I missed my subway stop the other day and ended up having to get off on 23rd Street (instead of 14th St/Union Square where I was to stay safely underground and transfer to the L and back to my sweet little corner of Brooklyn). But when I popped up onto 23rd, I found myself in front of the photography museum where the Andy Warhol exhibit that I had wanted to go to anyway was being held. So duh I went in. Also because what kind of cult leader would I be if I didn’t abide by the rules of my own cult?
In some of the best museum copy I’ve ever read (shout out Vince Aletti whoever you are), I discovered that Andy Warhol and I had something in common. As Andy once said, “Having a few rolls of film to develop gives me a good reason to get up in the morning.” He also said “I told them that I didn’t believe in art, that I believed in photography.” Well I just got a roll of film back and can confirm both statements to be — at least for me — very true.
If you’re an adult, or whatever, someone (probably on a dating app) has asked you what you do for fun (wow, how original! But also what a terrifying question when you really think about!). But as it turns out, most adulthoods don’t offer a lot of room for fun, so when you’re inevitably faced with this question, you’ll probably panic, take stock of everything you do outside of work hours and realize you don’t have any hobbies and the arthritis you have is from typing dumb emails not from something cool like playing tennis and is drinking Thursday-Sunday considered a hobby (no it isn’t) and what is it all for? So, like, what are you doing with your life?! To be clear, I’m talking to and about myself right now (but maybe I’m talking about you, too? I don’t know).
Wait, I think the point of that paragraph was to say that taking photos is something I do for fun and something that genuinely makes me happy. Let’s add writing blogs into the abyss, too, because I find that I am quite enjoying tickling the ol’ keys again. Keys as in keyboard? Not my best, not my best, but let’s all decide to move on.
Anyway, photographic evidence of what I do when I’m not a cog in the machine that is capitalism and am truly ~vibing~ instead can be found below. Side note: I cried some little tears looking at this roll because I realized someone is living my dream of being bi-coastal and that person is ME. A thought for another blog. I digress.
Yeah so, amazing timing for me to accidentally fumble my way into an Andy Warhol exhibit, remember I love Andy Warhol, remember I, too, love taking photos of people, and for me to get a roll of film back. But timing; timing is a tricky, tricky mistress. And a concept that I think about a lot. I stopped writing for *checks blog* a whole entire year (my bad), so there’s a lot of context I should give and light bulb moments I don’t want to gloss over, but the cliff notes is this: I quit a job that made me high key consider murder/suicide, went freelance, started working less and making more. I had this thing called “free time,” not sure if you’ve heard of it, and I kept looking around asking the imaginary producers of my life if this was all a set up. Then I took on another client and all that was taken from me in a flurry of Google Docs, Sheets, Meets, and, OH MY GOD, THE SLACK NOTIFICATION NOISE. Does anyone know where I can put in a formal complaint about that. noise. in. particular???
The aforementioned year-long blogging hiatus is showing because I have too much to say and don’t know how to say it without rambling the fuck on and on, so long story, trying to be less long: I came to a professional fork in the road and had to decide if I wanted to become an indoor cat once more (go full time with benefits and a steady income stream) or keep being feral I mean freelance.
And as far as full time gigs go, what was being offered to me was the gold standard: freakishly nice people (who were also funny and didn’t make me want to end my life daily? Like what? They exist!), all the trappings of a successful DTC start up like cold brew and kombucha on tap at their Dumbo office, team outings, ping pong blahblahblah. But I kept thinking back to this summer when I couldn’t believe my life was… my life. Freelance is for lack of a more eloquent saying, fucking sick as hell.
In making the decision, I felt what it was like to be every dude who has ever cited “timing” as a reason they couldn’t be with me. Did I love quip? Did I like the idea of having health insurance and a steady paycheck? Was the idea of being their committed wife a good one? Yes, yes, and yes. But the tiiiiiiming. It was off. It’s not “like” I just got out of a ten year relationship with full time employment, it is actually exactly like that, no “like.” If I had been out here as a freelance alleycat for years maybe I would be ready to find my forever home, and if so, it would have been quip without question. The importance of working with normal, nice, fun people can not be overstated!!!!!
But. But but but. I want to stay single and flirt around. To play the corporate field, to work less and make more, to cheat the system, to work from the foreign country and make my own hours, to get out of debt while also buying (used) Prada loafers. To have a life beyond staring at a laptop punching the keys hoping the paid media asset you’re working on has a good cost per click.
So to tie all this rambling up in a bow: it really is all about timing. In love, life, career. And in this specific instance, it’s also heavily underscored with the ground-breaking personal realization that I can have a life where I work a little and have time to go shoot a roll of film and see what comes back a lot.