Week Four of my Creator Journey: Securing the Bag

You got McDonald's money?

If you grew up Black in America, you know the look of incredulousness on your mother's face at your question when you asked for McDonald's. And you already knew good and well you weren't going to get any McDonald's! You know the look of disappointment on your own face, head bowed in the back of the car, as McDonald's faded away in the rearview mirror.

But it wasn't necessarily about the McDonald's really. It was about the tenuous relationship we had with money. In church we might have been taught that money was the root of all evil. Or maybe we saw people in the neighborhood getting caught up because they were trying to get fast money. We saw them throwing it around or driving flashy cars. Then there were whispers that the person got picked up and we wouldn't see them anymore, maybe for a little while. Maybe never.

For me, being an immigrant added another dynamic to how I felt about money. My parents had left their home country for a better life. I watched them both go back to school and work minimum wage jobs to obtain what they believed would be the American Dream. They were the very definition of hustle and didn't hesitate to remind their children that there was no rest for the weary. There was no money for McDonald's because that money was for BILLS. And our only job was to go to school, get a good career, and be successful so we wouldn't have to struggle like they did.

I remember the bills with ominous bold, red letters. There were the whispers of my parents at the dining room table as they tried to figure out how to stretch the money further. They called it "robbing Peter to pay Paul." Whatever it was always resulted in too much month and not enough money. It meant no McDonald's. It meant always being worried about where money would come from to keep a roof over our heads. It meant going with my Dad when I was in high school to be the mediator when he spoke to a bankruptcy attorney because he didn't understand how this process was going to alleviate all of the crushing credit card debt he and my mother had accumulated trying to maintain a home with three kids.

With that being the case, my desire to be a creator always took a backseat to wanting stability. I never wanted to feel the shame of having to put stuff back on the shelf because I didn't have enough money. I didn't want to experience that disappointment that I felt when we drove past McDonald's as it faded from the rearview. And I didn't want that for my children. I never wanted to gamble on my writing, my creativity or my dreams. I needed something real, tangible and stable. So, I always pursued goals that looked attainable. I always pursued jobs I knew without a shadow of a doubt would pay the bills.

My perspective began to change when I started posting on LinkedIn. I started to see a world of possibility open up with the very superpower I had always been afraid of. My writing. My voice. In the classroom I always taught "eager" college students how to use their own. I didn't think I had much to say. But after watching George Floyd murdered, I found I had plenty to say, and I needed somewhere to put it. LinkedIn became that place.

I never set out to be a voice, an influencer or an educator beyond my classroom. But finding the ability to do that has freed me from that constraint in my mindset - that being creative is frivolous, self-serving and self-defeating. When I was young, I shifted from my career goal and college degree in writing to the financial stability of education. Now, as a creator I'm starting to ask a really important question. Can I have both?

I have to be honest. I don't know. I would love to be able to do the things I love and get paid a wage that is on par with what I make at this stage in my career. I have 20 years invested in the field of higher education. I've climbed my way up from an admissions counselor to a faculty member and now to a Director in Instructional Design and Innovation. It wasn't easy. I've enjoyed the impact I've had in my classroom and that I'm now at a level of leadership in my college. But I can now clearly see that my impact, my voice, and my influence could be far beyond the classroom walls and what I imagined it would ever be.

But I go back to my mother's question when I told her I wanted to be a writer at 17. "Elizabeth, can you really make money doing that?" she asked. I shrugged in response. I recall my mother's look of confusion when I told her the starting salary I had been offered as a reporter at my local paper after college graduation. She suggested I go back to nursing school instead because she made more than that as a diploma nurse. I promptly turned down the offer and decided to pursue a career in education. At least I would get summers off if I was going to be underpaid, I reasoned!

There's still part of me that knows as much as I enjoy creating and writing and doing what I love, how can I love something if it doesn't support me, give me stability or love me back? There's still a part of me that remembers being a little girl and my parents' look of disbelief when we asked for McDonalds. Will I have McDonald's money if I pursue my dreams? I really don't know.