正文
I had the wide-angle establishing shot of my life and where it could go, but no budget. I had to take stock of my actual assets—a relationship, profession, potential clients—while addressing major design limitations such as my checking account balance and NYC rent.
In designing my life, I had to be both flexible and realistic. In a sense, I was a human start-up: big ideas, no funding. I knew this process would improve incrementally, probably for the rest of my life.
You know what they say about any project: you can have fast, good, or cheap… pick two. I also had to admit that I’d most likely get a just-short-of-perfect result and, like most projects, wish I had more time, money, talent, and no deadlines.
I started by freelancing to gain more experience and contacts. A typical motion graphics gig ran anywhere between a few days and a few weeks, and required being on-site – working from the company’s offices. Freelancing meant being locked into another studio’s location, schedules, budgets and creative process. While I was definitely growing with each freelance gig, I was still really a cog in someone else’s machine. Over time, however, I began building up my own client list with the goal of ultimately evolving into a real design business.
A complete account of my progression from employee to freelancer to successful company hiring my own freelance artists might require its own 2,000 words – but by 2007, I was already well on my way. Building a solid reputation that turned leads into clients, I had reached the turning point between being seen as an individual artist-for-hire and being regarded as my own studio.
Once I was completely in control of my schedule, I broke it down to the most sensible starting point: my ideal day and how I worked best. In this phase, I learned I’m actually a morning person—best before noon, and distracted by 3 p.m. If I started my days early and ate at my desk, I could bank the lunch hour for late afternoon and work out when I’d usually be crashing. By adjusting my routine to my personality (working when I was super-productive and giving myself ample time to recharge) I nearly doubled my daily output. I was working smarter, faster, and increasing not just billable hours, but my personal time as well.
Building out, I then took on the traditional workweek by going one step further and saying goodbye to the calendar. I could work when I needed to work. If I wanted to stay out late on Wednesday night, I could take off Thursday and make it up Sunday. After all, the days of the week are just labels, right?
I won’t kid you. This stuff was scary. I had to train myself to get away, to actively practice this work-life balance thing. And I had to believe it would all work out.
My next major inspiration came from a 2009 TED talk by Stefan Sagmeister. He discussed the imbalance that drives the narrative of our lives: We learn. Then we work. Then we retire. He argued that these stages should be more intertwined and then mentioned a yearlong sabbatical he takes with the entire studio, once every seven years. I was totally on board! Yet, Sagmeister forgot to address how a yearlong sabbatical could even be possible if you were not a superstar designer with endless clients and financial resources. In other words, I had to clearly understand what the “greater” work-life balance meant for ME. If designing my life meant including time to learn, read, take up a sport or travel, what type of schedule would allow for these things?
