Making It

Instead of running the milling machine, I leaned against the lathe, running my mouth. 

10 years ago or so, I was about to head to college. I was working in my dad’s machine shop doing straightforward jobs. 

It’s a conversation stuck in my brain because it was the start of something. I spoke into existence what I wanted to do, the height I wanted to reach. 

“I think I’ll switch my major to business. Maybe marketing. And I think one day, I want to run my own business like you,” I told my dad. 

I don’t remember exactly what he said, but I do know it was something to the effect of how owning a business had been good to him. It hadn’t been easy, but he wouldn’t have done it any other way. 

I was a few months away from college. I planned to enroll as a history major and did just that, but I was already thinking about making a change. 

And somewhere in between, my dad mentioned a few times that marketing departments are often the first to get cut during layoffs. He’s not wrong about that. And I would experience a layoff, just not while working in a marketing department. 

Actually, I never worked in a marketing department. And I haven’t been a full-time writer for an agency or a publication. I didn’t get an English degree or study journalism. 

But here I am, a decade after that conversation over a machine, running a freelance writing business. 

I live out what I said I wanted to do every day. But it wasn’t a direct line to get here. When I think back on it, it’s really amazing. And I wouldn’t change any of it. 

I got a real taste of the writing bug in high school. Encouraged by an incredible journalism advisor, I learned how to put words on paper that told a story. I don’t remember many pieces I wrote, but I remember one about my addiction to fly fishing. 

And I don’t remember my advisor’s exact words, but I know she liked it. Liked it enough to submit it for an award (I didn’t win). It gave me some confidence in knowing I can throw some words together. 

High school was the first taste, but college was when I got cold, hard cash for writing stories. I was freelance writing for my school’s publication, but if you told me that’s what I was doing, I wouldn’t have understood what you were talking about. 

I was playing a role in a content strategy and didn’t know what that even meant. And wouldn’t for another seven or eight years. 

I wrote two articles and the work (or the budget) dried up. So for the next few years, I didn’t pick up a pen or sit down at the keyboard to write unless it was for an assignment or an email. 

I decided I wanted to be on the fast track to management. Land a great job out of college. Get ahead of everyone else. And make it. 

And I did that. I landed a job out of college I had no business getting. It was way above my experience level, but a company believed in me and took a chance. I’ll always be grateful for it. I got a decade’s worth of experience in two years. But what I told myself all those years ago was still in my mind. 

So, when it felt like it was time to make a move, I did. I strolled into a sales job with the stated goal (in my own mind) of making enough money to fund my own company. Work, sell as much as I could, and save that cash to strike out my own. Seemed simple enough. 

Six months after starting, I was out of a job. 

Canned around 2:30 on the Monday after Thanksgiving. For the price of my signature, I received 30 days severance. The plan looked dead in the water. But something had happened during those six months. I sat back down at the keyboard and started writing. I even got paid to do it. 

Writing wasn’t paying the bills, so I hustled and got a few interviews, but nothing would stick. Then, on a whim, I chased down a lead and started working as a contractor for political advocacy organization. It didn’t pay much. And I was once again in a job I had no idea how to do. 

But I did do it. And with the contract winding down and the odds of full-time employment looking slim, I was back on the job market. 

I interviewed. And interviewed. I received rejections. I never heard back. I applied for jobs I didn’t even remotely want because I needed cash and needed it fast. There was something I needed to buy.

In the meantime, I sold ads. I hustled for other political organizations. And I kept writing.

I finally landed that full-time gig. It went well, but then the whole world shut down and so did a good chunk of my income. I had bought what I needed and we had set a date. Now, I had to find some more money to keep the house and the lights on. 

So, I started reaching out. I emailed. I Slacked. I told anyone who I knew that I was in business. I could write whatever they needed. And I did write just about anything that came my way. 

Over time, I got a little better. A lot of good people helped me along the way. I learned. I landed new clients. I moved on from a few. Some moved on from me. 

But, about a year ago, the bank account looked pretty good and so did the prospect of being a full-time freelancer. I put in my notice and took the next step. 

I paid the state $125 to set the whole thing up with some legal protection and those three magic letters, “LLC.” 

It took about 10 years, down a path that sometimes didn’t seem like it was headed much of anywhere. But now I realize it was going towards that peak I talked about long ago with my dad.  

If I could go back to that moment in a small machine shop in a small town and do anything different, I wouldn’t. There’s not a single thing I would change.