maltpress

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about the life of a freelancer. I’ve been doing it now for over 18 months and have had lots of the ups and downs associated with it. It’s hard work, but very rewarding, and has been a real life-changing experience. Blogging about it serves two purposes; it should give people thinking about doing it themselves a better idea about the aspects they might not necessarily think about, and it helps me get my head straight about some of it. I’m still uncertain about the effect freelancing has had on my overall emotional wellbeing; I’m mostly sure it’s been positive, but not always.

Now, don’t get me wrong; while some of the points I’m about to raise may seem negative, the overall experience is incredibly rewarding. For every down there’s one of those moments when a mahoosive cheque drops on the doormat (rare), when you feel like you’ve made a real difference to a project (reasonably common) or when you just feel wonderfully smug that you’ve got an utterly ace job and don’t have to bother with office politics, appraisals, or getting dressed.

I’m trying to remain objective about the following points; to some people these will be bonuses and to others real deal-breakers. More realistically, though, they’re a bit of both.

Babies

My world, at the moment, seems to be populated by young mothers and retired couples. The occasional student - especially if I go in to Cambridge - but mostly those groups. It’s quite a stark reminder just how fecund the UK is, to be honest; before now my life has been largely baby-free, even when I was in work. Now the vast majority of my social contact - or at least my observations of it - are of 30-something women with babies in tow.

It can make me pretty broody at times; I certainly feel (although I know this is incredibly naive) like I could fit a baby in around my work. I’d not be able to afford to feed it, clothe it or whatever else you need to do; but it’s still quite a tempting thought. Having a baby just for some company, though, is probably not the best motivation for bringing a little life into the world, especially because I’d have to wait a good few years before it could hold a conversation with me. I’m also lucky because I don’t have to deal with the poo or the sick, which means I have quite a romanticised view of it.

It has made me appreciate how boring and lonely it must be for many young mothers; at least I have my work. But to go from constant social contact to being stuck, largely alone, with a little life utterly dependent on you must be terrifying. More than this, most of the contact you do get is with people who only share one thing - the fact they’ve recently become parents - with you. Now, I’m sure if I did have a child I’d love to talk about all the new noises it had made, how it left me a dead mouse and how it chases its tail (sorry, but I only have cat ownership as a point of reference), but I wouldn’t want that to be my only conversation. Every day. More than this, at least I can leave my work situation; I can get a job, I can go out and get drunk and forget about it, I can have a day off. But you can’t just pop a baby back in for a few days.

Young mothers: I salute you, but I do wish you’d get pushchairs which fold up a bit smaller.

Coffee

I never used to drink coffee. Now coffee is a three-hour excursion into Ely or Cambridge for me, a chance to do a bit of people watching, a major recreational drug (I’ve discovered the fun effects of too much coffee in too short a period of time) and a drain on my finances. Damn you, bitter little bean. Damn you.

Mocha has become my weapon of choice; like me, it’s sweet, expensive and thick. With quite a bit of time on my hands, I’ve coined the term “mocha lipliner” for the phenomenon of getting sprinkled chocolate all over my chops. I have discovered it’s not as bad when it’s lukewarm as tea is; I’ve discovered I can make one last for up to 2 hours.

Coffee is becoming my life.

Social contact

Human contact - by which I mean having other people around, not necessarily talking to them or squeezing them inappropriately or anything - is surprisingly important, and particularly important to maintaining motivation. I can get more done in three hours in a coffee shop than in a day at home. In part it’s because at home I’m easily distracted by crap on the internet, putting stuff in the washing machine, getting post, sending post, wallowing in a dark pit of self pity and despair, playing with myself and so on. In public, however, many of your normal, home distractions are impossible; some are quite seriously frowned upon; and there’s the matter of projecting an image.

I don’t want to look, in public, like a shallow rich lush who just drinks coffee and never works. I don’t want to look like I’m unemployed (or unemployable). I don’t want to look like I’m playing with myself. So I like to look like I’m working. Although I know it doesn’t, I feel like working makes me look interesting, so I get lots done. “Look at him”, I imagine attractive rich people saying, “he’s obviously a writer, and a very intelligent one at that”.

Of course, what they’re probably saying is “look at that bloody poser with his fancy laptop. Is he wearing brown lipliner?”.

Still, social contact - people watching - makes me feel far more like part of society, less lonely, and more motivated.

The internet

The internet is bad for me. It’s very easy to forget that other people have better things to do than to reply instantly to emails, Facebook messages, text messages and so on. It’s easy to take it for granted that everyone has the computer on all the time and, like me, is desperate for people to talk with. This leads to sometimes quite overwhelming feelings of paranoia when a response doesn’t come within an hour; especially given the problems associated with interpretation of written communication. Did I say something wrong? Have I overdone it with sending them emails? Can they magically see through my computer screen that I was naked when I sent that email? Did I CC that “you’re a very good friend, would you like to keep me company” email rather than BCC it? Did I accidentally send the email before I deleted the half joking “would you like a bonk” line?

