Four years ago today, I went freelance after leaving my job of ten years.
I'd been doing bits and bobs on the side, but knew I could earn more on my tod. So I asked for a big pay rise, just to be cheeky. They said no.
Pretty happy though. I now earn way more than I used to. And even though I do more hours, it doesn't feel like it. I can't remember a day ever dragging.
The best bit's the freedom. Freedom to say no to boring stuff. Freedom to say to myself at 2.30pm on a Tuesday: “Log off mate. Go home. You've earned it.“ And freedom to be myself. Like never before.
When you’re employed, there's a line you can't cross. You've just gotta sit there and laugh at your boss’s shit jokes despite wanting to cheese grate your face.
It can be scary, with no work guaranteed. But that compels you to find it. You try out new stuff, meet new people and leave the old 9-5 you behind.
If somebody had've told me four years ago that I’d now be a bestselling author, drive a Maserati, and own a 5-bedroom house, I would've told them to fuck off.
I mean, none of those things have happened yet but I'd have still sworn in their face.
Oh btw, there's no off switch. I had an idea in the shower last week and had to record a voice note like Alan Partridge.
Aha!
#freelancing