“Following my bliss” or something like that

Friday, March 7, 2008 at 12:14 am (Hack for Hire, Smile Lines)
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Nine years ago, on Friday, March 5, 1999, I walked out of my relatively secure corporate marketing job so that on Monday, March 8, I could walk into my living-room-turned-home-office as a self-employed writer. My Day-Timer shows that I actually logged 4 billable hours that first day; 27 that first week.

In those days, I used to track billable time religiously — a by-product of working for the most anal firm on the planet for four years. As if totalling and recording it every day and week would somehow make it increase. Today, I’m much more lax in my tallying — but I still have the same Day-Timer and still manage my time and my projects the same way I did on Day 1 (although my penmanship has deteriorated drastically).

I always tell people this is the longest I’ve worked anywhere. Four years was my “as long as I can stand it” threshold in four previous jobs (one lasted only 2 years, another 3). And while I would be making more money had I stayed in a “real job,” and I still miss the security of a steady paycheck, and the isolation can be hard to take (coworkers were always the best part of working anywhere), I wouldn’t have traded the past 9 years of freedom for anything.

There is so much more to life than money. Living at a more leisurely pace for one. My days no longer revolve around my job, the alarm clock, the commuting weather, what the heck I’m going to say in this year’s performance review, or how Joe So-and-So is going to re-write what I’ve spent hours writing. Sure, I’m still a slave to my clients (who sometimes rewrite what I do, but a lot less frequently than my bosses did), still have to do projects I don’t like, and still have to get out there and prove myself every day. I always fret about money and when the next check’s going to arrive.

But, just as Ginger could do everything Fred could do, backwards and in high heels, I can do everything an “on-the-job” writer does, in slippers and while also doing the laundry, paying bills, cleaning the house, cuddling the cat, and enjoying a midday walk on a sunny day. That makes up for a lot of financial insecurity.

Still, I worry about the future. Will clients accept a 60-year-old freelancer? A 70-year-old? Is there a “Welcome to Wal-Mart” or “Would you like to Biggee Size that?” in my elderly future? More and more, it seems that way, and the prospects are frightening. (After all, I’ve never worked retail or food service. Talk about old dog, new tricks.) Maybe I should start now — take a part-time job just so I can learn the ropes?

Such are the uncertainties a middle-age free agent contemplates. Maybe not so different from what a middle-age corporate slave contemplates — but with a little less money in the bank, a little more job (and self) satisfaction, and a lot more likelihood I can look back and say it was all worth it.

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.
                                          ~ Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

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Walking on sunshine. How quaint.

Monday, March 3, 2008 at 11:37 pm (Smile Lines)
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What a treat on the third of March to be walking outside in shirtsleeves, shaking off the cobwebs and breathing in cool, unfrigid air — especially when the temperature on the second of March didn’t venture above freezing. I thought the neighborhood would be full of walkers, as it usually is on warmer days, but the roads were mine alone. 

Such high hopes for such a walk on such a day. How exhilarating, how cleansing. How lovely to see the earth, How promising to hear water rushing in the creek as if spring were already here. How satisfying to see the sad remains of melting snowmen in soggy yards. How reassuring that my favorite houses are none the worse for winter wear.

 And oh, how painful. 

I haven’t “power walked” in four months — a fact I am acutely aware of before plodding half a lap. Even my pedometer — usually quite inspiring — failed me, apparently unwilling to be roused from its peaceful winter slumber to measure a few thousand stinkin’ steps.

It’s amazing how slowly watch hands can move. (Only 20 minutes? What about now? Four more minutes — is that all?) And it’s downright pathetic that hills you climbed not so long ago with nary a huff now leave you puffing quite audibly. And that you skip the big hill altogether to do the “flat part,” and end up skipping half of that so you don’t have to walk past crazy neighborhood eccentric guy again, who is loading wood ever so slowly into his dilapidated pick-up and, you swear, eyeing you as you walk quickly by, holding your breath as you think “don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me, don’t talk to me. whew.” And then you catch a glimpse of all those unflattering bulges in your shadow that even late-afternoon lankiness can’t hide.

Of course, there is some satisfaction in having walked for 38 minutes instead of sitting in front of the computer or lounging in front of the TV. Satisfaction that will quickly be replaced by aching muscles. But no worries, I’ll have plenty of time to recover — 65-degree March days are as fleeting as my willpower. When the next warm day surfaces (in April), I can lace up my tennies and start the whole painful getting-back-in-shape process all over again. As this process takes longer every year, I should be hitting my stride in late July — just in time for summer heat to force me inside again.

I really don’t think I need buns of steel. 
I’d be happy with buns of cinnamon. 
                                   ~ Ellen DeGeneres

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Made for Me Marketing

Thursday, February 21, 2008 at 7:48 pm (Smile Lines)
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Every morning it’s the same thing. I survey my collection of hair goop “product” and decide which largely ineffective concoction I’ll go with that day. Nothing lives up to the hype: My roots are not boosted, my hair is neither big nor sexy. It has not been inflated to extreme volume. The “hold” is nowhere near, all-day, super, ultra, or able to withstand rough weather and high humidity (or gentle breezes or the simple force of gravity).

Now, I’m not one of those people who goes for “salon product” that adds $25 to an already $30 haircut. But lately, I’ve been desperate and experimenting with the expensive stuff. I now have $50 worth of useless products to use up, instead of $10 worth, before I can try something else.

How I lament — every darn day — the passing of the 2 or 3 tried-and-true products that actually worked. One, a moderately priced salon find, was taken off the market 4 years ago or so. For a while, I could buy someone’s hoarded stash on eBay, then that too dried up (no pun intended). The second, and most lamented, was $2 hairspray that I’d been using for at least 15 years. Suddenly, it was no more. I went online and found others also searching, wondering, and finally crying that it was no longer being made. So, to eBay I went again, but unwilling to pay $20 a bottle for $2 hairspray, I was defeated — and deflated, from the scalp up.

So that got me thinking — How are these companies making the decision to get rid of products that some people absolutely love? Heck, entire Web sites and message boards are devoted to “discontinued” cosmetics and hard-to-find products, as women desperately search for their favorite shades and scents.

Have a little compassion, companies — and a little marketing savvy. Use this devotion to your advantage!

Why not have a page on your Web site where people can sign up to be “XYZ Junkies” or “Rabid 123 Fans” or charter members of the “Don’t Ever Take Away My Ripe Sienna Plum Club.” (Yes, the lipstick shade I wore for 20 years or so until that too was discontinued.) Publicize the heck out of it in women’s magazines (and on Oprah) and see what kind of response you get.

Then, if you do get the bright idea to discontinue something, tell your fans! Do you think there’s a woman out there who wouldn’t buy a case or a gross of her favorite product if she thought it was going away? (Don’t you people watch Seinfeld? Ever heard of  The Sponge, Sponge-worthy, ring any bells?) And, of course, it’s not just hair & make-up, it’s toothpaste and soap and laundry detergent and cleaning products and underwear and panty hose…and on and on.

As those savvy eBayers know, you could make a fortune selling these discontinued items “online only” at a premium to your devotees. And I guarantee you’d earn the undying loyalty of millions of us out here happy to forgo the “next best thing” if we can simply keep using what works.

I’m tired of all this nonsense about beauty
being only skin-deep. That’s deep enough.
What do you want – an adorable pancreas? 
                             ~ Jean Kerr, The Snake Has All the Lines

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