Even spam starts to get attractive. What? Someone loves me? Hurrah! I need to be loved! I crave love. Love is the only thing which can save me. Oh, no - somebody doesn’t love me. They think my winkle is too small and would like to sell me something to make it bigger. And are installing horrible things on my computer. And won’t reply to my emails. Did I say something wrong?

This lack of contact can make being single seem like a big problem when - in reality - it isn’t. Last year I wasn’t single and it was lovely. This year I am single and it’s horrid. Why? Is it because I feel unloved, destined to die alone surrounded by cats? No - it’s because when I wasn’t single I had human contact on tap, and now I don’t. I also have other things different this year - less money, a different house, I’ve stopped fencing for a while… also, without wishing to be crass, lack of conversation and other human contact manifest as a desire for more loving contact than you actually need. While more conversation and contact would probably be enough, I often feel that what I really need is a good hug or something. I’m also starting to wonder if there’s an innate human sense that if there aren’t enough people around then you should get busy making more people to be around. This feeling dissipates as soon as I have a good night out or spend time with friends.

Getting out of the house - again - helps with this. With limited internet access I check emails less, I get to see other people around me, I feel more part of a busy, populated world.

Anyway, I’d like to apologise right now to all those people I bombard with emails, texts, Facebook messages, letters, giant cookies with messages in icing, telegrams, balloons and other communications. But why haven’t you replied? Why?

I don’t need to do as much as I feel I need to

Bear with me - the thought processes here get pretty complex.

Now, because my turnover is low - I spend on average over a year a lot of time looking for work and doing speculative work - I charge what feels like a lot of money. I can survive on about five days a month’s work. Seven or eight days a month is pretty good going and means I might have a little left for luxuries like food. Also, when I have a lot on, I can fit 12-14 hours - nearly two days - work into one day.

So I can, when work is around and I’m not spending all my time looking, get by doing the equivalent of a few hours a day, perhaps compressed into a week or so. It doesn’t quite work like that, but it does mean that some days (especially when I’m project managing and waiting for other suppliers to deliver) I don’t actually have to do anything. Of course, other days I don’t have time to think, or I stay up until 3am getting something done. Admin takes up some time, too, and never feels like real work.

Now, I could fill every waking hour with work and looking for work. I could earn a lot more than I do. Maybe I should. But I’m still finding the compromise between this and having the life I want. I’ve worked hard in previous jobs. I’ve worked 70 hour weeks without getting paid overtime or getting flexi-time. I don’t get paid holiday - I’m probably having one weekend away this year and that’s it. So I have no reason to feel bad about spending an afternoon reading a book, writing a rambling blog post or teaching myself how to count cards (I can get up to 20 now if I take my shoes and socks off).

One day I’ll need to grow up and get back to working extra hard, but for the time being as long as I do the work I’m getting paid to do, I do it to the standard my clients expect and to the standard I expect (which is generally much higher than my client’s expectations), and I’m able to pay my rent and live the life I want, I shouldn’t feel guilty.

But I do. I feel guilty now, sitting in Costa Coffee, writing this. I feel guilty when I lay in bed until 9am, even when there’s nothing to do. And even when I work very hard, put in more hours than I quote for, and a cheque lands on the doormat - and I have to give a third of it to the tax man - I feel guilty that I’m earning too much or charging too much.

Thinking about it rationally, though, people are happy to pay me, I save people more money in the long run, and I pay my bills, mostly on time. I have no reason to feel guilt. If I wasn’t working hard enough - if I was taking people for a ride - I’d not get more work and I’d not get paid and it would be my own fault, which is by far the best situation to be in. My choice is simple. Work and get paid or don’t work and don’t get paid. I can make that choice every day, which is more than most people.

Doing things to excess

I’m doing a lot of things to excess at the moment. Because of long periods not getting paid and needing to be frugal, when I am paid I binge; binge drinking, binge reading, binge CD buying, binge paying off debts. I think this is probably the least healthy part of my lifestyle. Given time I’m hoping this will settle; I’ll earn regularly, be able to maintain a steady social life and become better balanced. In the mean time, I think it’s time to go with the flow a bit - but perhaps stop spending so much on coffee…

I need the loo

I could keep going. Freelancing has changed my life utterly in every aspect. Am I happy? Overall, yes - but the ups and downs are far more pronounced. It’s not the easiest life. Unpredictability is what most people fear about freelancing, but in reality it’s the lack of human contact - meaningful contact, certainly - which can be the most difficult part, and has the most impact on other people. I’ve changed - a lot - and my relationships with other people have changed a lot too. To the point that I feel I need to explain myself to them a bit. And I think, with the above rambling monologue, I have.