Identity: What I Do For a Literal Living
I was depressed today and decided to eat myself into a diabetic coma. While awaiting my saccharin fate, the Cold Stone creamery specialist asks me, “So, what do you do?” I could’ve easily rattled off copywriting, content marketing, creative problem solving, or the overly saturated “consulting” buzzword, but I said “Umm, that’s a great question.” Why? I’ll tell you why—and it pisses me off. I still don’t see what I do as a success, because I’m still attaching a dollar figure to it. But people gotta eat and pay rent, right? RIGHT?!
I still have this desire to say the job title that’s perceived as most lucrative depending on who I’m talking with. But at this point, I didn’t care anymore. And that’s when you’re the most honest with yourself. I ended up telling her I was a writer. Thank God she didn’t ask what I wrote about. Here’s what I do: I observe the mundane. I critically think about it. I connect the shit together. I find gold. I write about it. And then I sell you on it.
More and more I’m starting to believe I’m an entrepreneur. The typical work I take on has loose descriptions, flexible hours, is performance-based, and I end up creating scalable structures that can be left behind for someone to take on and succeed if I ever left. Or maybe that just makes me a kick-ass freelancer.
Either way, take that, Insecurity.