BYOB

I’ve always wanted to work for myself. From my youngest days I was an entrepreneur. I remember one day, I was four or five, my best friend and I found a pile of coupons at the park and we went around our neighborhood and sold them to our neighbors. I found out later that they were expired and the neighbors bought them from us because we were cute little boys.

(Insert your name here)
 

 

My dad is a musician. I didn’t see him get up and put on a suit and go to an office. I saw him get up and play his guitar in jeans and a t shirt. Every few months, he’d leave on tour for a few weeks and come home. Every summer we’d travel with him. Since I have a summer birthday, I was rarely home for my birthday.

 

As I got older, he took odd jobs. Waiting tables primarily. He also got his real estate license. He worked hard but not like a typical dad with a nine to five job.

 

I got my first job at McDonalds when I was fourteen. I enjoyed having a little money in my pocket, but I hated the manual labor. I hated being on my feet, I hated customer complaints, I hated smelling like French fries and grease. I then got a job in sales before working in a bank cash vault for nearly seven years.

 

But I always wanted to work for myself. I wanted to set my own hours, I wanted to pick and choose my clients, I wanted to get paid for my work. I didn’t want to have to split that with a boss whom, in my eyes, did nothing except cash in on my labors.

 

I struggled for years. I got divorced in 2006 and had no job and no prospects. By this time, my dad had largely given up touring and was working full time as a guitar teacher. I decided I could and would do this. This was my first attempt at supporting myself solely through a self-employment income. For years I was moderately successful, but the work was never consistent. I’d make $4000 one month and then lose some clients and make $1000 the next. I got burned out. The economy tanked and I got desperate. I went back to school and this is where I discovered that writing, not music, was my passion.

I’d always written, for as long as I could remember. Stories, poems, songs, etc. My dad always said he envisioned me as an English professor. I figured I’d start smoking a pipe and wear sports coats with leather patches. I’d grow out my beard and pray for it to turn into salt and pepper.

 

Now, I’m working towards my PhD and recently started a writing and editing business with my wife. I have a few steady clients and pick up enough one off projects to at least have a steady income. I also have a book coming out next month (February) and have had numerous articles, stories and poems published in magazines and on my personal blog.

 

Working for yourself is a struggle. If the economy tanks, you have no recourse. It’s on you. Unhappy customers come to you. You have to keep financial records (I scramble every year at tax season) and you have to be disciplined enough to set money aside for tax payments and for rainy days.

 

The struggles are hard, but the accomplishments are even sweeter. When you see your business slowly growing, when you see the pay checks getting a little bigger, when you have repeat and referral clients and great reviews on Yelp and LinkedIn, it makes it all worth it.

 

Being your own boss is better than having a boss. I’ll take that any day of the week, even if it means working harder and struggling to get by sometimes. The payoff is with it.