Vol. 72 - C.R.E.A.M.

Time is money. But is it worth the price?

A headhunter recently reached out to me via LinkedIn. There was a copywriting position open at a major streaming platform that I might be a good fit for (I wouldn't). The pay grade was an eye-watering $250-350,000/year. Living in a place as relatively inexpensive as Chapel Hill, North Carolina, that's Kingmaker money.

But what would I be required to sell to live like a king? To make that kind of money, I’d need to sell something. Not something I own. Rather, some part of myself. Perhaps my autonomy.

To make that kind of money means I'd suddenly have a boss who I need to clear my vacation time with or to try and sneak out from in order to pick up my kids from school. To make that kind of money means I would no longer be able to do whatever I want, whenever I want (more or less). Which—as I've cultivated a thriving career as a freelance writer over the last six years—is exactly the kind of life I lead right now. 

That kind of money buys your independence. It also buys your time.

And right now, those things are far too valuable a commodity.

Because right now, I can come and go as I please. I can knock off of work every single day at 2pm in order to ride my bike to the other side of town and pick up our son at kindergarten. We can get ice cream or cheeseburgers after school and head to the bike park or the skatepark together. I can say "fuck it" and take two weeks off in the middle of the summer so my family can take a trip to France. If my work is slow, I can join some of my fanatical biking buddies (themselves mostly retired) for sixty-miles in the middle of a workday. If my work is slow, I don’t have to pretend like I’m filling some eight-hour workday. If my work is slow, I can try to find more work, or not. It’s wholly up to me.

Being self-employed means there is often a direct correlation between how hard I work and how much money I earn. Because, in many white-collar instances, you don’t get paid more for working harder. Rather, the more you get paid, the harder, longer, and more you are expected to work. But for me, the equation is simple: the more I work, the more I make.

Conversely, the less I work, the less I make.

Of course, I recognize that I’m afforded these luxuries thanks to a variety of privileges both Emily and I enjoy. I know not everyone has the option to simply work less. But over the years, starting with our decision to leave New York City, Emily and I have worked toward precisely these ends. Still, I recognize the luxury of being in a position to make these kinds of choices for myself and my family.

And right now, because I knock off every day at 2pm in order to ride my bike to the other side of town and pick up our son at kindergarten; because I take two-week vacations and more than my fair share of fuck it days; because I enjoy lazing with my son over ice cream and cheeseburgers in the middle of the workday, I am nowhere near fully realizing my earning potential.

At this point in my life, that's perfectly fine with me. Because someday very soon, my kids are going to have lives beyond our little four-person unit. They're going to have friends and hobbies, activities and duties. And someday very soon, they're going to grow up and leave the home Emily and I have created for them, to make their own way in the world. And in those years, maybe I'll find a job that pays that kind of eye-watering money or maybe I’ll fill my own freelance slate so much that it’ll leave little time for anything else. Because in those years, I won't have two little kids with whom I want to be spending as much time as humanly possible.

Because time, like money, is fleeting. But you can only make more of one of those things.