how much should i pay for this?

By Liz Kovarsky

How much should I pay for this?

Now that is a loaded question.

The way we answer it has a lot to do with our upbringing, our epigenetics, and maybe a little to do with what's actually in our bank accounts.

Part of my family immigrated from Eastern Europe in search of better opportunities, only to arrive during the Great Depression. (Pretty backwards, isn't it? To leave impossible conditions only to be met with another impossible set of circumstances. Cough Cough FUCK ICE ahem!…) The other side of my family would soon be escaping the Holocaust.

For generations, the stories I inherited weren't centered on terror as much as resilience. They were stories of making a way out of no way. Making everything from scratch. Raising chickens in the backyard. Prioritizing education as a path toward greater opportunity.

I feel privileged to carry those stories.

And yet, I also recognize that this bootstrap narrative has been repackaged into one of capitalism's favorite myths: that if we just work hard enough, we'll earn safety, stability, and belonging. It's a story that often benefits those at the top while asking the rest of us to work ourselves to the bone.

I am alive because my family survived and persevered. At the same time, I can't help but wonder about the epigenetic impact of those experiences as I notice my own relationship with money: spending, saving, withholding spending, and now, as a business owner, charging for my own work.

Have you ever had a visceral response to spending more money than you expected?

I have.

My stomach drops. My breath gets shallow.

Have you ever felt guilty for spending money? Or guilty for saving it when you know others are struggling to make ends meet?

Money has become entangled with our sense of worth. If I can't afford housing, what does that say about me? Am I not smart enough? Skilled enough? Deserving enough?

Wrong. Are these somatic responses, thoughts, feelings, automatic reactions ours or are they inherited? As with many things, the answer is probably not going to be found in the usual binary way of thinking, in either or terms.

Every person deserves to have their basic needs met simply because they are alive. Beyond that, we also deserve joy, beauty, rest, creativity, and pleasure. Those things sometimes cost money, and they're much harder to access when our basic needs aren't met.

So... back to my original question.

How much should I pay for this?

At ECC, we offer sliding scale pricing for coworking memberships, unlimited class memberships, and many of our individual classes (always yoga, and often arts programming as well).

We also maintain a scholarship fund. The way it works is simple: after teachers are paid for sliding scale yoga and arts classes, I pool the remaining funds into scholarships for people who otherwise couldn't participate. This is an intentional choice.

If you haven't figured it out by now, I'm an over-thinker. (Or, if we're being generous: thoughtful, mindful, or someone with a high tolerance for nuance.) Over time, I've learned practical tools that help me think critically about money, equity, and pricing.

So here's the imperfect framework I use when I was deciding how to create our sliding scale.

• If you live with one or more marginalized identities, I invite you to lean toward the lower end of the scale if that increases your access. This might include people living with disabilities or chronic illness, BIPOC folks, LGBTQIA2S+ people, sex workers, or anyone navigating circumstances that make stable employment difficult.

• If you're steadily employed, can occasionally enjoy discretionary spending (like taking a short vacation), and have some access to financial support if an emergency comes up, the middle or upper tiers are probably a good fit.

• If you're securely employed, have savings, and regularly have discretionary income, I encourage you to choose the highest tier. Doing so helps make our space more accessible for others.

  
  

This system is imperfect.

Capitalism has made such a mess of commerce that we often forget they aren't the same thing.

There is nothing inherently wrong with exchanging money for goods or services. There is nothing wrong with having enough money to live—and hopefully thrive. What is wrong is the way capitalism so often relies on extraction in the name of hoarding: extracting labor, resources, time, and care from people and the planet for the benefit of a few.

My hope is that we can practice something different.

If we're honest about what we need to survive and thrive, if we don't underpay ourselves or hoard resources, and if we continually try to stay in right relationship with one another, the earth, and all living beings, then maybe we can participate in commerce while being as minimally extractive as possible.

That work isn't simple. It requires ongoing reflection, intentionality, and a willingness to keep un-learning and learning.

So- let’s keep learning together! If you’re like me, and want to learn from those that have been doing it longer, check out the resources below. Here are a few of the thinkers and tools that have shaped my understanding of pricing, equity, and capitalism:

• The Divide by Jason Hickel

• Mutual Aid by Dean Spade (you can read it at ECC)

• Emergent Strategy by adrienne maree brown (you can read it at ECC)

• Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer (you can read it at ECC)

• All the courses by Bear Hebert, anticapitalist business coach

• The Sliding Scale Tool, created by Raudhah Rahman 

• Generally learning all the critical social work theories and practices