there is the secret to freelance life.
The hours we have chosen are simply insane. I know you all know what I’m talking about. Because we can go two weeks without a gig, it’s hard, we sometimes feel impossible, to turn a gig down. Because life comes n peaks and vallies, this means we go from those 2 weeks of unemplyment to not seeing out families in a flash and if not kept an eye on, too dang much.
My first year on my own, I had the world to set on fire. To properly torch it, it required about 80 hours a week of my time. Man, it was prosperous. I paid off an edit suite in a year while overcoming a non-compete lawsuite and juggling an outragous rent. Because I built things so that these hours were truley required, I did it without a thought and within a year or two, even with no fires to put out at work, I was finding it hard not to go in on the weekend. With a concious effort to reduce my hours and a struggle to do it, I had indeed become what they call a workaholic.
I found placing other requirements on myself to be the answer. It started out by us creating family night that I simply would not miss for any reason. For the first time ever I was telling clients “sorry, gotta go.” at least once a week. That turned into my getting a life. I became a soccer coach, a cub scout leader, a teacher and ironicly, felt free enough to create more labors of love than I ever have. I cut my income into about a quarter of what is was. I cut my hours in half. I cut the strass into a wee small fraction and that and time with my peeps is what I purchased for that income hit.
money very well spent. I don’t live to work. I don’t even work much to live now.
I’m a bare-footed, middle-aged fella with a sideways grin. I make my own schedule and therefor, forfit the right to ever gripe about it. Aint much to gripe about. Think I’m gonna go biking today.
