When opportunity knocks and you're not dressed for company

by Adrienne Crezo

For a while now, writing has been my secondary job. Even if the income was slim (or none, as it sometimes is), I always enjoyed the few hours I squeezed in to scribble down ideas and do a few quick projects.

In fact, when I have looming deadlines or projects that need a quick turn-around, I will sacrifice sleep and focused vision rather than scheduling time from work or my family. Things still need doing, of course, and my "hobby" shouldn't take precedence.

Recently, things have changed. I have more writing jobs more often and no more hours in which to squeeze them, and though I play a somewhat integral role in the company, I find myself with idle time at work that I feel would be better spent off the clock and on task at home.

Several weeks ago, I offered to cut my hours and work part-time, both as a solution to my own scheduling strain and to save my employers some money in a slowing market. Of course, I immediately hyperventilated and considered taking it back. I've had the same job for over seven years. A sudden change in primary occupation and a shift into a murky-looking future set my anxiety level to Full-Blown Freak Out. How would we live? How would we eat and bathe and live? How would we live under a roof with a smaller deposit every payday? How, oh how, could we ever hope to survive?!

As I tend to do, I focused only on the scary part of my new employment situation. I was concerned about our country's economic standing, about credit card late fees and the higher utility bills that come with warmer weather, the potential for medical emergency that is imminent with active, curious children, and the building sense of self-doubt that was hanging out somewhere between my throat and the ulcer I suddenly developed.

I feared the worst, and with the final words of my decision just leaving my tongue ("It's a win-win, I think.") I was sure I had sealed my fate in a penniless H-E-Double Hockey Sticks.

My concerns, while valid, were a bit histrionic. It's true that I would be earning less each week from my job, but I'd still be taking in money from freelance work-with more time comes more opportunity to take on projects that I would normally pass up.

My less spastic (and more financially savvy) husband reminded me, because at some point I had forgotten: We've made less money. Oh, yeah. I forgot that when we were young and newly independent we scraped (happily) by on less each month than we pay out for the car and mortgage these days. In the intervening years, we've grown accustomed to living with more, but we were rarely unhappy when we had less.

We decided we could live happily with my potentially meager income. Freelance life is erratic, with work coming in uncoordinated shifts and big, jumbled up piles of goals and deadlines. That's OK, I told myself. I own a planner.
For a writer, writing is satisfying work, and a life built primarily on satisfaction-regardless of actual wealth-is exponentially richer than a life built on obligation and wishes for things to come someday (later, maybe, I hope...). So, what do I do? How do I live?

I work appreciatively on my assignments, read my favorite authors for inspiration when I get nervous about it all (I'm looking at you, Kerouac), and do my best to take it all in stride. Life is good, even if it's somewhat less lucrative. And the best part? I don't have to wear heels three days a week, and that's a perk money can't buy.

Adrienne Crezo is a busy wife and mother, who now has a part-time job.