If only my job were as glamorous as it sounds.
Freelance writer. It does sound pretty good, huh?
It's funny how people (usually those who actually have to leave home to work, and have to contend daily with bosses, co-workers, customers, etc.) get a faraway look in their eye, or lean in with interest, when I mention that I'm a freelance writer.
"Really?" they say. "Who do you write for?" I rattle off my list of current gigs, which also sound more glamorous than they really are. People are impressed when you say you write for a business journal, it seems. Go figure.
What they're thinking is this: how great it would be to jump off the 9-to-5 treadmill, or in most cases, the 7-6 treadmill (or worse). How great to be your own boss. How great to be able to hang out with your kids, or run to the bank if you need to, or to wear the proverbial pajamas in the "office."
And it's true. That's good stuff.
But, at the same time, I do have bosses, more than one in fact. My kitchen gets lonely sometimes, as I huddle in the corner over my computer all day long, with no one but the dog and cats for comic relief (and they're pretty dull, mostly). The pajama part? Well, as a woman who loves clothes but happens to be on a budget, I no longer have an excuse (read: being seen by other people) to buy new pieces at will. And a paycheck issued at regular intervals doesn't mean nearly as much until you don't have one.
I'm not complaining -- I feel very lucky to do what I do, especially as I get to pick my kids up from school every day now, and no longer does a child's illness (and subsequent staying home from school) cause something akin to an international crisis. And I can take a coffee break whenever I want (having been a teacher, I really appreciate this part).
And, maybe someday, I'll be so fabulously successful that I'll be able to afford an office and an assistant -- now that would be glamorous. And then I'd have an excuse to buy some cute new shoes after all.
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