I almost didn’t say my number out loud.
That was the weirdest part of the whole call. I had been fine listening to everyone else talk about what they wanted to make, how they wanted to make it, what they were tired of, what they were trying next. I nodded along like a serious person. I typed little notes in the chat. Then it got to me and my throat did that thing where it feels like it closes halfway.
It was supposed to be a simple check-in with a few people I know online. Nothing official. No program. No pitch. Just a small group of us who have been circling the same stuff for a while: wanting more income, wanting work that doesn’t drain every last drop out of us, wanting to believe there is a way to build something online that isn’t embarrassing or fake.
One person said they wanted to replace their part-time job by the end of the year. Another said they just wanted an extra $500 a month so groceries stopped feeling like a weekly math test. Someone else said they were trying to stop treating online work like a fantasy and start treating it like a schedule.
That one landed a little too close.
When it was my turn, I did the usual thing first. I talked around it. I said I wanted to be more consistent. I said I wanted to grow my income. I said I wanted to take content more seriously. All technically true, and also completely slippery.
Then someone said, not in a pushy way, “What does that actually mean for you?”
I hated that question for about three seconds.
I had written the number down earlier on a sticky note and then shoved it under my notebook like it was illegal. It wasn’t even a wild number. It was a number that would make things less tight. It would cover the bills that always seem to arrive in a little gang at the same time. It would mean not checking a balance before an ordinary errand, which is one of those small humiliations people rarely mention unless they’re joking.
So I said it. I said I wanted to build a steady second income from online work.
Nobody gasped. Nobody laughed. Nobody told me to dream bigger, which honestly might have annoyed me more. One person just said, “Okay. From what?”
And there it was again. The part where a goal stops being a sentence and becomes a problem.
We went around after that and got more specific. Digital products, client work, affiliate stuff, coaching, freelance projects, local businesses that need help with basic online presence. Some ideas sounded solid. Some sounded like things we had all heard on YouTube at midnight while eating crackers over the sink.
I admitted that I keep confusing planning with working. I have folders full of ideas. I have notes with titles and outlines and pricing thoughts. I have a spreadsheet that looks very responsible. What I don’t have, enough of, is finished things in front of people.
That was not fun to say.
A woman on the call said she had spent three weeks making a “perfect” offer doc and then realized she had asked exactly zero people if they wanted the thing. A guy said he bought a course on faceless content and then made two videos, hated both, and disappeared for a month. Somebody else said they keep changing niches every time they see someone online making money in a different way.
It was comforting, but not in a cute way. More like when you find out everyone else also has the same messy drawer in their kitchen.
We tried to make small commitments before hanging up. Mine was to send three specific offers to three specific people by Friday. Not “work on my business.” Not “be visible.” Just send the messages.
I wish I could say I immediately felt energized and knocked them out that night. I didn’t. I made dinner, answered two texts, opened the document, rewrote the first message six times, then watched a video about someone organizing their pantry. Very entrepreneurial.
The next morning I sent one message while standing at the kitchen counter. I kept it plain. I said what I could help with, why I thought it might be useful, and that there was no pressure. Then I put my phone face down like it had insulted me.
By Friday I had sent all three. One person didn’t respond. One said not right now, maybe later. One asked how much.
That question made me panic more than the silence.
I stared at it for ten minutes because suddenly the money goal was not abstract anymore. It had a doorway. A small, awkward doorway, but still. I sent the price before I could edit it into something softer.
Nothing has magically changed. I did not wake up with a new income stream and a clean desk. My bank account is still my bank account. I still have the same bad habit of making everything more complicated before I start.
But since that call, the goal has felt less like a private wish I keep polishing and more like a thing I have to keep bumping into. Other people know their numbers now too. We know who is trying to make rent easier, who is trying to leave a job, who is trying to prove to themselves that online work can be real without turning into a different version of misery.
We have another check-in next week. I already know I’m going to want to hide behind vague words again. I also know someone will probably ask, “What does that actually mean?”
Annoying question. Useful question.
