Community, Cash + Class Lines

I girlbossed too close to the sun, so you don’t have to.

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Inside this newsletter:
1. A love letter about money, class, community, and “abundance”.
2. Journal prompts for understanding your relationship to money.
3. Tarot card of the week.
4. A Spotify playlist for you.

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Recently I’ve seen some famous autistic woman celebrating major achievements. One actress bought her own home, for example. And followers celebrated alongside her: “You give me hope that this is actually possible for me one day!” In one sense women like them could be called my community. And I definitely wouldn’t say no to (responsibly) owning my own home.

But it gave me pause to think about class. And particularly, how class begets, and often cements, one’s definition of possibility. 

Owning a home is not always “possible”. Half the planet has probably never even let themselves imagine it was. Being financially “abundant” in that She-EO or “divine feminine” coded way so many of us have been told we all deserve to be, is more often than not, impossible.

The living legacy of the Protestant work ethic in the US (and disseminated globally) still has us equating wealth with moral purity and deserving, innate integrity. If you just save hard enough, if you have a good enough idea for a business, if you have a “money mindset”, if you hire/exploit cheap virtual labour enough, if you build the right systems and processes, if you regurgitate other people’s ideas enough, if you’re consistent in your morning routine enough, if you’re creative enough, if you’re grateful enough—you too would be bringing in six figures a year and own your own home while working four hours per week. If you’re not and you don’t, that’s on you. 

When I was at my most burned out and financially vulnerable, engaging more in esoteric and therapeutic content online, and that’s when the algorithm sent me down a “you deserve to be wealthy” pipeline. That’s when I was constantly encouraged to join free webinars and magnetise my way to more money. That’s when I took the workaholism, validation-seeking approach to my former media career and applied it to my fledgling tarot and coaching work. It wasn’t enough to be a humble weirdo; I needed to be “booked out'“! I needed to write books, have podcasts, be really abundant!

And that was because of fear. The fear of being broke…again. Because the state of brokeness was what I had pushed so hard, ran so fast, to get away from the minute high school ended. If you spent your early years without money, you know how formative the stress of it is. How internalised that survival mode becomes. You’d do anything to never fall in the hole again.

This adrenaline-fuelled survival mode—this drive to make something of yourself, or never have to borrow money from a friend, nor marry someone abusive, nor trust in anyone but yourself, ever—is not only responsible for some of my worst personality traits, but I also believe it’s one of the reason I went so long without knowing I was autistic. Too busy!

Like many people, I didn’t follow my curiosity merrily toward an “aspergers adult” diagnosis. I had one slapped upon me after 16 straight years of therapy, a large handful of SSRI, anti-anxiety, and anti-psychotic prescriptions, daily migraines, regular meltdowns, and one burn out after another, until all my ability to perform basic functions was lost.

I’m not one to feel an immediate kinship with every new celebrity, influencer, or business owner who comes out as autistic, or bisexual, or something else relevant to me, in their social media copy. Because I don’t feel like I’m in community with someone just because we share an identity descriptor. I feel like I’m in community with people who, when faced with the same oppressive forces as me, have done something (with no reward, if not outright punishment) to defend the most vulnerable of that group. 

For example, I don’t personally know (or follow on social media) any active retail workers union organisers. I can guess that the average one isn’t autistic, or necessarily hip to the appropriate terms used to describe it. But in the 14 odd years I’ve worked in retail, that person has fought like hell to help me always get a fair wage and never get unfairly fired for acting “rude” or strange. #autistically

If I was born with lots of money I’m sure I’d be happy to make the most of it and I’d hope to do it in a way that’s ethical. And even now, I want what we all want—a safe, comfortable home, a job, creative outlets, and rights. But philosophically and spiritually speaking, I’m now surer than ever in what I temporarily forgot; I don’t aspire to be rich and I don’t even want aspire to be rich. It sounds so stupidly obvious to me now. In a way it always was—my values haven’t actually changed. What’s changed is my actions and the way I’m willing to speak to myself.

I’m not interested in spending my one precious life chasing a carrot of more and more safety and stability that arguably doesn’t exist for anyone at this point in human history. And I certainly don’t think that being wealthy (or owning any kind of means of production) while being autistic is necessarily a diversity win. Should I clap for someone like Elon Musk hosting SNL just because he’s autistic? I don’t think so.

