Making Time For Yourself: A Freelancer’s Dream

Making Time For Yourself: A Freelancer’s Dream

We all know the saying- time is money. TIME IS MONEY! Money is time. Money is wealth. Wealth is subjective and objective, depending on the day or the mood I wake up in. When I’m not in my dream-like state (95% of the time I’m Stevie Nicks, 5% of the time Kevin O’Leary) I know it’s all about the Benjamins baby- because survival. But wealth is also the richness in the relationships around you.

It’s said you can quickly evaluate the state of your life by the health of the relationships you value in your life. Right now, I’m at a C- in finances and a B+ in relationships. Passing! Not thriving, but sometimes I have to inhale and exhale to remind myself I do not have 2 bodies and 19 hands. What I’m trying to say is I cannot be everyone’s best friend anymore and still have a business that’s successful and not in the red. Low red. Red arrow pointing all the way down the graph.

I take my weekends seriously. I’m trying to date someone I really like for the first time in years, and I’m trying to be able to afford food, and paying off my credit cards with an unstable yet gratifying way of living. On a Friday night, after the countless meetings in Midtown, to Williamsburg, to Bushwick and back to Midtown before going BACK to Williamsburg, I want to get wine drunk and make out with the guy I like. So, I might miss the party I was supposed to go to. Because that would include washing my hair and looking presentable to go anywhere besides a living room or a dive bar. And I know what you’re thinking: just invite your friends to the dive bar- or don’t go to the dive bar, go to the nice restaurant your friends who are already established want to go to. AND I CAN’T AFFORD IT YET, GUYS. OK? MEET ME AT ROCKN ROLLA OR RED’S BECAUSE I CAN’T AFFORD THE WILLIAM VALE YET. YET!!! So, in the meantime, I will be avoiding my texts and drinking Miller High Life. I will be answering emails on the pool table while Sweet Home Alabama lulls in the background. The 18-dollar glass of wine is ON the dream board, y’all. Yes, I said Y’ALL because I’ve been listening to a lot of dive bar music lately.

And you’re thinking why can’t your gal pals go to the dive bar? Why can’t you guys meet in someone’s living room and dance? Because my girls are beautiful and smart. And they are SINGLE. And they want to be seen and courted by a certain dude. And the dudes they like don’t go to dives. And that’s just the way they are. And I love them for their high standards because they deserve the finance bro of their dreams. They deserve the weekends in The Hamptons. They deserve the good seats at Knick games, they deserve the filet minon and a cappuccino with almond milk for desert. And one day! One day I will be able to meet at Gemma or The Wren across the street and pay for everyone’s drinks.

BUT UNTIL THEN, YOU CAN CATCH ME DRINKING BUD LIGHT WITH A TEQUILA FOR SIX BUCKS SOMEWHERE OFF LORIMER ON THE L. AND IF NOT THERE, I am making out at my boy’s house. For free. And thriving.