The Sandbox
What Losing Everything Taught Me About Wealth
Money is an easy thing to desire and a hard thing to discuss. It’s a theme of The Wanting, and I want to address it in a way that feels authentic to me, within the context of a generation that finds it impossible to catch up to their parents. After the fires last year, it was hard to navigate.
When I had to rebuild on a small budget, my father chose not to offer any help because my mother has wealth. This isn’t speculation; he literally said, “Good thing your mom is rich.” As if that let him totally off the hook. As if there weren’t other ways to support my son and me that have absolutely nothing to do with money.
They divorced when I was 12 and went on to live very different lives. My mom wanted a big life, worked hard alongside my stepfather, and they achieved what will become generational wealth.
I find myself defending against the wealth while enjoying it. Even when my friends would come to my mom’s house, I needed to explain that I didn’t grow up like this. There are guardrails around it. And it’s not mine. I just get to hang out in the sandbox and play.
I feel immense pressure to fit into my mom’s world, while hearing my dad’s voice screaming,
‘Do you really need that?” as she unboxed a beautiful Donna Karen leather wrap jacket. She didn’t, but she loved it, and if she still had it, it would be worth a fortune.
As a single mom/ writer, I feel akin to other working artists, even though I have enough of a safety net to take creative risks. If this last year proved anything, I am always going to have a home to go to, even if I lose mine.
Even now, writing this, I feel the need to explain that I don’t rest on my laurels, that I work hard, and that I live within my means. But why do I feel the need to defend the wealth I so desire to achieve? I want to earn it myself.
I also think this feeling is amplified by my father’s outright disdain for my mother’s desires, and how I sit in the crosshairs of that. It’s a confusing feeling, and I decided to sidestep my parents’ opposing expectations of me to create a space of my own. I’m working to drown out two very different voices with my vision of the future. I desire the ability to live without financial insecurity, to have room for leisure, to ensure my child has what he needs to thrive, and a little beyond that, but I don’t need so much that I’m taking from others.
That brings us back to what happened after the fires, when I landed in NYC with three suitcases and a four-year-old. In the last year and a half, I’ve rebuilt a home, a wardrobe, and a community on a very limited budget.
I was forced to let go of most of my stuff and, in doing so had the opportunity to curate my outer appearance to match my personality. Being forced to purchase everything is like staring at a blank page. For some, a blank page is terrifying. For me, it’s an entire universe of possibility.
First, I focused on my son to ensure all of his needs were met. He’s always growing and has grown into enjoying a distinct ‘look’ for himself, which I find adorable. He has a natural ability to put colors and patterns together that feel like Brooklyn is more than a new neighborhood but perhaps a soul-level match to his inner identity.
I just got a few things for my son’s room, his trundle bed and kids sheets, mostly using a Target gift card and the generosity of friends and Miles’ half-siblings that sent the stuff he needed, like step stools and toddler cutlery. I felt guilt accepting help. But in that moment, I needed help, and it came. I’m emotional just thinking about it. These families I barely know; our connective tissue is our children’s anonymous donor, and they caught me before I hit the ground. My gratitude for that is almost painful to hold.
The way I survived last year was to stay with my son in my mom’s insurance rental - as her guest- and use the fair rent value on my home to survive and rebuild. I didn’t have any guarantee of when that money would come. It was the most financially insecure I’ve felt since I was just out of college.
One of the most humbling moments was filled with the pressure to put on appearances without a permanent home. In his first week of a new preschool in a new city, we were still living in a hotel. I had to scramble to find a nap mat, water bottle, and lunch box, then make my son’s lunch from the little fridge. Doing all of this while making my son feel safe, loved, and normal was very challenging.
Eventually I secured a permanent home, some consulting work, finished my novel, signed with an agent, and went on submission. I was able to focus and achieve while under such a huge mental load colored by loss. I couldn’t have done this without all these small little gifts from a community that’s become my home.
This forced renewal gave me an opportunity to rethink how I present myself to the world. I got a clean slate, a new community; I can debut myself however I please.
As I dove in, I found it wasn’t about spending a lot, but it was about having a point of view and enjoying the hunt. Each purchase reminds me that rebuilding can be an act of authorship. I spent my whole life thinking wealth meant having more. Losing everything taught me it might actually mean knowing exactly what you want.
This Vintage Pierre Le Sommelier Corkscrew made me smile. I found it on Melanie Masarin’s Substack. It sits on open shelves, and it makes every bottle of wine it opens an experience.
One of the ways I rebuilt my taste was by following women whose eyes I trust. One source is Jess Graves’ The Love List newsletter and how she introduces me to new designers. Two she introduced me to are Janessa Leone and Jamie Haller. This Janessa Leone Crossbody, is genius. It also adjusts into a shoulder bag, and it holds everything I need while keeping my hands free for holding my son’s. It was a little pricey for me, so I scoured secondhand markets and purchased via Poshmark.
I love a little flair on my feet. And when I saw the Jamie Haller Walking Shoe in Metallic Blue I gasped. I immediately shared them with my mom. She asked if I wanted them for my 2025 Mother’s Day gift, and I accepted. They don’t make this color anymore, but I linked to the shoe in bare. I added rubber soles and could walk for days in them.
One of the privileges of having young kids is going into people’s homes for playdates. I went into artist Karen Lederer’s home and instantly became obsessed with her eye for color and design. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her wallpaper. She pointed me in the direction of the designer, and I smile every time I walk down the hall. Scandinavian wallpaper.
Living in Brooklyn now, I needed coats. I wanted a versatile transitional jacket for those days that are too cold for just a sweater but not so cold that we need a full coat. So I got this khaki bill jacket from Sezane. It’s not available anymore, but I found one on Poshmark for a lucky person.
Piece by piece, building a life with intention and joy feels like I’m building my wealth.
❤️❤️❤️❤️