Who should I want to be in community with? Who is on my team? Surely not someone who looks at me and sees a customer, client, unique viewer, or any other metric. So then, what people have made what kinds of choices, perhaps not directly seen and celebrated, that made greater space for my own?

45% of autistic people in so-called Australia are sitting on, or are well under, the poverty line. Of the 30% of autistic people who are gainfully employed, 80% have been bullied at work. If someone like me, one of the most resourced among us, can’t make it through 2020 without a work-related breakdown that sees me back on the dole, what does it say for the rest? What does it say for our needs and wants from, and for, community?

Money is the greatest oppressor, in my eyes. Because it’s class that most marginalised people—and all of the most vulnerable among them—have in common. And it’s the disenchantment or desperation of the lower class that is exploited in order to enforce certain political agendas. Fascistic agendas that drive a wedge through our sense of commonality. Money is the demon squatting at the node of a network of oppression where ethnicity/race/culture, gender, sexuality, neurodivergence, disability, religion, and environmental impact intersect.

That’s why I think we need to take class consciousness more seriously than ever. Why we need to look for solidarity, not necessarily similarity. And not in the most commercial, or even philosophical places, but in the arenas where material change is being pushed for, by people among and beyond our conceptions of community who demand to see me, you, and everyone else, supported, safe, and alive.

I don’t need anyone telling me “you too can be super wealthy and autistic, if you just follow this formula”. I don’t want to see myself in the 1%. I don’t want to aspire to be a better foot soldier for consumerist industrialism. And I’m not willing to step over, or on, anyone so that I can say I’ve unlocked fabulous new levels abundance. Right now, we live in a world where for many, it’s much easier to imagine becoming a multi-millionaire through NFTs, group life coaching programs, etc—than it is to imagine making the social change necessary to not be evicted, exploited, or easily locked up.

After a lifetime of somewhat ruminating on money and the lack of it—after climbing up a class notch and being kicked back down—I’m increasingly of the conviction that its endless, hedonic pursuit is a waste of time. And especially wasteful and insidious when tarted up in the language of religion or new age spirituality. And I say that as someone on a sincere path with multiple influences. It’s all too easy to fall into the sinkhole of extractive appropriation for financial gain, solipsism, and spiritual materialism.

Not that I would tell anyone else what to do. And I mean that. Pursue limitless money and power, if you want! Maybe you actually have to, in order to fully realise its attainment doesn’t “fix” you on the inside. Yes, we all need (and deserve) enough money to live safely (whether via owning or renting), pay all our bills, and have a joyful, fulfilling life that involves eventual retirement. And it’s important we think about, and take action on, making that happen for all of us. But we all know that being immeasurably wealthy wouldn’t bring us any closer to that joy.

Call me crazy, but I believe we don’t need all the stuff we’re told we need. And I believe that a life enjoyed fully, slowly, and simply tends to organically lead one away from the craving for material accumulation and towards that realisation. And I don’t mean becoming an ascetic. Just seeing the illusion of stuff, or of stability, or of superiority, that comes with money for what it really is. An illusion. Vapour. 

Renouncing the unnecessary worldly objects and ideologies capitalism sells you is just a practice. A practice of unpacking or unsettling of certain narratives around one’s class, money, and how it’s “earned”. And that isn’t just for perpetually pissed off activists. It’s the natural consequence of being so alive, so anchored in your values, so in awe of the wonder and mystery of nature, of consciousness, and all life—that both your fear of “broke” and/or your desire to be mega rich eventually just melts away.

That’s what I hear, anyway. I’m obviously not done. But there are plenty of people who are. And if you ask them, they’ll tell you (for free, if you can believe it!) that it rules.

Now that I’ve performed the kind of labour our society considers a fair exchange for an employee salary of $100K per year—and I’ve tried and failed to keep up with it—I can safely say that it’s usually not unsustainable for people with brains or bodies similar to my own. And it’s usually not worth it.

Not everyone can, or wants to, be a millionaire. And it has nothing to do with effort. Indeed, for many of us these “goals” are rather bullshit to begin with. Because for us, they might mean sacrificing something that’s too precious to part with. Maybe it’s our creative life and self-expression, maybe it’s our energy levels, maybe it’s our interest in collecting old boudoir dolls (don’t ask), maybe it’s our time with loved ones, maybe it’s some other aspect of our selfhood that’s worth more. 

