwhelming. I have so many skills, you see. Surely my versatility alone is also a skill?

So that's on my to-do list. Make an inventory of my skills and set a price point for each of them. Good. But I'm not going to do that here, because really, who wants to read that shit?

I'm gonna test out a cultural/sociological theory on you guys; poor, unsuspecting readers that you are. So often we are discouraged from thinking about self-worth in monetary terms. Now, I agree, one should not develop a sense of self-worth that is tied to one's salary. But what a person makes is different from what a person deserves to make, and my theory (here it comes!) is that ENTIRELY separating money from self-worth serves to keep poor people poor. They make what they make, and if they feel they are worth more than what they make, it's an intangible worth. That intangible worth is HIGHLY valuable, but it won't necessarily help you change your stars. Those who are able to connect their sense of self-worth to a specific monetary sum are better equipped to actually go out and actually make that much money. This is what the children of rich people learn how to do from the moment they are born.

I'm learning it right now.

I deserve to make at least 6 figures. I'm gonna start with a high 5 goal (high 5!). I'll get to work on that.

...happiness

I've been here in New York for nearly 2 months and I have never looked back. Moving here from Minnesota may be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. It's at least up there in the top 5. I'm working every day for hardly any money. I already know I won't make rent this month on my tiny little single-room, unfurnished apartment with the bathroom down the hall and the subway right outside the window. I still haven't gotten the results of my food stamp application, in the meantime I'm being fed by friends and my employer. I can't even afford train fare to get around, I'm walking everywhere. I'm in a new place with new people who don't know me that well, who I don't know that well. And I'm kind of infatuated with a completely unavailable man. Or two.

But this is the important thing.

I'm happier than I've ever been in my life.

I'm more and more convinced that there is nothing like suffering to teach a person how to find joy in, well, everything. It's not just a philosophy, it's neuroscience. Everyone has a kind of happiness set point in their brain. The brain will regulate chemical levels to keep itself approximately at that point. Constant, mild suffering keeps the brain working to maintain happiness. In other words, it releases more happy chemicals. Based on my own self-observation it is my belief that this is the most effective way to raise the brain's happiness set point.

Blissing out.

I mean, I get to work without worrying about my hours! I can be entirely self-motivated and my level of success is directly related to my level of dedication! I get to walk everywhere and see the city! I have a WINDOW! I get to work on films for the love of it instead of for the money. I have activity and responsibility without obligation! I have independence without loneliness! Such independence! I've never felt more free or more full of love. And hope. Rationally or not, there's so much to hope for here.

I still get anxious, worried, and upset. I still have days when I feel ineffectual and defeated. I still say awkward things, offend people sometimes, feel bad about it. But usually I just have a good cry and move on with my life. I used to hate crying, I used to be embarrassed by it. Now I think it's fantastic. Like laughing. Or sex. Or a punch in the face. Life.

I just can't make myself worry about things the way I used to. It's not worth it.

Ecstasy vomit.