“What we obtain too cheap, we esteem too lightly: it is dearness only that gives everything its value.” Thomas Paine

Greetings Dear Ones!

It’s been a topsy-turvy week! Schools are closing and opening then closing again; concerts and parades are being cancelled; people are not allowed to hug or touch each other; and Common Sense is struggling for breath as if it too was infected with Covid-19. Prudence, in her resplendent snarkiness, is absolutely Delighted to think that most of America is now feverishly washing its hands for at least two “Happy Birthdays,” disinfecting all hard surfaces, and not touching its face. “Cleanliness is next to Godliness,” she chirps smugly, “What this country needs is a damn good scrubbing!” She doesn’t even care if Happy Birthday is out of tune or the only song the average person can audiate without help. (And she’s always detested hugging.)

The sad thing is that St. Patrick’s Day is fast approaching and those of us who have side-hustles dependent on the “shamrock crop” are finding our gigs post-poned or cancelled altogether. Our adoring fans, terrified of Corona (and light beers in general), are now severely hampered in their ability to give themselves the annual “Guinness Flu,” whose symptoms include dancing jigs while drinking until you match the color of your shirt, followed by a moderate amount of vomiting and singing “Danny Boy.” The loss of these gigs will hit the musicians I know with more economic savagery than any millionaire losing percentages in the Stock market. As in 1847, the potato eaters will suffer the worst.

This is the one time of year publicans don’t question what a folk-musician charges for the excruciating privilege of singing Dubliner’s songs for three days straight or playing guitar until one’s arms feel like cord wood. It’s the one time of year we feel like we have value that is not questioned. The rest of the year we have to deal with things like: “Oh, you won’t play for my daughter’s wedding for free? But it’s going to be so much fun! And you just told me you were not doing anything that day. There are some really high-powered people who will be there so it will be great exposure for you. We’ll even throw in dinner…”

Even in the sweet sanctity of my shop, now that my first projects are completed and people have started coming to retrieve their finished orders, that awkward spectre of “Value” translated as “Money” rears its head. A lovely man comes in to collect nine pairs of pants he’s had hemmed. He takes out his wallet and peels off a wad of cash to pay for them. “Cash is King!” he announces smiling. Then he looks at me and asks “Do you like how I never even asked you what you charged?” I look at him quizzically, wondering why he might be saying something like that. Is he trying to make a statement about how wealthy he is, to impress me? When I swallow hard and give him the grand total, his eyebrows wiggle towards each other to meet like kissing caterpillars and the rest of his face settles into a very serious, almost parental expression of fond-lecturing, what some might call “man-splaining.” His voice drops and his intensity rises. “You’re just starting out on your own in this location. Don’t let anyone question what you are worth! And don’t let anyone tell you how to deal with your money. These are very fair, even modest prices. Stand your ground. You’re going to get flack for charging anything at all. I know. So hold onto yourself. Take the money up front. I was surprised you never asked for a down payment. You should do that,” said the man who was telling me I should not take money advice from anyone. Then he continued for several minutes about how “no one values honest work anymore” and how he loves to support local business. I nod cautiously.

Harder than any actual “work” the “self-employed” ever do is putting a value on that work. Yes, I play music and teach and learn and sew and create for the sheer joy of it. Yes, these things are for “me” and I could not be “me” without doing them. Yes, I do them “for no money,” for myself at home and for those I love, all over the place and all the time. I cannot help it. So, when I sell these services off, I am selling off a part of myself in a way that is as much “me” as if I were a nineteenth-century heroine selling her hair. But they are never “Free.” Assigning a value to them is assigning a value to the time I spend doing them—as well as passively, by implication, assigning a value to all the things I am simultaneously NOT doing as well. (If I “hate” to do these things, yet sacrifice my values to do them anyway merely because of sheer financial desperation, would that not be the definition of prostitution?)

A woman comes in to ask if I can resize a beautiful skirt she has found in a thrift store. It’s approximately 4 inches too big for her but she could not pass it up—it’s vintage Pendleton wool! Taking it apart and remaking it from scratch, which is what I am going to have to do, is going to take me at least an hour, probably two. I tell her my hourly rate (which is roughly equivalent to what a person flipping burgers gets) and she slumps. “But I only paid 5 bucks for it,” she says hesitantly. So what is this thing worth to her? It’s A Pendleton skirt that will fit her perfectly, like, um… it was made for her. She hesitates. She wants two hours worth of work done to it but she does not want it to cost her more than a burger at McDonald’s, not even what the burger flipper gets. Where can one go to get five dollars worth of work done to a vintage Pendleton skirt??

Someone I consider to be a dear friend, bless his heart, said to me recently, “I have a whole stack of things for you to do for me. I just wish I knew you wanted to do them for the love of it—because it made you happy—not for the money—you know, while you’re not busy.” He acts like exchanging money might somehow sully our friendship. I had no answer for him. I could not help feeling stung by his comment, which clearly came from the most innocent of intentions. Firstly, “While I’m not busy” is a thing that never happens to me. Does he do his professional work for people “for the love of it, not for money?” I know he doesn’t. He can’t. None of us can. It’s cruel to insinuate that those of us whose livelihoods occur in the intersections of art/craft/public service should be penalized for also enjoying what we do. The prevailing attitude is that if we are having fun, we must not need money.

