So, I'm a freelancer now. Funny to write that after approximately eighteen years of being an official member of the official workforce, and always working for someone or some organization. I've always been a full-time or part-time employee somewhere; somewhere that determines my working hours, pay rate, start date, career direction, and daily activities. When is it okay to go to lunch? What format would you like the documents in? Can I have a nicer computer? Can I have a raise? These are all questions I used to nervously ask my employer. And invariably, they would answer in a fatherly tone Hmm ... we'll have to think about that.
Not anymore.
Well, that's being a bit dramatic, I suppose. I may have worked for corporations, but none of them were very blood sucking or Matrix-like. But it can't be denied that with freelancing comes a certain breezy, romantic freedom. It's a bit cowboy-esque: look at him - a lone gunslinger, a hired hand, a bounty hunter, on the hunt for creative ideas that solve a problem. He can be air dropped anywhere in continental Europe within twenty four hours (though he prefers the train). He brings his own tools. Just give him a network connection and tell him what you need.
None of this is out of the ordinary - each place I've worked has had its share of contractors, freelancers, and consultants. But it's certainly new for me. Freelancers were always other people. The ones who showed up Monday morning with their rolling suitcase and their (always fancier than whatever the company had given me) computers and sat quietly in a makeshift office while they waited for a brief. We all whispered about them - who they were, why they were here, whether they were making double or triple the money we made. We were annoyed that they just trotted in to "help" us and we looked forward to watching them fail. They were, after all, an implicit declaration from our bosses that we weren't good enough.
And now I am one of them (minus the rolling suitcase). I'm a freelancer. Me.
Yep. That's me at that one lonely, forgotten desk, the one that hasn't been occupied since the layoff. It's empty except for a few leftover pens and pencils, and a dirty phone to which no one knows the extension. Mysteriously, the voicemail light is blinking. If it rings, I won't answer it either.
That's me sheepishly asking the regulars how to connect to the printer. And then asking where the darn thing is.
That's me with the annoyingly specific questions about the project timeline. I'm done on Thursday, you see, and I've got a train to catch.
That's me in the meeting that you didn't get invited to. Sorry. I just go where they tell me.
That's me using whatever software I want on my laptop because it's my laptop and no IT gestapo jerkoff is going to stop me from putting whatever software I want on my laptop. Yeah, sorry, not sure what to tell you about that annoying problem you're having with MS Word ... because I don't use MS Word anymore.
That's me, not coming in to the office on the Friday after Thursday's all-nighter because my booking is over. If you want to torture yourself, go ahead and picture me drinking fresh-squeezed orange juice off the room-service breakfast cart at my hotel. Though we both know that I'm just sleeping.
These are some of the glorious (and exaggerated) benefits of being Founder and CEO of the Oneself corporation. But there are disadvantages too, which I will list out and embellish upon, even though you already know them and the whole thing may sound a bit whiny.
So far I've been to Frankfurt and Hamburg, neither of which are Berlin, where I live. Traveling for work is fun! and exciting! ... for the first twelve seconds of the first trip. After that it's just one frantic jog to the train station or airport after another, with too much luggage in tow, and consequences for being late.
And every move I make costs me money. My money, out of my own pocket. And not only do I have to pay for my own travel, I have to book it too. You know what's more fun than booking travel? Everything, including paper cuts.
And it's easy to look at each bus ticket, train ticket, plane ticket and taxi fare as just a miniscule percentage of my awesomely high freelancing rate. (I'll take a taxi to the taxi stand! I am invincible!) But that shit adds up fast, and that awesomely high freelancing rate is half taxes. So keep your little financial feet on the ground there, fantasy boy.
And it's not just the moving that costs money: the eating does too. And the sleeping, when you think about it. Basically I walk around and hear that cash register KA-CHING! sound all day in my head. Though walking is one of the few things I can do for free. I'm working on solutions to the cash flow problem, and I'll write about them later. Until then, I guess I'll try to take the bus and eat apples from the reception desk.
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