It’s been seven months since I left my full-time job and jumped into freelance. If you’ve followed this (sporadic) blog or my social channels (what? You’re not! Get on it! @GodILoveParis and/or @amythomas.nyc ) you’ll know that I’ve been thrilled with my decision. Less stress, more freedom; time to spend with Parker, listen to podcasts, workout again, do many little things that I’d typically put off, liking getting lunch or coffee with friends and acquaintances. It’s been a great experience.
But in recent weeks, it’s been harder. Because there’s less work. And that gives me time. Time to think and doubt and wonder… what the hell I am doing?
I have all these ideas:
I have children’s books ideas.
I have an adolescent girl’s book idea.
I have a couple fiction ideas.
I have tons of ideas for articles, many of which I do actually get around to pitching… but then not getting the assignment.
I have startup/boutique ideas.
So! Many! Ideas! It’s paralyzing. Sometimes I don’t know where to focus.
I have days where I just ask myself, what the f am I doing? How has a week gone by and I have nothing to show for it?
To be fair, I know I have a lot of output to show for it. But also a lot of failed connections – people who don’t respond. Ideas that don’t fly. Hours invested for naught.
I knew freelance would be like this – plenty of lows to go with the high. I know I’ll be insanely busy in the future, pining for these days when I’m getting sidetracked by the contents of my desk drawer or the latest issue of New York Magazine. Until then, I’ll keep typing furiously and sending out paper airplanes and trusting that next high is not its way.