I used to ghost write for a financial advisor (and if you want to know how that worked for me, check out my Finding Maria series 🙂 ) who often told me – money problems are seldom about money.  Oh, really, I’d nudge, not understanding, so what are they about?

Unhealthy relationships, low self-esteem, loneliness, unchannelled passion, general unhappiness … and the list went on. The old adage that money can’t buy happiness was playing out in my client’s office every day.

I have never yearned to be rich, never wanted to sacrifice my time and soul to the corporate mechanisms that would render me somewhat wealthy in exchange for 100-hour work weeks and blind adherence to the company mantra. I know money does not create happiness, nor does it create misery. Yet here I sit, mere days after an intensive enlightening immersive retreat that rewired me from the inside out, never more terrified in my life.

Why? Because I am daring to dream, and the old parts of me are vibrating in absolute outrage, singing a chorus of Where Will the Money Come From? with the fervour of Broadway performers on pub night.

I am moved to create this week, some writing yes, but bigger picture, too. After four years of divorce and sharing the family home with my co-parent and former husband and children living or returning home for visits on school breaks, it is time for greater physical space – to live my life, to create, to breathe. We have a cottage I love, that with imagination and good contractors can be my magical living and studio space. Thinking of it sends waves of tingles through my body. Then the chorus tunes up and my gut clenches in an all-too familiar dance.  I have owned my own cars since I was in my early 20s, but have never owned property. I co-own our family home and the cottage, but have never been solo on a property deed. An interview for a mortgage, the requisite sorting through of tax returns, utility bills, income statements and what I had for breakfast three days ago is dragging my dream down to the cold concrete of what it takes to survive, and dragging up the tethers I have had to safety in money and in the relationship that is no longer a marriage, but is still a cosy place to be where money and shelter are concerned. I lived independently before marriage … a couple of decades later, can I do it again? Hold my own mortgage? Pay all my own bills? Plunge my own toilet? Shovel my own driveway? Who do I think I am?

And I realize in the terror that somewhere, somehow, dreaming itself became dangerous. Safer to be content with what comes your way. Want more, go after more, you might be disappointed, you might fail. Those words have been enough to keep me content, yet small. This past week, getting up close and personal with the signal that I am, Choice Unleashed reared up and dared to be seen. I dared to listen. I breathe and remember that everything is a choice, no choice is a choice. Do I listen to the chorus of bullies telling me who do I think I am, or do I listen to the signal that IS who I am? You bet, I choose me and in choosing me, I choose to dream and in dreaming, I choose to believe that while the money I will need is not at the moment in my pocket, it is somewhere and will become apparent if and when I need it. To eliminate the need is not the answer. To allow the question and trust I don’t know as an answer is  a start. To forget questions and answers and just imagine and feel the next choice, that is what I am doing. That means today I will immerse myself in a year’s worth of paperwork to sort out my budget, my team, my resources and my timeline as a structure in which my idea can incubate. Like pregnancy, give it a warm and nourishing home, and be open to the surprise.

I have never been more terrified. I have never been more excited. Two words, one energy, one awesome life.