Dusty Dreams and Dollar Signs

What would you create if you didn’t have to worry about money?

Me?

Something for Burning Man.

Obviously.

I don’t know exactly what, but it would be wild, raw, and beautiful, and probably involve movement, sound, dust, and tears—maybe even all four.

If money weren’t an obstacle, I’d pour myself into performance. Not just any performance, but something that cracks people open and glues them back together differently.

I do have some ideas already.

A solo piece about sexual assault and recovery—just me, the stage, and whatever truth I can carve out with my body.

And a group performance—maybe about the four seasons, not just in nature but in us. Emotional winters and personal springs.

The kind of piece that shifts the air in the room.

And a massive, no-holds-barred touring work that doesn’t even need a name yet, because I can feel it in my bones even if I don’t have the words yet.

So maybe it’s time to bring back the dance journal.

That was such a good habit in undergrad. I stopped because someone told me I had to.

(Don’t you love how easy it is to abandon yourself when someone else sounds confident?)

I think I’d create more if I let myself listen to the part that still believes art matters, that I matter. That movement matters. And hey—maybe the dream journal too.

I could combine them, because who says dreams and choreography aren’t already dancing with each other anyway?

Of course, this is where my real life sneaks in.

Tea break.

My stomach’s pissed again, and I can’t tell if it’s the protein or just being in my late FORTIES. I’m trying to eat better and treat my body like it’s the sacred instrument I want it to be on stage.

But tea helps.

And if money didn’t matter, I’d probably have someone making me the perfect gut-friendly tea right now, but alas, it’s me, my kettle, and a belly with opinions.

I may need more protein at night. A shake? A third or fourth option I can stick to?

This is also part of creating and caring for the body, which will build it all.

Morning nausea’s been rough lately.

Maybe it’s just stress, or maybe I have so much creativity bottled up with nowhere to go.

Today’s a little looser; there is no coaching session or early meeting.

That opens up space. A sliver of freedom. And honestly, if money weren’t part of the picture, I’d spend every free morning like this—writing, dreaming, planning movement and meals and magic.

Jira access starts soon, so the office work ramps up. But I’m still clinging to this feeling: maybe today is about being free—free to create even if I don’t know what the final product looks like.

Free to imagine a future where creativity isn’t a luxury but a given.

And look—life is good right now.

It just is.

So I’m going to ride that wave. I might not knock out every project, but I’ll lean hard into the ones that spark something—nutrition, strength, movement. It’s not nothing.

It’s everything.

I’m a little nervous about my upcoming Detroit trip. I’ll use it to finalize summer plans with the minions. Once every three weeks, rotating through my tiny one-bedroom San Diego apartment. It’s not glamorous, but if money weren’t a factor, I’d have a bigger place with doors, a garden, and a dance studio in the back.

But even now, we’ll make magic in close quarters.

That’s always been part of the gift.

I thought I’d have so much more money when I moved to California.

And in some ways, I do.

But it flies out almost as fast as it comes in—supporting the kids, rent, life. There’s not a lot leftover, so I think it’s time to reread Overcoming Underearning and maybe restart the financial meetup. When I’m proactive about money, it feels less like a monster and more like a dance partner. Not always graceful, but still collaborative.

I’m meeting with my fitness and nutrition coach later today and am excited to show her the menu plan I made. It’s already six. I can believe it. Getting up was tough—I woke up at one-something and couldn’t fall back asleep.

Maybe next time I try a low-dose option to drift off faster.

But here I am.

Writing.

Dreaming.

Asking myself again: what would I create if money didn’t matter?

It turns out that I’m already creating it.

Just slower.

With fewer resources.

With more improvisation than polish.

But the heart of it—the why—is already here.

And the rest?

The rest will follow.