Prefer to listen? I recorded a reading of this Substack for your listening pleasure.
Small warning: the word bitch is sprinkled throughout, but I promise it’s in service of the story, not just gratuitous cursing.
A few weeks ago, I was talking with my mom about my finances and how, despite money slowly coming in and rapidly going out over the course of several weeks, I had somehow managed to end up with the same $9 to my name.
Yes, nine dollars.
Not nine hundred. Not nine thousand. Nine CRUSTY bills with George Washington on them.
And I’m not talking about nine dollars that sat untouched in my bank account. Money had certainly come in, bills had been paid, and expenses had popped up—some planned, others entirely unexpected. Yet somehow, through all that financial gymnastics, I found myself right back at $9.
Meanwhile, I had a car payment looming, credit card bills past due, and a mortgage in forbearance with a growing balance that would eventually need to be addressed.
The math was not mathing, and neither was ya boy’s bank account.
You would think that, given these circumstances, I’d be an inconsolable mess. A ball of pure, unfettered anxiety, bouncing around the house and wondering how in the hell I was going to get myself out of this situation.
Maybe you feel a bit of second-hand anxiety reading this?
Sorry about that.
Now, Kasim of a year or two ago? He would’ve been a wreck, no doubt about it.
Mint-condition, 2026-edition Kasim, however, found himself sitting there, conversing with his mom, feeling something that seemed highly inappropriate given the circumstances.
Peace.
The peace I felt obviously wasn’t the kind that comes from having everything figured out or knowing exactly when the next check will arrive. It existed despite every indication that I should’ve been losing my ever-loving mind. I can say, honestly, truthfully, with every cell and fiber of my being, that it didn’t magically appear one morning while I was sipping coffee and staring thoughtfully out a window.
It was earned.
Earned through uncomfortable conversations, disappointments, confronting parts of myself I’d spent years avoiding, and repeatedly showing up for a life that, at times, looked absolutely nothing like the one I was working toward.
Dreams don’t work unless you do.
And in the immortal words of the wise sage B. Spears, “you better work, bitch.”
Consider this week’s Substack a rallying cry for anyone wanting to change their circumstances or take that terrifying leap into the vast unknown. I’ve come to believe that pursuing our dreams requires more than vision boarding, sending emails, creating opportunities, and putting ourselves in the right rooms. There’s another kind of work happening beneath the surface, one that’s considerably less glamorous and rarely makes it into the celebratory Instagram carousel.
It’s the work of becoming someone capable of living the life you’re asking for.
Now, hold my virtual hand, because I’m about to share a rather uncomfortable thought.
The person you are today might not yet be equipped to sustain everything you say you want tomorrow.
Read that again. Go ahead and read that AGAIN.
I know that it sounds harsh, but there’s an A. and B. that are very different. A. wanting something and B. being prepared to hold it are opposite ends of a spectrum.
Which brings me to the turkey. A twist you weren’t quite expecting, but hey, I gotta keep you on your toes. It’s a modern writer’s plight.
Now I don’t want to pretend I’m introducing some groundbreaking philosophy here. Scholars, philosophers, and spiritual teachers have been exploring the relationship between adversity and personal growth for centuries. However, with Thanksgiving approaching, I’ve found a considerably more delicious way to explain it.
You, my dear reader, are a turkey.
A beautiful, plump, unsuspecting holiday turkey.
Before you get offended by me calling you ‘plump,’ please allow me to explain.
You have dreams, ambitions, and a vision for what your life might become. Whatever you’re reaching toward, there’s a good chance it requires you to venture beyond the person you’ve known yourself to be.
queue the seasoning montage
I’m not talking about a polite sprinkle of salt and pepper, either. You’re getting Lawry’s, garlic powder, onion powder, smoked paprika, the whole damn spice cabinet, and somebody’s grandma standing over you insisting you still need a little more. You’re getting rubbed down—aggressively, injected with savory butter, and left to marinate in circumstances you wouldn’t have chosen for yourself in a million years.
Just when you think you’ve endured enough, somebody preheats the oven, and suddenly you’re being blasted at 350 degrees, wondering what exactly you did to deserve this.
And after all that, they have the audacity to carve you up.
I want to be explicit in saying that I do NOT believe that every terrible thing that happens to us is some carefully orchestrated lesson from the universe. Sometimes life is simply unfair, and I don’t believe suffering is a prerequisite for deserving what we desire. However, what I do believe is that we have some agency in deciding what we make of the experiences we encounter.
The challenges we face can reveal capacities we didn’t know we possessed, forcing us to develop patience, discernment, boundaries, and a deeper understanding of what actually matters to us.
Sometimes, after enough seasoning, enough heat, and enough time, you emerge as a juicy, golden-brown, beautifully roasted holiday turkey with crispy skin and flavor so extraordinary that nobody at the Thanksgiving table can deny that plate.
Baby, you’re the turkey. You’re the main course.
That’s precisely how I’ve come to understand those CRUSTY nine bills with George Washington on them. Again, I have to keep you on your toes, apologies for any whiplash I may cause.
I wasn’t pretending my financial obligations didn’t exist or that nine dollars was enough to cover them. I was painfully aware of my circumstances and continuing to do everything within my power to change them.
What had changed was my relationship to uncertainty.
Two years ago, I would’ve questioned every decision that brought me here and allowed the absence of immediate results to convince me I was doing something terribly-terribly wrong. Today, I can recognize the seriousness of my circumstances without allowing them to dictate how I feel about myself or the future I’m building.
I’ve spent the better part of two years rebuilding a relationship with myself, learning to trust my instincts, and untangling my worth from external accomplishments. I’m still learning, and there are certainly days when I would appreciate being removed from the oven and allowed to rest under a nice little piece of aluminum foil.
That being said, I wouldn’t trade that growth for the illusion of having everything under control.
There’s also something to be said for trusting something larger than ourselves. Call it God, the universe, divine timing, or whatever language resonates with you. I’ve come to recognize that my own capacity is finite.
I can work, prepare, advocate for myself, and make the best decisions available to me, but I cannot personally orchestrate every outcome.
My tank runneth only so much.
I have faith in the life I’m building, even when the physical evidence of its arrival is considerably less impressive than I’d prefer. I’ve stopped demanding that every day provide some new confirmation before I allow myself to experience peace. That doesn’t mean I’ve stopped working; it means I can keep working without making my emotional well-being entirely dependent on whether today’s efforts produce tomorrow’s rewards.
And before I get any more metaphysical, I’ll stop right there.
Underneath all this talk of manifestation, self-trust, divine timing, and being aggressively seasoned like somebody’s Thanksgiving turkey, there’s a simple point I want to leave you with.
Dreams don’t work unless you do.
You can envision the life you want, pray about it, journal about it, and create the most picturesque vision board with the most aesthetic images from Pinterest, but at some point, you’ve got to participate in making it happen. You’ve got to be willing to confront the habits and beliefs that might be keeping you from what you’re asking for, and continue showing up even when the results are slow to arrive.
You certainly do not have to enjoy every moment of the process or pretend the oven isn’t hot. Just don’t confuse the discomfort of becoming with evidence that you should stop.
After all, ain’t nobody fighting over a bland, dry ass turkey. So, as mentioned in the ancient scriptures of the House of Spears:
You better work, bitch.