We who bargain hunt among our friends and fellow-artists (and we all do it!) are actually squeezing each other in painful ways we may not recognize. We are stealing from each other, even as we appear to be promoting each other. We are making sad and resentful bargains which cause the opposite of Flourishing and Empowering and erode those bonds of friendship we wish to strengthen. Writing a book, creating a music CD, cutting down trees, treating sick animals, advising people on the law, building a house, tending sick humans, is exhausting enough. Justifying our prices should not have to be part of the deal. Those lucky, salaried people, whose pay magically shows up electronically in their bank accounts each month, have no idea the angst that comes with every single personal transaction in a self-employed person’s life. This may not be totally accurate, but it feels to me that the only prices we never question are the plumber’s and the car mechanic’s. Sure, we moan and groan privately, but we fork it over because Heaven Forbid our cars won’t go or our poopy won’t flush. Everything else, from veterinary care to carpentry, is up for as much haggling as an open air market in Cairo.

Last weekend, I spent 25 hours in three days doing a refresher course for a music program I have been involved with for more than twenty years. There were seven new trainees who were there to learn about how children learn music and how to manage a classroom full of toddlers and their chatty parents. I was shocked by how many poignant and touching memories were evoked by the familiar songs and rituals we practiced. I fell in love with children, music-making, and the whole program all over again.

Then…

We talked “Biz-ness.” Biz…biz...biz… We talked about marketing strategies, pricing, costs and the need for a “Plan.” We talked about how much legal and professional support or mentoring we would require from the program headquarters, which we all lovingly refer to as “The Mothership.” We briefly discussed the ironies of charging clients for our services and how to offer scholarships in ways that simultaneously allow people of meager means to participate without devaluing the program.

I cringed. I gave SO much away in my early days, when I was on fire with the prophet’s zeal for getting people to sing to their children. (It’s a way harder sell than you might think!) Let me tell you, it did not work. For more than ten years, sometimes with as many as seventy five families per semester, I played and sang and gave away my services. I offered free classes weekly for my neighbors for years, often with only cursory thanks. I did classes, at my own expense, in Spanish for the Hispanic population downtown. People do not appreciate what they get at a discount; they value even less what they get for free. It’s a sad fact that took me many years to learn the hard way. I wanted to be generous. I still cry when I think of it.

I want to tell the young dreamers around me: PLEASE value who you are and what you have to contribute. People will take their cues from YOU and you alone about what you are worth. What you share—even if it is the premier, research-based, most advanced music program for young children in the world—will have utterly NO value if you do not teach people that it does. Doing things “for friends” causes you to burn out those friendships in the end. Putting food out in bird feeders is a nice thing to do—it probably even means you are a good person—but it does not make those birds your “friends.” You will attract a lot of takers who will go elsewhere as soon as the wind changes.

It’s tragic to sound so cynical and bitter. Honestly, I’m not that kind of person. But having to defend a self-worth that feels constantly like it is under assault, and to witness it happening to other artists and craftspeople I respect, causes me to have the kind of rage Sarah Blackwood wrote about in her New Yorker article of December 24, 2019 entitled “The Marmie Problem.” I would expand her arguments to say that women in business for themselves have pretty much the same constraints as those nineteenth century housewives “frowned down into stiff quiet and peace-less order” as they struggle with anger, misrecognition, and powerlessness.

Of all the characters in Little Women, I wanted to be Marmee most of all. Not for me, Jo’s radical feminist vision of womanly independence. I wanted that role of creativity, love, home, and world-making from behind a freshly-pressed apron. With gentle bovine matronliness, I want to do everything “freely” with a mix of pure generosity and noblesse oblige. I want to be that indefatigable font of femininity, scones, skills, and Grace, yet Marmee-dom eludes me still.

The fact is I’m torn by the need to “professionalize” my old-fashioned Mothering. Not long ago, within a single generation, most American homes possessed both a piano and a sewing machine and someone, usually the mother, knew how to use them both. Now, music is something we watch “professionals” do, and sewing is going the same way, but there is an inherent core of resentment around the fact that these were both once “free” in our homes. Let me tell you, they were NOT free. We just, collectively, did not value our Marmees. And now, we need research programs to teach us lullabyes and seamstresses to fix our clothes. And the irony is that “would-be Marmees” like myself now have to battle the often harsh bewildering and demeaning world of “Biz-ness” to survive. Personally, I DO wish I could do this “from home,” purely for love.

Many of you darlings who read this blog are involved in similar struggles—you are creative, skilled, passionate, talented, and people make you feel obligated to give these things to them for nothing—like you somehow owe it to them because you can perform a task they are unwilling or unable to do for themselves. Unfortunately, your electric company, your phone company, your landlords—none of these barter. Since Alexander Hamilton instituted a national banking system in this country, we have been expected to pay in cash not cows, coins not carrots, Ven-mo not perfectly hemmed jeans with the designer stitching preserved.

Some, like greedy leprechauns, insist we are (wrongfully) wishing for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. What a fool’s errand! The best thing we can do is provide the best services we can, at fair market value, while doing what we love, and loving those for whom we do it. Valuing our customers, while valuing our work, does not preclude us from valuing ourselves.

Stay clean and safe and dry, my loves! I wish you all the Health, Peace & Prosperity in the world. Give yourselves a great big hug, with Sew Much Love, from me. Let the Mending Continue!!!

Yours aye,

Nancy