Or maybe it’s just that the work we feel most lit up by pays really fucking badly because it’s not socially valued. The work that’s most of service, to the people who most need it, often does.

All of this is to say, if you work a casual job because it affords you time/space to make art or indulge your passions, I look up to you. If you work multiple jobs just to exist, and still find it hard, I look up to you. If you work in a low-paying job field because you want to make a meaningful difference to someone else, I look up to you.

I am you! And while my inner demons still occasionally tell me that I should be busy breaking myself physically and mentally for a chance to covet some coin like a dragon in a cave, I know what and who put them there and I know what will ultimately drive them out.

It’s usually as simple as getting closer to yourself, to nature, to the awareness you might call Godd/ess, and to the people (if not community) you’d bet would stand in front of a robotic police dog for you. 

Journal prompts on money

We all have a money story. Yours might be radically different to mine. We’re often asked to unpack our money stories these days, but it’s usually with the aim of justifying the effort to get more and more. What if…not that? What if we practiced some playful detachment instead? Use the below (checking in with yourself and skipping any that feel too activating) as journaling to start with.

1. What “talk” about money (or lack of) were you exposed to, growing up? Write down any direct quotes, or feelings, you remember related to money.

2. Now take a moment to feel into how these words or sensing sit with you now. What do you notice in your body, breath, or mind chatter? Reflect on it. Record it.

3. Take a moment to ground yourself in presence again. Breathe and tap into your truest, deepest self. Now, go back over your responses to the above two questions. Notice and record without judgement a) what parts you agree with or relate to, if any, and b) what parts you disagree with, if any.

4. Now for both a) and b), ask yourself: Why?

5. Next, take a few minutes to connect with growth and/or change as it’s expressed in nature. This might be via an indoor plant, a five minute walk in the park, or sitting on your balcony (or just by a window) looking at the sky. Take your journal: What do you observe of growth? What do you observe of change? What do you sense of the essence of abundance in these states?

6. Reflect on the experience you just had with the nature. What does nature have to teach you about growing, changing, being abundant, or having enough?

7. Notice and record what emergent sensings, knowings, or meanings—whether they feel comfortable or uncomfortable—are making themselves known to you, in relation to your values surrounding money. If you struggle, ask your truest, deepest intuitive self to speak and see what comes. What are you coming to know?

8. How can you continue to work with these sensings, knowings, or meanings next?

9. Lastly, ask yourself how you feel right now and what you need. Then give it to yourself! Easy needs you might notice are: a nap, some water, to get outside, a hug (self or other), or a snack.

Tarot card of the week: The Empress

Naturally. The Empress is creativity, beauty, new potential, and abundance. Not the kind that’s gifted to you because you wished hard enough for it (that’s Santa) but the kind that’s already there. In every single moment. You just get better at tuning into it. “Man cannot live on bread alone” means it’s our awareness, and the cultivation of a clearer perspective, that allows us to curiously notice and experience everyday, embodied bliss. Bliss that has nothing to do with acquiring more and more.

This bliss—call it the ecstasy of the Goddess, call it ananda shakti, call it falling in love with life—is ever present, flowing and unceasing. Maybe you begin to notice it in your cat playing with a box, or seee it in a smile from a little old lady. It doesn’t matter. It only matters that you take notice of it and set the intention to tune into more everyday. Both inside and outside of yourself. Every one of us has that ability. We are so creative.

A playlist for you

Here’s a present! It’s a Spotify playlist of songs that remind me of being broke and/or the struggle for economic equality. I hope it gives you a sense of empathy, resilience and hope, no matter what story of money you’re writing or re-writing.

xo Jerico

This email has been sent from stolen and unceded Bidjigal Country, part of the Eora nation, where I live and work. I also frequent neighbouring sovereign Birrabirragal, Gadigal, and Wangal land. I send my solemn respects to Elders of this place, past and present, and to all Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Elders. I vow to continue the journey of unsettling colonialism and aim to do my part to move us closer to true justice, reparations, and renewal of Country and culture with every right action. This always was and always will be Aboriginal land.