In high school, I worked in a bagel shop. In college, at a cafe and a grocery store.
Post college, I started working on the 47th floor of an office building in midtown New York, eventually making my way to a boutique office in Soho. Funny how the farther downtown I went the higher up I felt.
Today, I work from home. Which could mean anything, couldn’t it? It might mean I sell accessories or oils. Or I fill out online surveys for cash. Or, if one is feeling generous with their assumptions, that I’m a super successful writer who whips up think pieces from my Eames lounger.
I doubt the latter happens often, what with my hair in a messy bun and a newborn in a sling across my chest. I look like I’m a full-time mom who maybe- maybe– has a small side gig to tide me over till the kids are older. Or simply to help me stay sane.
Truth is, my freelance life sort of started like that: We moved across the country when I was eight months pregnant. Another month and I was a new mom in a new town trying to jump start my remote, part-time, freelance career as a marketing copywriter.
Remote. Part-time. Freelance. Umm, that’s lofty.
And then, in a moment that could have been written by best-selling author Jennifer Weiner, a mom blog saved me: I was asked to be the managing editor of a website I had been contributing to on a volunteer basis.
I could have cried. It was low-stress and highly social (hello, moms writing for other moms). It was a resume hole-filler and a new parent soul-filler.
Then, it started to pour (which is how I imagine any rain feels after a drought).
Freelance gigs started to roll in, slow but steady, through referrals from friends and former colleagues. The most random connections became the most fruitful. I was working — remote, part-time, from home.
That’s how my post-office life began…
I’d love to hear about yours.