Money on my mind... (OBSESSED #12)

Talking about money is uncomfortable. Let's talk about money!

I turned on payments on this Substack about five weeks ago. Ever since then, I’ve been properly losing my mind.

Before launching OBSESSED, I spent a bunch of time exploring different Substacks. During that exploratory period, every Substack I encountered allowed payments, meaning its author gave readers the option to pay about $5 a month, if they so desired, in exchange for reading. But when I started OBSESSED, I felt greedy — not a little greedy, but deeply greedy — flipping that switch on this ol’ girl. Why? Because I’d write OBSESSED for free, and I shouldn’t get money — nay, even have the ability to get money — for something I’d otherwise do for free! 

After my fourth friend with a Substack told me some version of, “Girl, turn on payments and get out of your head,” I turned on payments. But I still didn’t feel right allowing people to pay for something I liked doing. (If this logic were true, anybody who genuinely enjoys their job would be somewhere on the spectrum of immorality by accepting payment for the work.)

Because of this, I simply had to give paying subscribers something else that wasn’t the stuff I’d be thrilled to do for free. So, I said, “I’m going to allow payments, and for those who pay, I’ll start recapping Night Country and other TV shows, just for you.” Then, some people paid!

Now, I’m here to say, holy shit, y’all … I cannot deliver on these assurances.  

This is something I’ve known since January 14th, when the first episode of Night Country premiered. The first week of recapping went like this:

1. SUNDAY: Watch Night Country at 8 p.m.; parse thoughts from 9-10 p.m.

2. MONDAY: Cast aside work to continue parsing Night Country thoughts from 10 a.m. until 8:30 p.m. Finally feel like I understand what I want to say.

3. TUESDAY: Disassociate from the fact that I have work deadlines and write about Night Country from 9:30 a.m. until 2 p.m. Realize I actually want to say something completely different at 2:02 p.m. Promptly freak the fuck out. Continue writing from 3 p.m. until 9 p.m. Collapse between my dogs and light a joint. 

4. WEDNESDAY: Start the day thinking I’ll wrap up the newsletter by 11 a.m. and have the day to catch up on work. Actually finish the newsletter at 4 p.m. Work until 7 p.m. to catch up on the job that is quite literally making our lives in New York financially feasible. 

5. THURSDAY: Catch up catch up catch up oh my god c’mon Cara catch UP on work until 6 p.m.

6. FRIDAY: Have nothing written for OBSESSED. Curl into ball and ultimately write something, hating the obligation the whole time.

I initially started OBSESSED with an idea that sounded really fun: sending out a once-weekly missive on something I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. And now, I’ve made this whole project entirely too complicated. So, we’re going back to basics. 

OBSESSED will finally return to the form from whence it was born in my head: one dispatch a week. Anything else is just icing on the cake. 

Ultimately, I also think most of y’all would prefer a solid, well-written newsletter once a week, as opposed to a bunch of half-assed missives that I’m cranking out, out of some internalized sense of obligation to make your support extra super duper “worth it.”  Might I have some issues with feeling I need to justify my presence in a space? Perhaps a dash of, uh, *gags in anticipation of what I’m about to say* … money guilt?

Before we dive into this next chunk, let me first say: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with me taking money for this newsletter. Absolutely nothing wrong with it! And I’m not interested in flagellating myself for that. But, if I’m being honest with you, reader, my mind is a 24/7 internalized hand-wringing party, BYOH, which can make flagellation and self-criticism hard to avoid at all times. It feels truthful and interesting to explore that a bit further, so I’m gonna do that now.

I was born and raised in a south Houston suburb. My mom’s an elementary school teacher, and my dad has worked nebulous bank jobs that I’ve grown to understand, but won’t bore you describing. We were firmly upper middle class — we had a house with a backyard and a pool, I got new clothes for school, and each summer we took a family trip somewhere in the U.S., for around a week or so. I never once worried about my basic needs, and my plain ol’ wants, being met.

My parents, correctly, drove home again and again and again the deep importance of humility and gratitude. My mom grew up firmly middle class, and my dad grew up poor, having been raised as one of six kids on a single (and fairly limited) income. They met after high school, while they were both working at Sears. They helped to put one another through community college, then college, and the life they built for themselves was something they always deeply appreciated.

They also wanted their kids to deeply appreciate the privileges they didn’t enjoy growing up. Humility was stressed in all circumstances. When I was a teenager, and my mom traded in her minivan for a new SUV, the decision was accompanied by a family discussion about how, ultimately, this shiny new car wasn’t a casual purchase, and a new car is nothing to see as inherently cooler or better than other cars, and that they didn’t ride around in new cars like this when they were young, and we need to know that this is something to deeply appreciate.

These are great values to have. I’m so happy my parents are my parents. But these beliefs are also rigid-enough beliefs to, uh, not combine wonderfully with OCD in certain situations. Last night, for example, I took a tequila shot with a friend, and put them on my tab when ordering. When this friend gave me cash to cover her shot, I dramatically threw the bill on the ground. It was a joke, but it also reflected exactly what I was thinking: “I can technically afford this, so why should I make her pay?” It wasn’t me making her pay! It was the bar!!

Suffice it to say, I’ve got some weird neuroses that make it difficult to thread that needle between appreciating money when I’ve got it, and seeing it as inherently immoral or greedy when I have more money than I necessarily need. Hence, that little payments flip switch represented a whole lot more than simply flipping a switch. It represented entitlement, and an entitlement to people’s hard-earned money. And the thought of that? Well, friends, it makes me want to run straight into the sea.

Anyways, if anybody subscribed exclusively for those damn TV recaps, here is my invitation for you to unsubscribe. I am very sorry and appreciate your patronage! And if you do ever want to support OBSESSED by becoming a paid subscriber, thank you. It is extremely sweet and generous and moving.

OK. That’s it. I’m so excited to stop watching Night Country.

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