So starting to freak a bit – the financials are depleting at a rapid pace.  I guess it is time for some sort of financial intervention.

Good thing just the other day I heard an interview with Michelle Singletary about her book The Power to Prosper: 21 Days to Financial Freedom and I am now 10 days into her prescribed financial fast. Her rules: only buy necessities (that means no going out to eat, no stopping for coffee, no clothing, no nothing), use only cash for purchases (that means not even being able to use he debit card), and refrain from any sort of shopping (no browsing catalogs or online window shopping).

Her whole idea is that the fast sort of rewires your brain for spending.  Even if you are super frugal, you are still probably spending more money than you realize.  And that is totally the truth for me, I had thought I was the queen of thrift but now I am not so sure.  These past 10 latte-free days have been more of a challenge that I had thought… drinking water at the bar after a day on the slopes, telling the girls I can’t meet them at the wine bar, and missing one of my fave bands – oh poor me.

But it has been fun too – I hosted a Sunday brunch instead of going out (I just asked someone else to bring the champagne…), watched Nova episodes on Hulu instead of paying for a RedBox, and enjoyed my walks to the store (because after paying for gas with cash you will never want to drive again).

Damn – if I had learned to be this frugal years ago when I was actually making money I would be a kajillionaire by now.

So you all with your high paying jobs and full-time freelancer dreams – try the fast, make some changes, put away even more cash, and quit the job even faster (with way more smarts than me).  Let me know how you do!

Photo Courtesy of the US Government

I woke up this morning in Rubes thrilled to be in my one of my favorite camp spots in all of Utah – Big Bend Recreation Area outside of Moab.  The road to Big Bend follows the Colorado River and winds around so many times it completely messes up any sense of direction I have.  The sun always rises in the opposite direction I expect and I still can’t seem to wrap my mind around it.

I couldn’t believe I slept through the night and until 8:30 (all these life changes have given me a bit of insomnia) – but I always sleep well in Ruby.  I don’t know what it is?  Actually I do.  It is something like going home.

This morning as I sit propped up in the back of Rubes journaling while taking in the bright red buttes surrounding me on all sides, a gang of teens from the campground across the street walks by my camp.  “That’s not how you camp,” one of the kids declared very matter of factly as he passed by my car.  I sit up abruptly and almost say out loud, “What – you can’t be talking about me?”  The thing is I don’t know if they are talking about my setup or the luxury home on wheels next to me.

I got into Moab late last night and found my favorite campground full.  With all this talk of economy-shmaconomy, I was astonished to find my fave camp spot filled with gigantic homes on wheels on a Wednesday in the middle of October.  I went across the street to the “overflow” camping lot which can typically fit about 8-10 cars and tried to squeeze into the little bitty spot left by two trucks.  One truck has the largest camper I had ever seen and the other had a trailer with 3 four-wheelers and a golf cart looking thing.

“We don’t fit no where,” my neighbors for the evening said trying to strike up conversation with me.  They had been looking for a campsite for the better part of the evening and instead of thinking there was something wrong with their load they were complaining about the size of the campsites.  It was at the exact moment that I was “greeted” by the camp host and told that I had to pay 5 bucks to park there for the night – ironically the same amount as the 2 trucks, trailer, and house next to me.

I try so, so hard not too judge, but when you spend the night next to a set-up like that – I can’t help it.  And the funny thing is, I really don’t know who that kid was talking about.  It could really be either one of us.  It all depends on his experience and level of camping comfort.  And as much as I might be judging the guys next door they may very well be sitting in their cozy camper laughing about the hippy chick sleeping in her car next door and making jokes about how I will probably be out hugging cactus on the trail tomorrow.

Ever since I took the plunge and entered the world of full-time freelancing I feel like my fingertips have permanently adhered themselves to my laptop. I am spending literally all day, evening, and night glued to my screen and accomplishing very little if anything. My laptop accompanies me to the coffee shop, the library, the bagel shop, a friend’s house, and even into the back of Ruby.

After 3 consecutive mornings waking and finding my laptop still in bed with me I decided that something must be done to sever my dependency.  I was beginning to fear that I might turn into some sort of reclusive, basement-dwelling, Internet-addicted freak.  And so comes the advent of “No Internet Sundays.”

