An Owl Greets My New life
I'm entertained to read the conclusion to my last dispatch - certainly I have an embarrassing compulsion (an insecurity, if you fancy) to end with a fervor, a building of gravity that does not exist. I think my endings serve their purpose to writer more than reader; a consciousness that the words are about to end fuels rallying cry, a shove at the moment of ejection that launches me back into the real world, with feeling.
But I reckon anyone reading has already noticed, parsed, taken in stride, and all that.
The brunt of it is that I plan not to disappear from the planet any time soon. Sure, switching to freelancing increases the vulnerability of my income on some level, it also buttresses it. My ability to gather both reputation and contacts has improved. My ability to appraise the market and my skills has also improved. The days require more concentration, but pass faster. At the moment, the commute is longer, but painless and even a bit rejuvenating (in the form of spoiled-brat air-conditioned shuttles at sunrise and sunset). I'm also enjoying the endorphins that accompany a job switch, and wonder if I shall feel them with more regularity given that I'll be switching venues on a more regular basis. The risks have shown to be superficial.
Also encouraging is that one week after the switch, I received a call on a Friday afternoon from a client desperate for a weekend freelancer. Having no plans, I wasn't opposed to the idea, and I was impressed that I could make a premium off of it. The result was an intense but very lucrative end-product, and I suspect there will be more work along these lines in the future. Doubling up this way has left me expended at the end of days, with two weeks of uninterrupted work, but not in a way that feels wasted.
Beyond even that, my new occupation has changed my viewport onto San Francisco. I now see the city at its best of times - I wake at 6:30AM (with some diligence) and crash before midnight, waiving on the buffoonery of late night No Beach. I only ride my bike on a very mild 5 minute trip over Russian Hill.
My tug abroad, then, has been tempered of late. I can't help but consider it foolish to depart when I am at an apex of competitive advantage. Surely the best moment to depart would be either A) when I had enough saved to depart for a significant amount of time, an admittedly difficult threshold to measure, B) when my skills are no longer in heavy demand, or C) when the market contracts due to financial crisis. A and B are surely months if not a year away, C is in the hands of chance. Overall, I'd have to say that there's no rational reason why I should be even considering leaving yet, with perhaps the caveat that I might be able to work remotely, if I fashioned it right.
Walking back from the shuttle drop-off to my bike, I sighted the unmistakable silhouette of an owl against the pink sky, perched upon a fire escape at the top of a building. If I were Hopi, I'd be on the lookout for death, but I took it merely as inspiration. For have I not died, and moved to a new city, started a new life? And cannot the next chapter afford a raincheck?
Did you expect I'd end this any other way?
But I reckon anyone reading has already noticed, parsed, taken in stride, and all that.
The brunt of it is that I plan not to disappear from the planet any time soon. Sure, switching to freelancing increases the vulnerability of my income on some level, it also buttresses it. My ability to gather both reputation and contacts has improved. My ability to appraise the market and my skills has also improved. The days require more concentration, but pass faster. At the moment, the commute is longer, but painless and even a bit rejuvenating (in the form of spoiled-brat air-conditioned shuttles at sunrise and sunset). I'm also enjoying the endorphins that accompany a job switch, and wonder if I shall feel them with more regularity given that I'll be switching venues on a more regular basis. The risks have shown to be superficial.
Also encouraging is that one week after the switch, I received a call on a Friday afternoon from a client desperate for a weekend freelancer. Having no plans, I wasn't opposed to the idea, and I was impressed that I could make a premium off of it. The result was an intense but very lucrative end-product, and I suspect there will be more work along these lines in the future. Doubling up this way has left me expended at the end of days, with two weeks of uninterrupted work, but not in a way that feels wasted.
Beyond even that, my new occupation has changed my viewport onto San Francisco. I now see the city at its best of times - I wake at 6:30AM (with some diligence) and crash before midnight, waiving on the buffoonery of late night No Beach. I only ride my bike on a very mild 5 minute trip over Russian Hill.
My tug abroad, then, has been tempered of late. I can't help but consider it foolish to depart when I am at an apex of competitive advantage. Surely the best moment to depart would be either A) when I had enough saved to depart for a significant amount of time, an admittedly difficult threshold to measure, B) when my skills are no longer in heavy demand, or C) when the market contracts due to financial crisis. A and B are surely months if not a year away, C is in the hands of chance. Overall, I'd have to say that there's no rational reason why I should be even considering leaving yet, with perhaps the caveat that I might be able to work remotely, if I fashioned it right.
Walking back from the shuttle drop-off to my bike, I sighted the unmistakable silhouette of an owl against the pink sky, perched upon a fire escape at the top of a building. If I were Hopi, I'd be on the lookout for death, but I took it merely as inspiration. For have I not died, and moved to a new city, started a new life? And cannot the next chapter afford a raincheck?
Did you expect I'd end this any other way?
posted by bhoundstooth | 3:28 PM
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