Choosing Your Shit Sandwich: Why I Kept My Day Job

A reflection on Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Big Magic” and redefining what it means to be an artist

I’ve been reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s book Big Magic lately and there is a chapter in it called “The Shit Sandwich.”

In it, Gilbert says that every pursuit comes with its own brand of suffering, and even the things you love will, at times, feel like work. #Facts.

The trick isn’t to find the path with no discomfort. It’s to figure out what kind of discomfort you’re willing to live with, and that’s your shit sandwich.

For artists, the shit sandwich is often made up of financial instability, rejection, and the endless hustle to stay afloat. Gilbert names this plainly, but she also offers something that doesn’t always get said out loud: you’re allowed to choose a different path. One with less risk. One with more security.

You’re still an artist either way.

Why I Chose Security

I’ve always been an artist. But I’ve never been comfortable with the particular strain of suffering that seems to come with being a full-time creative, especially the financial kind.

My parents were both artists. Not fine art artists but creative artists in the fashion space, and I grew up watching them navigate financial instability firsthand. I had a remarkably blessed life but it always felt like we were under the threat of feast or famine. We might spend the summer jet setting in St Tropez as a guest on a million dollar yacht and spend the fall eating a filet-o-fish sandwich once a day at McDonalds because it was all we could afford (thankfully, I loved filet-o-fish sandwiches).

There was tangible stress that came with that creative life: anxiety around bills, the lack of safety nets like health insurance or retirement savings. It wasn’t a reflection of my parents talent or effort. It was just the deal they made to live the life they wanted to live.

When it came time for me to build my own creative life in my 20s, I came in knowing a few things. I knew I needed to make art. And I knew I needed a paycheck that showed up on time and allowed me to pay the rent. The choice to get a day job wasn’t a failure of courage or authenticity. It was a decision rooted in clarity about what I need to feel grounded, safe and sane.

To be clear, this is not a rejection of my parents choice, or any full-time artist’s choice. I deeply admire those who go all-in on the artistic path. It takes immense guts and confidence. But Gilbert’s point holds up across the board: every version of this life comes with trade-offs. The question isn’t “Will there be a cost?” It’s “Which cost can I live with?”

Let’s Retire the Starving Artist Binary

There’s a persistent idea in creative circles that “real” artists suffer. That unless you’re broke, uncertain, and constantly clawing for your next gig, you’re not doing it right. This myth is persistent and honestly, pretty tired.

Being an artist isn’t about how you make your money. It’s about whether you show up consistently, whether that is on the page, the canvas, the camera, the studio, whatever. It’s about the work. Period.

Not to mention that plenty of great artists had day jobs. Vivian Maier was a nanny who quietly documented street life in photographs on the job. Kurt Vonnegut sold cars and wrote ad copy while working up his novels. Philip Glass drove taxis and worked as a plumber after he’d already made a name for himself as a prolific musician.

What a Day Job Can Give You

I’m not here to sell anyone on getting a day job, and I am plenty conscious that day jobs aren’t necessarily easy to come by right now. But there’s definitely something liberating about not relying on your art to pay the rent. I find it easier to:

• Take creative risks.

• Make work that doesn’t need to be “popular” or “marketable.”

• You can say no to things.

• Protect the joy of making from the pressure of monetizing.

That doesn’t make me less of an artist. It just means I’m willing to eat a different shit sandwich, because you better believe that having a full-time day job comes with a whole host of other costs and compromises.

Redefining Success

Regardless of the choices you make, it’s important to remember that artistic success isn’t measured by your tax return. It’s measured in your relationship to your creative work. Are you showing up? Are you making things that matter to you? Are you finding joy and meaning in the process?

My decision to hold onto a steady job while building a creative life is a structure that lets me do both things well (most of the time). It honors my creativity and my sanity. It’s the model I needed, shaped by my own experiences and self-awareness. Had I been born into generational wealth or other privileged circumstances, I’m sure my decision would have been different. But I’m guessing then I wouldn’t be as driven or filled with the impulse that gives me no choice but to create and figure out how make it work come hell or high water.

Choose Your Sandwich

If you’re feeling torn between your art and your livelihood, let me say what might be unpopular: you’re allowed to choose stability. You’re allowed to make art and keep your benefits. There’s no suffering-free path. But you get to decide which discomfort you can live with.

And if you’re navigating any of this tension, I highly recommend picking up a copy of Big Magic. Truthfully, I didn’t expect to like it because I had the bias of Elizabeth Gilbert being the “Eat, Pray, Love” lady and figured it would be a bit fluffy. But it turned out to be one of the best books on creativity I’ve read in years. It’s warm, funny, practical, and clear-eyed. I wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone with a pulse.