A few weeks ago, while building The Fool, I was doing what I usually do — testing features, checking the reading flow, pulling real cards with real questions. I try not to fake it, even in testing. So I ask the things that are truly on my mind… or quietly sitting in the back somewhere.
This particular day, I was on sick leave. I felt horrible. Not just physically, but emotionally too. I was confused about my career. Should I keep working the way I do now? Should I change something entirely? How am I even going to make a living?
At the same time, I had just started reading The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron. Every time a crisis hits, somehow the right book finds me. This one came through a story I saw from Yoon Ahn — a woman I admire. She's incredibly creative, makes art, runs a business, and seems to genuinely enjoy her life. Watching her, i thought: she makes art and money. And she's allowed to do that.
Meanwhile, I had this strange idea in my head — that if I want to make money from art, I'm somehow doing something wrong. Like it's a crime. Like it stops being "real" art if I ask to be paid for it. That belief doesn't lead to abundance. It leads to blocks.
But this spring… something shifted. I started to admit to myself — I want money. Not in a greedy way. Just clearly, honestly. I want more than I have. And when that thought first appeared, I felt embarrassed. Like I wasn't supposed to want it.
So I asked The Fool:
Will I become rich this year?
Will this project bring me money?
The questions were a bit basic, honestly. I was very confused. But The Fool didn't just throw cards at me. It threw questions back:
What does money mean to you?
What do you want it for?
At first, I got annoyed. Like… does it matter?! I just want it! :)
But after the third reading, something softened. I stopped. I sat with the question.
What do I really want money for?
For me, it's simple: freedom.
Freedom to create. Freedom to build. Freedom to travel, enjoy life, explore ideas. Freedom to experiment.
Yes, I have a full-time job, and I enjoy it. But if I'm brutally honest, and I had the resources, I'd start my own studio. A studio for what, exactly? I don't even know. Tech, design, science, food, weird art, experiments. I have a long list of unpublished ideas that I never have time for.
And then the question changed:
Would I actually do those ideas if I had the time and money?
I started imagining my perfect days — work, search, experiments, deep dives. And oh my god. It felt so good just thinking about it.
The next day, I woke up and did my morning pages — a practice from The Artist's Way. Writing them really helps me listen to myself without judgement. And that morning I made a simple decision:
I'll live this day as if I already have the money.
As if I already live my dream life.
So I did my pilates. Went outside. Made coffee from my favorite beans. Then I sat at my computer and started working on The Fool — slowly, without rushing or pressuring myself to get perfect results instantly.
And I was happy.
I even started feeling excited about my other project ideas again.
There's also a chapter in The Artist's Way about abundance and money — how many artists subconsciously block wealth because of guilt or fear. (Check it out — I think it's Chapter 6 or 7. The main idea is that allowing yourself to receive is part of the creative process.)
Maria and I made a tarot deck this year — the Siren's Circle. I loved working on it: finding the printer, testing prototypes, thinking through packaging. Masha created the art with so much heart and care. I invested time, money, energy, love. And now… I have these beautiful cards in my hands.
And I need to sell them.
But taking money for art still feels complicated to me. Like it shouldn't cost anything. Like asking for payment somehow takes away its soul. Which is wild, because I don't actually believe that. But my nervous system does, apparently.
Luckily, a few friends came over, saw the cards, and just wanted them. They asked for the price, and wow — it was so hard to say it out loud.
But I want money, right?
Why can't I just say the price and take it? Here goes the mental gymnastics.
Anyway, I'm working on it. I'm unlearning patterns that don't serve me.
One day, I'll make a living from art and not feel guilty for it. I'm starting to believe that.
Sometimes you have to start with a surface-level question like "Will I be rich?" and let it take you somewhere deeper.
You might just find what's actually blocking the flow. I'm not there yet, but I'm getting closer.
If you're also dancing with this question — of value, art, money — I'd love to hear how it shows up for you.
