"I believe more firmly than ever in the enormous power of reinvention."
+ How’s your balance?
Hi and welcome to The Ladybird Purse, my weekly newsletter about women and money. I’m not a financial advisor and am in no way qualified to give financial advice. But I did make some good treacle cookies yesterday.
In the book I’m currently reading, the narrator is trying to heal her relationship with money by repeating the affirmation “I love money. Money loves me.” I’m familiar with this mantra, I’ve used it myself before (it’s not my favourite - I prefer “Every time I laugh, unexpected money shows up in my bank account.”) but this time when I read it, it made me stop. I do love money. But does money love me?
Why would it, when I treat it so badly? Historically, I’ve tried to get rid of it as quickly as possible. I enjoy it, but I don’t respect it. Maybe none of this matters (I think maybe it does), but it made me think about something else I’ve been meaning to write about for a while: the term ‘disposable income.’
It’s one of those terms that I’ve always just thought about in context without considering the actual meaning (like “human resources” ugh, horrible). Disposable meaning to be thrown away? Like rubbish? Like the coins the kids today chuck in hedges? Maybe I’m misunderstanding the meaning…
designed to be used once or only a limited number of times and then thrown away
Money obviously isn’t designed to be used once. Or even a limited number of times. Is it? Is it different for income? I can only spend my income once. Right? So disposable income is income that you can throw away? Not literally, although I did once accidentally bin a birthday card with a cheque in it and it still haunts me.
When I searched my phone to find the above quote, it also pulled up a page I’d saved from Your Money or Your Life:
Are you a spendthrift who thinks the term “disposable income” means you get to spend every last penny in your pocket?
I don’t consider myself a spendthrift, but maybe I’m wrong. I’d better check out the definition of that too.
a person who spends money in an extravagant, irresponsible way.
I don’t think I’m particularly extravagant. I don’t think I’ve ever had enough money to be extravagant. (Would I be, if I did? Probably.) But irresponsible? I don’t think I can argue against that.
Last week, after I posted that my credit card had doubled my limit, meaning I could pay for a couple of things I’d have struggled to pay for otherwise1, a subscriber commented that I shouldn’t do those things. I shouldn’t take my 15yo to the tennis (£50) or go to London for a good friend’s book launch (£165). She said that in her experience, the peace of mind that comes from being solvent is worth more.
I appreciated her caring enough to be concerned about me and to comment. And I totally get the point - it makes sense. But, for me, the experiences I spend money on are always going to be worth more. Say I didn’t buy the tennis tickets, don’t go the book launch. I’d be sitting home, missing out on sharing something my 15yo loves (and you never know, could influence his future career), not celebrating the brilliant achievement of a brilliant friend, for the sake of having an extra £215 in the bank credit on a card. I genuinely can’t accept it as the better option.
I’ve written before about how the people in my family who had the most money were my aunt and uncle on my dad’s side. They both had good jobs, a modest home, no kids. They had plenty of savings, but never went anywhere, never did anything, never lived. At my uncle’s funeral, the vicar said “Phyllis and Fred enjoyed car touring…” (we never knew them to go anywhere beyond Asda and a nearby pub for Sunday lunch) “…and once they went to Jersey.” All that money and they went to Jersey once. (Aunty Phyl said Uncle Fred didn’t like it so they never had another holiday.)
Life is short. I think I’d rather be a spendthrift.
But then I think about the affirmation.
I love money. Money loves me.
Do I need money to love me? Or do I just want it to be there for me when I need it? Not just today or next week, but, hopefully, long into the future. But for now, I’m just going to keep laughing and hoping it turns up.
Trying to catch up on my Substacks (need more balance there too) and this was a perfect read today:
Paid subscriptions enable me to keep writing these newsletters and living my unbalanced irresponsible spendthrift life. If you’re not a paid subscriber already, I’d love it if you’d consider upgrading. (And if you are, thank you, I love you.)
If you would like a paid sub, but can’t swing it right now, email me and I’ll sort it.
If you’d prefer not to subscribe, but would still like to support me/this newsletter, you can buy me a coffee.
An interview with… Lyn Chamberlin
Lyn Chamberlin is an award-winning brand marketing consultant and executive coach recognized for her work in developing award-winning individual and organizational brands.
Her portfolio includes major brand initiatives at Harvard, Radcliffe, MIT, Antioch, The Longy School of Music at Bard College, Trinity College, Vermont College of Fine Arts, Sarah Lawrence, and The University of New Haven.
Before focusing on higher education marketing, Lyn led her own brand consultancy in Boston, working with companies including Blue Cross Blue Shield of Massachusetts, Polaroid, IDG, Navigant Consulting, and Technology Review Magazine, as well as various emerging tech startups and small businesses.
Lyn began her career as a reporter and television producer, earning an Emmy for her series “Women in the Arts.” She played a key role in launching The Monitor Channel, The Christian Science Monitor’s international cable news channel. She is a frequent speaker and workshop leader.
Lyn holds a BA from Columbia University and a MFA from Vermont College of Fine Arts.
What is your relationship with money currently?
