The Power Of Holding Each Other Up
On moving away from traditional models of commerce. #MayIWrite — Day 8
I teach these dance classes. Well, it’s been over a year since I’ve done so between a couple of savage injuries and a life that was draining me faster than I was able to refill it, but I refuse to put that statement in the past tense. I’ll be back!
As I dive into work as a writer, I’ve been thinking again about creativity, community, and commerce. I’ve always felt conflicted about the idea of doing creative work as a job. As someone who has had success building a business from my creativity in the past, I’m too familiar with the transition of loving something to feeling trapped by that same thing. There are a few creative skills which people have encouraged me to turn into businesses but my response is always the same: I want to keep loving this thing!
Writing, though, strikes me as something I love to do which could in theory become a more significant source of income over time. I don’t need to make fortunes but as a single parent I am always aware of long-term income-generating options, and a life well-lived is as important to me as to any of us. There are things I could plan to do down the line to make ends meet, but I would like to feel my life is nourishing me beyond my financial security.
Writing is something I thirst to do, and I would write as much as my time allowed. Naturally, my mind goes to how I can create more time for writing and the answer that follows is always that it comes down to money. The value of our waking ours is easily measured in dollars when we have mouths to feed.
So I’ve been thinking of these dance classes. I tried several fee structures when I was running my 8 week sessions and the most beautiful thing happened when I decided at some point that aligning my values with my business model was worth a try, just for one session. If it didn’t work out I could absorb what it would cost me and I would go back to my old method after that.
I decided that because the most important thing to me was that anyone who wanted to dance could do so, I was not going to charge a set amount for the session.
I put it out to my fabulous group of participants and let them know that the session would be on a sliding scale. These sessions don’t run without at least 8 people registered. I did the math and told everyone that my hope was that a minimum of 5 people would register for $45 or more. (It is not unusual for each class of an 8-week session of dance to run $10-$15 per class so I thought this was a reasonable goal.) I explained that I would run the session whether I got those 5 contributions or not, but that this would cover the rental of the studio space.
I made my philosophy clear. I didn’t want money to be the reason someone couldn’t dance with us, or to put someone into a position of financial strain, and I had faith that as a community it would all work out.
I was absolutely right.
Several people were able to comfortably pay at least $45 for the session. Others were able to contribute smaller amounts. I was tearful though, when I was able to start registering people for this session who otherwise would not have come at all due to the financial barrier. Everyone contributed something that was comfortable for them financially, and that meant that every week 16 people were able to come dance their hearts out. Nobody knew who paid what, obviously, but everyone knew that it was because of this group buy-in that we had the incredible collection of individuals each week. Nobody walked through the door balancing their desire to dance with their stress of having to scrape together the fee. Instead of sitting at home feeling the weight of missing out on yet another thing because of money, people got to take part and make connections and dance. It was a palpable shift and created a strong belief in me that people will participate in that kind of sharing economy when given the chance. (If you want to read a whole book about the magic of the sharing economy, check out The Art of Asking.)
I believe that the choice to invest in each other when and as we can is an act of deep unification. It feels subversive to the consumerism that lines the pockets of the 1%.
As I look toward a future in which I hope writing plays an ever-larger part, I believe I am tapping into the memory of how that kind of voluntary exchange felt. It has given me a new layer within my appreciation for supporting artists, shopping locally, participating in sharing economy and skill share. To the wordsmiths, the healers, the artists, the dancers, the music-makers, the farmers… invest in each other. It’s what we’re made of. It’s what’s real.
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