Broke in New Orleans
A year of fruitful unemployment
I marked an auspicious anniversary on March 5th: one year of unemployment.
My unemployment wasn’t planned. I was laid off from my corporate copywriting gig along with 36 folks from my department via a five minute Zoom meeting with a manager I’d only interacted with once. The company cut off my connection before I could even find out about my severance package. Which is fine, because the package was terrible and I definitely would have yelled at them.
I firmly, and still, believe that I needed to get fired. I was hating that job so much, I struggled to stay awake most days between the boredom and the growing depression of the corporate slog my once-creative life had become. I’d get up, drink my coffee, fight my way through mind-numbing writing and droning meetings, log off, take a couple of edibles, and just sit until bedtime. I was rotting in real time.
But once unemployed, I started doing the real work—figuring out who I am without a job dictating at least part of my identity. With nothing but time, I did what I wanted.
And what I wanted to do was write. I started a rewrite of my Woody Guthrie book, and dove into last year’s Woody Guthrie Poets writing. The theme was about work and I had a lot to say. Much of my severance package went to getting out of town last spring in an attempt to figure shit out instead of couch rotting. I went to Tulsa and Okemah to reconnect with Guthrie stuff, to Kansas City to reconnect with my kid, to Memphis and New Orleans by way of the Blues Highway to reconnect with my soul. Los Angeles to reconnect with my people.
When I got home at the end of May, I started 6 Days on the Road. I wanted to keep my writing skills sharp and keep creating, so writing about my favorite thing to do seemed like a great idea.
And it was! Is! I enjoy telling these stories so much, and they’re making me a better writer and exposing me to lots of new readers and other writers.
Here’s the catch: Your girl is broke.
It’s not dire. The roof over my head will stay over my head, tornados and leaking attic be damned. I have the title to a car with less than 90,000 miles on it. The kitchen is well-stocked, and the kid’s tuition is paid.
But I’m in the position where I need to write to make money, but I need money to keep writing about travel.
Last month, I’m proud to say, my Substack earnings entered the quadruple digits. YAY!!! And a huge thank you to my Big Spenders who’ve subscribed and given me that income. Every bit helps.
While I was in New Orleans last week, I was really broke.
Like, counting every penny broke.
Again, it wasn’t dire. My lodging was paid in advance, and I’m good at eating cheap anywhere. I’m not a big drinker, so even having cocktails was cheap. In fact, they were free. Someone paid my tab on Monday night (thank you, mystery booze benefactor!), and I had enough free drink tokens to cover Wednesday night. A migraine kept me in on Tuesday.
(Say what you want about the awful things, but they can be money-savers.)
I even cut down on my coffee-drinking while I was there. And I mostly stuck to the Bywater and Marigny, so I barely burned any gas driving around in my hybrid.
But last Sunday through Thursday, I was working with a couple of hundred bucks shared with the rest of my little family. And it was terrifying. Good sense told me to cancel the trip. My stubborn streak wouldn’t let me.
I had one “frivolous” $8 purchase on my trip. When I was in my car or hanging out in my room, I listened to the wonderful WWOZ, New Orleans’ community radio station. It was pledge week, so I probably heard more talking than music, but that was okay. Just listening to the drawling, sweet voices made me happy.
Before I leave New Orleans, I cry. Same with Los Angeles. It’s hard to leave these cities I love. On Thursday, I checked out of my room, got in my car, turned on the radio, and the tears started before I made it from Marigny to the Bywater. But then they played a cover of “Louisiana 1927” by local musician John Boutte, and I had to pull over to full-on ugly sob. If you know Randy Newman’s original of the song, you know why. Listen to Boutte’s updated take, and you might join me in my sobbing. It’s a beautiful tribute to this city with its strength and fragility, loved for what she gives, forgotten when people leave.
Not by all of us. Some of us never really fully leave. I don’t.
So my broke ass pledged $100 to WWOZ, split into monthly $8 increments. Because being moved out of myself and into the history and present of New Orleans is worth that, even though it took my credit card availability down to $11.
And yes, I’m about to hit you up similarly. I appreciate the support of everyone reading so much, Whether you pay or not, the most important part is your eyes on the words and any connection that comes from that. That’s why I never paywall my writing.
Remember magazines? Those beautiful paper mini-books loaded with interesting stories and tips and things you never considered? I’ve always loved magazines, and dreamed of writing for them since I was 10 years old.
And my dream came true! I even write fairly regularly for the creator of my favorite magazine.
I love it and I’m so lucky to live my dream, but here’s the thing: my dream job died.
Once upon a time not long ago, a writer could make a living doing exactly what I’m doing here: learning about things and writing the experience to share the knowledge. Now, I’m paying to do what I love. What was once considered a valuable commodity has been devalued by the technology that makes it possible.
Remember the last time you bought a magazine? How much did it cost? The copy of Christopher Kimball’s bi-monthly (once every two months) Milk Street magazine on my desk costs $6.95 + tax at your Barnes & Noble. The June, 2025 issues of Food & Wine on my desk was $8.99, and it’s loaded with advertisements.
Know what costs less and doesn’t have ads? One month of Six Days on the Road.
I keep the monthly subscription rate at $6, which is less than the recommended rate because I believe in accessibility. However, I also believe in writers being paid for their work.
The subscriber rewards for my Substack are humble. You get a weekly (usually) 15-minute or so video of me yapping about travel stuff that usually doesn’t make it into what I write. And sometimes I throw in a travel-friendly playlist, which I’m doing at the end of this post. Paid subscribers to the Substack who book travel with me get little extras thrown in for free that other clients have to pay for. I’m open to suggestions for other perks if you have any ideas.
So yeah … that’s the gist. The next couple of posts will be about stuff I did on my trip with next to no money. I’m thrilled to keep traveling cheap. Your contributions allow me to get out the door. And it’ll make you feel good about supporting quality writing, helping a friend (or stranger), and growing the next phase of journalism, writing, and truthful media.
This will be the only time I holler for pledges in a full post until next year. Oh, I’ll still include buttons that link to your subscription choices in every post, but consider this your annual pledge drive of sorts. Thank you!
And now, goodies for the paid subscribers!