I woke Sunday and out of habit reached for my laptop before fumbling for my glasses – funny that I need to feel the security of a 13-inch aluminum body before actually having the means to see it.  As I was opening my laptop I suddenly remembered – “No Internet Sunday” and promptly closed it before it even had a chance to wake up.  I went back to sleep.

Seriously what editor is going to reply to you on a Sunday? The urge to check my email was so powerful it made me irritable.

I sat on the porch and did my morning pages actually taking the time to do the tasks as part of The Artist’s Way.  I stopped by the coffee shop, picked up the paper, and stared with envy at all the other drones hypnotized by their computers.  I went for a run, went to the bike shop, read a magazine, took a nap, wrote a letter, and even cooked vegetables.

After dinner, I relapsed. I get no cell service in the room I am renting and justified using gchat to talk to my boyfriend whom I hadn’t spoken with all weekend.  With computer in my lap I fell back into my standard routine of checking e-mails, analytics, twitters – y’all know the routine.  At midnight I pry my hands free and attempt to fall asleep.  I try not to dwell on my recent failure and accept that recovery takes time.  I will give it another try next Sunday.

Sure I understand that not everyone can live out of their car without the reasonable comforts of life (i.e. running water, toilet, electricity). But you can take steps to drastically reduce your living expenses and thus cut back at work and spend more time writing, networking, and pitching.  The following are 5 ways to cut back on living expenses:

(1) Downgrade the Living Space

Whether it is giving up the cable or downsizing to a studio apartment, we could all probably go with a few less luxuries.  If making a career out of writing is really your highest priority, you may need to sacrifice your cushy living situation to get more freedom to write.

(2) Get Roommates

If you have the space, consider a roommie or two or quite possibly a live-in-lover.  It is easy to get accustomed to our space and can be difficult to even consider sharing with others, but remembering the end goal will get you through it. Less rent = less time at work and more time for writing.

I know a few people that rent a 3/4-bedroom house and charge enough for the other rooms that their own rent is very little or non-existent. A little bit scammy and the risk is on you -  if people don’t pay rent or you can’t find any good roommies you are basically screwed. Brilliant plan if you can get it to work.

(3) Seek Alternative Living Arrangements – House sitting, Co-ops, etc.

While transitioning from 9-5er to vagabond blogger bliss, consider alternative living arrangements. Get creative. Find a part-time job that includes housing as part of the compensation. Work for a college dorm, hostel, bed and breakfast, ski resort, or organic farm. Not only will you get free or discount housing, but a wealth of experience and potential material.

(4) Dirtbag It

Personal favorite. Wing it. Couch surf, camp, or trade in your car for a VAN.

(5) Move Back Home

Last resort.  Sounds dreadful but is it really as bad as rotting the next year of your life away in a cubicle?

Any other ideas?  How have you minimized your living expenses to free up time and energy for writing?

Several people have recently asked me what exactly a dirtbag is. DirtbaggerGuide.com uses the term dirtbag to describe the dreamer, adventurer, conventional dissenter, uber cheap, and sometimes well-worn traveler. The new dirtbag has evolved into an ambitious, eco-conscience, cooperative individual from its dirty, unkempt, and contemptable roots.

Basically a dirtbag is an extreme budget traveler who doesn’t mind alternative sleeping arrangements and getting a little dirty.  You know you are a dirtbag if…

1. You get up at 5 am and sneak out of the campsite before the camp host gets up instead of waking at a more reasonable hour and risk having to pay for the site.
2. You buy a box of wine or a 6-pack of tall boys rather than spending money at the bar.
3. You are on an all expense paid trip for work and you cook dinner outside your hotel room so you can pocket the per diem.
4. You know the camping limits and rules of every major BLM recreation area.
5. You consider a natural hot spring a shower.
6. You can wrap anything in a tortilla and call it dinner.  You also have perfect torilla wrapping skills.
7. You have a particular adoration for Wet Wipes.
8. You can sleep peacefully basically anywhere (bivy sack in a rainstorm, a picnic table or the backseat at a rest area).
9. You catch free wireless at the library rather than the coffee shop because you don’t have to buy a cup of coffee.
10. You are constantly scheming up ways to quit your day job and never have to work again.

A journey into the wilderness is the freest, cheapest, most nonprivileged of pleasures.
Anyone with two legs and the price of a pair of army surplus combat boots may enter.
~Edward Abbey