It may not be rational, but when I found myself being worried about my lack of money, I came up with ways I could spend some. “Money is merely energy,” I explained to my friend Vivien. “For the past couple of months, I’ve been nervous about every dollar I spent and wouldn’t allow for anything extra for the kids or myself.”
“Right, that’s what you’re supposed to do,” she said.
“No! It stopped the flow of energy. If nothing is going out and I’m all bunched up and constricted around it then there’s no room for anything to come in.”
She rolled her eyes, as she often does when I mention the word “energy.” But I knew I was on to something and I wasn’t going to let her dissuade me.
I am fortunate enough that “being worried about money” doesn’t translate to an immediate threat of being homeless or unable to provide food for my kids. “Being worried about money” merely means that in the last year my income was not what it had been. In fact, I made less than I did in the nineties. This was worrisome, but at the same time, I believed I was of able mind and body so I would be able to find some ways to bring in more income once I jump started the energy flow.
It started with small things, such as $3.99 flowers from Trader Joes and saying “yes” rather than “no” when my kids asked for donuts at the Ballard Market. I placed “Lakshmi” in my mirror, which to me means “abundance of flow” and waited for the magic to begin. Nothing much changed, so I escalated it to hiring some neighbor contractors to work on my kids’ room. “You’re crazy,” Vivien said. “You don’t have the money for that right now nor do you really need it.”
“Yes I do. It’s time for my kids to have a real room that’s not exposed to every noise in the house, not to mention for them to get out of my room.” For eight years, glass doors have been the only thing separating me from my children at night. This was great when they were young, but it was time for all of us to grow up. I explained to Vivien how I viewed it not only as an investment in my future adult relationship with a man, but also as a stimulation to the economy. I adored the neighbors I was hiring, they were working with me to get the job done as inexpensively as possible while not jeopardizing quality, and every thing about my interactions with them said yes. Following yeses is another firm belief of mine.
Within a week of the guys starting on my house, two agents asked to read mycurrent manuscript. The following week, I was offered a catering job without applying. I don’t plan on making a career out of catering, but money is money and the main criteria of the job involved moving so I said yes. Two weeks later, a fellow writer I’ve known for years offered me a contract writing job at the U. When I asked if she needed a writing sample or resume, she said, “No, I know your writing and I want you. Can you come sign the papers today?” They pay me my top tier, I work from home, and best of all, the writing assignments are interesting and have nothing to do with my life. The indulgence of being able to think, write, and analyze my life has started to lose it’s allure and I was more than ready to write about climate control, breast cancer drugs, a research trip to Cambodia, or almost any other topic that occurred outside of my home.
The synchronicities and good fortune continued in more ways than I could have imagined. The same week that I started desiring a place out of my home to meet with clients, a friend told me such a place was available at the Carnegie Library. A few emails later, I agreed to lease a space there for the exact days that I was hoping for. My writing class filled, even though I assumed the time of day it was being offered would be restrictive, potential new clients began to email me, and other fantastic people entered my life.
All of this abundance of flow made the areas of my life that were still constricted even more apparent. Currently, that is my work on my next memoir. It may merely be the point in time where it needs to percolate, rather than be written, or I may need to force myself to work though my block, I am not sure. As it stands now, I am avoiding it which appears to be the same as “letting it rest,” but in actually results in expending more energy than is required to actually write it and causes guilt, self-doubt, and a host of other debilitating emotions. Today I moved some of my office furniture around, smudged my office, and otherwise moved energy with the hope that my next step with the memoir will be revealed. If the words start coming to me freely again, great, but even if they don’t, having clarity on the situation is the first step towards becoming unstuck so I can once again be in flow.

Corbin Lewars is the author of Creating a Life: The memoir of a writer and mom in the making, which has been nominated for the 2011 PNBA and Washington State book awards. Her essays have been featured in over twenty-five publications including, The Seattle PI, Mothering, and Hip Mama. She has been a writing mentor and instructor for over fifteen years and currently sees clients in the old Carnegie Library Building in Ballard. Contact her for details.