 As I prepare to take my leave of the daily 9 to 5 of the corporate world in just two short weeks, I’ve been thinking about what working for myself – specifically from my home office – will look like for me.
Obviously, I’m beyond exhilarated to become my own boss for the first time. Since I’ve never done it before, though, I imagine there’ll be a pretty big learning curve. It’s probably going to take me awhile to get my sea legs under me. In addition to doing some mad business development during the past six months, I’ve made it a point to pick the brains of other successful freelancers and home-based solo practitioners, in the hopes that I can learn from mistakes they have already made.
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 To quote one of my favorite movie characters, Clark Griswald: “Hallelujah! Holy shit! Where’s the Tylenol?”
OK, let me ’splain. On Monday of this week, I quit a steady, full-time, salaried job to follow my bliss as a freelance writer, editor and media consultant. It's official, I iz an entrepreneur. Without a safety net. For the first time, well… ever. Goodbye regular paycheck, hello risk and uncertainty. Can you say, “dramatic lifestyle change??” Eeek! Yep, I am definitely feeling equal parts hallelujah and holy shit, with a generous side of acetaminophen required.  I’m sure that just about everyone struggles with self-doubt from time to time. I’ve experienced lots of self-deprecating moments throughout my adult life. I’ve questioned my judgment on everything from my career path to parenting to relationships.
Hell, I’ve beaten myself up over a decision as simple as a coffeemaker purchase. Most of these moments are fleeting, and an internal pep talk gets my self-esteem out of the gutter and back to reality pretty fast. I gotta say, though, making the choice to build a freelance writing and media consulting business and be my own boss has really put my confidence to the test. I have had more “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?” episodes in the past six months than I’ve had in all my prior years on this planet.  At the risk of sounding morose, I’ve been spending a lot of time contemplating mortality – mine and others’ – these past few weeks.
One reason that life and death have been on my mind is because of recent interactions with an aging relative. My last living great aunt just celebrated her 95th birthday, and this milestone seems to have coincided with a rapid decline in her health. She’s in assisted living, can’t walk or use the bathroom on her own, her eyesight and hearing are nearly gone, and most recently she has begun to experience some pretty intense hallucinations, which we’re told is a sign of accelerating dementia.  There was a time in the not-so-distant past that I groused through my daily existence as a glass-half-empty cynic who wore sarcasm as a suit of armor.
If you casually asked me how I was doing, I assumed you really wanted to know and launched into a long list of grievances about how life was kicking me in the pants. I bitched and complained on an endless litany of topics. From bad hair days to the sorry state of world events, I had it all covered. I didn’t notice the grimace on your face, nor did I question why you made a beeline for the door as soon as I paused to take a breath. I was too self-absorbed to concern myself with how spreading my ire might affect other people. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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