Not surprisingly, It’s love/ hate, a constant push/pull. As with any small business, one grows overconfident when times are good, and catastrophizes when they’re not. I’m more philosophical these days, able to sit back and take the long view, reminding myself of my financial ecosystem's finicky, cyclical nature.
I’ve been lucky in my career—I've had great jobs, one after another, working for companies and institutions where I could do the kind of uber brand-building that I love. But it came with a price. When you’re continually uprooting yourself, you’re always starting again. Your life is constantly under construction if that makes any sense. There’s no sense of an incremental build for the future. You’re in a perpetual “start-up” phase.
Tell me about your career and how you found yourself starting over again at 60.
In November 2019. I lost my job as a university Vice President of Marketing just before the pandemic hit. I was approaching the pinnacle of my career. For years, I had skyrocketed through the administrative ranks of higher ed administration—at schools like Harvard, MIT, Sarah Lawrence, and a few others along the way. A career that began as an Emmy award-winning television producer turned higher-ed marketing wunderkind was suddenly, abruptly, and inexplicably over.
At the ripe old age of sixty-something, I was staring into the abyss. Who was I without the title, the prestige, the salary, the staff, the accolades?
The timing couldn’t have been worse. Colleges and universities were shutting down as Covid took over the world, laying off staff and telling students to stay home. Higher education was in turmoil, and so was I. I began beating the virtual pavement and was lucky to be offered comparable positions at two top-tier institutions. In another lifetime, I would have jumped at both. But taking either one of those would have meant even greater upheaval: moving to another state, selling a house on the Connecticut shoreline I had just bought and loved. Being itinerant once again.
I turned them both down. It was easy to tell myself and others that this was purely a pragmatic decision, but the truth was I didn’t want a “big” job again; I was tired of being in an ivory tower straight jacket and the pervasive misogyny of an archaic system. Instead, I faced the daunting prospect of starting my own brand consulting business as many friends and colleagues were looking forward to retirement. Now I would be gearing up to work harder than I ever had before. I was confronted with a truth that felt both liberating and daunting: I had to take a huge leap and pray that the net would appear.
This realization was the beginning of a profound period of transformation.
Losing my starring role in higher ed as the pandemic was closing in was a turning point, marking the end of one long chapter and the beginning of an unexpected journey. It was a tumultuous transition, fraught with significant challenges but also profound growth and learning. Embracing change, cultivating resilience, redefining success, remaining adaptable, and leveraging my hard-won experience taught me more about myself and my potential than I could have imagined.
Yet, it has been an immensely rewarding adventure, offering a sense of fulfillment and purpose I had not found in my previous lives. I believe more firmly than ever in the enormous power of reinvention, in our inherent ability to pick ourselves up when we stumble, adapt, and thrive even in the twilight of our careers.
What’s your earliest money memory?
On my 10th birthday, I drove to the South Norwalk (CT) Savings Bank with my grandmother in her big black DeSoto to open a savings account with the $5 she had given me as a present. I had to get dressed up, in the same way one dressed up back then for traveling on an airplane. It was a big deal.
What advice would you give your younger self about money?
I would tell my younger self to hold onto that little green passbook where I put my birthday money, to see it not as money to spend, but as a promise to my future self. See it, I would say to her, as a lifelong pact to support yourself financially.
What’s the biggest money mistake you’ve made?
Spending for the present, assuming the future would take care of itself.2
What’s the best thing you’ve ever spent money on?
My house here on the Connecticut shoreline. It’s the one solid investment I’ve made. I’m lucky. The housing gods have been good to me. The floor under my feet.
Do you have a retirement fund? If not, do you have a plan?
Yes, thanks to generous benefit packages along the way. I contribute to it regardless of how much money I’m making in any given month.
What would you do with $10,000?
This is the hardest question you’ve asked me so far. My first thoughts went to all the new tech I would buy, the vendors I would hire, and vacations I’d not taken. But the real answer is I’d put it in a high-yield savings account, knowing I’d finally come full circle.
What little luxury could you get with ten dollars?
A $10 scratch ticket.
What would you want to ask women about money if you were me?
What does financial independence mean to you, and how are you going to get there?
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I was always intending to do them, somehow. The credit just made it easier.
NOTE TO SELF
“Why would it, when I treat it so badly? Historically, I’ve tried to get rid of it as quickly as possible. I enjoy it, but I don’t respect it. Maybe it doesn’t matter (I think it does)”
I happen to believe that the way we treat money, the energy we give to it matters too. I’m certainly giving raising the energy vibration I send to it a good hike. From fear, scarcity and lack - to abundance, fully embodied gratitude and joy.
Always coming from a place of enough. More than enough.
I sure as hell feel a lot lighter for it if nothing else. Worrying way less. It serves me and I’m intrigued as to how far I can take it. The journey to get here far from easy. Yet entirely worth it.
Hi Keris,
I kind of knew my comment would get written about.
In my defence, I did suggest I shouldn't comment (before I wrote my thoughts) and you did say you wanted me to.
I think perhaps my comment came across as binary when it wasn't meant to. You don't have to be like your relatives who collected money and didn't experience life... but you also don't have to live from overdraft to cheque to... I don't know, but money doesn't need to be something that is always slipping away. There's a middle ground, isn't there?
Holly