The Discipline of Adequacy
On bruised egos, doing the minimum, and why a part-time job can still flatten you.
We freelancers are lucky.
Why?
Because we generally don’t have all our eggs in one basket, it means we often have more options than someone who is a full-time employee. If they lose their job, they usually have about a month to find a new one.
Sure, they could go freelance. But building a freelance business takes time and risk, and it is not for everyone. Not every job can be freelance.
This is the second part of a pair. If you read my last piece, Some reflections on Taking a Real Job, this one will make a whole lot more sense.
Losing a job can be catastrophic. We freelancers are fortunate because we can often sniff change in the wind. We have a clearer view of what’s coming than someone who is toiling in the belly of a much bigger machine.
That doesn’t mean catastrophes don’t happen. They do. But the risky business of freelancing teaches you skills and builds resilience for navigating them.
I was able to take an opportunity and make it sort of work with my steady clients. It meant I could, to some degree, have my cake and eat it too.
In theory.
In reality, it’s tough. I’m going to keep sharing more about this because I don’t think the freelance world is honest enough about itself.
Warning: if you like the kind of altruistic toxically-positive stuff you read on LinkedIn, you won’t like this. But if you’d like an antidote, well…
You need a narrative.
If you’ve been freelancing for a while, getting a real job is a big adjustment. In fact, you sort of need to kid yourself. You need to build a narrative that helps you adjust.
In my case, my narrative was that I was doing it for the good of my family. That it was both noble and temporary. That I’d be back doing what I love within a year. That it’s not that bad. That I could make it work because I needed to make it work.
Having a narrative didn’t suddenly make everything bearable, but it gave me something to lean on, and something to push back against. It made it easier to accept the really galling things and the really boring things.
Often, I think saying “a narrative” has an implication of fiction or falsehood. That’s not what I mean. A narrative is just structuring and codifying a story. A narrative gives you direction and a framework.
The alternative is not having a narrative, which means not having any schema to help you navigate and make sense of the world.
Ironically, I think not creating a narrative makes you more susceptible to believing made-up nonsense: that the world is out to get you, that you have more bad luck than anyone else, that a tinfoil hat is a worthy investment.
Other people’s narratives, in other words.
Building your own helps you navigate the world. It stops you falling for LinkedIn bullshit, and it stops you feeling like a failure.
Egos need to be bruised.
I suspect we freelancers have slightly outsized egos compared to our employee friends. Not because we’re better, but because we’re used to being paid for judgement. Our opinions about words and ideas are, quite literally, the product.
That’s why working for someone else can feel like such a shock. Your opinion matters right up until it becomes inconvenient, and then it doesn’t matter at all. You’re not there to be right. You’re there to be useful.
You’ll almost certainly have to do things that feel terrible. Like using ChatGPT intensively because it’s the only way to produce as much guff as the business “needs”. Or doing things a certain way because it’s the only way they’ve ever been done, even when a better way is obvious and achievable.
And usefulness, in a lot of workplaces, means output. It means producing as much guff as the business “needs”, as quickly as it needs it. Sometimes that means using ChatGPT intensively. Sometimes it means doing things a certain way because it’s the only way they’ve ever been done, even when a better way is obvious and achievable.
Sometimes it means you do a crap job of something. Not because you don’t care, but because the machine doesn’t care. Or because you’re tired.
That’s where the bruising comes in.
Egos need to be bruised. Why? Because we need to feel that our ego exists if we’re going to keep it in check. A little bit of pain never hurt anyone, especially when that pain is just a reminder that you can’t always be at your best.
Respect the discipline of adequacy
You’ll probably have coworkers who seem, if not exactly lazy, then certainly not inclined to “give it their all”.
That’s not how I, nor most freelancers, operate. We work close to full intensity and we care a lot about the result. Compared to the general working populace, we take it so seriously we start to think about work in terms of purpose and calling.
Doing that in a job, especially one you only see as temporary, will burn you out.
There’s a strange kind of discipline in being adequate. Doing your job, and very little more than your job. Showing up and clocking off as per contracted hours. Taking breaks even when it inconveniences someone else. Fulfilling your role as per the job description.
Adequacy isn’t apathy. It’s self-preservation.
Because doing your role should be enough. If it’s not, even the best-case explanation is that the job description wasn’t accurate. That happens surprisingly often and, I suspect, by design.
But ultimately it’s someone else’s business. And it’s worth thinking about whether the business, your leadership team, the organisation as a whole, puts anything extra into you. Perhaps you get unlimited time off, an Eames chair, and an annual pay rise.
I doubt it.
No employer is obligated to go above and beyond, so neither are you. If you find one who really does, go for your life. But if you have any intention of returning to freelancing, you need to look out for yourself.
Being adequate - satisfactory or acceptable in quality or quantity - is all you need to do. Being adequate is how you survive.
Save your best for the things you really love.
Time, but not as we know it
It took me ages to learn that freelance work has a very different relationship with time.
I generally charge day rates with my clients, and most are split into two half days, two four-hour blocks. My ideal mix is three full days in a week, split between different clients.
It will never add up to the standard 40-hour working week. It just can’t. I can’t.
You could read endlessly about why freelancers shouldn’t charge hourly, and the big reason is that we usually produce quality over quantity. We get the luxury of skipping most of the unnecessary stuff. We get to put efficiency and effectiveness above the various other things the complexity of a workplace tends to bring.
That comes at an energy cost.
It also means we get rusty when it comes to managing our energy across the length of an entire working day. I don’t think anyone gets worse 3.30-itus than a freelancer who’s just taken a normal job.
And that doesn’t just apply to a typical 9 to 5. The job I took was 24 hours a week. My theory was that I’d still have two full days of freelance work left in me each week.
I was very wrong.
I had just enough energy for one more full freelance day, which was already booked by a regular client. That took me to 32 hours a week, which is close to what I’d call Freelance Maximum.
Here’s the part that’s hard to explain until you’ve lived it. Freelance time is compressed. A few days of deep freelance work can feel like a full working week, because it’s more concentrated. Most workplaces stretch effort out to fill the container. There’s admin, politics, process, and a strange obligation to be seen as under the pump and suffering for it.
Freelancing is less theatrical: it’s just work.
How many of you can freelance five full days a week? I know I can’t.
But I kept trying. I kept saying yes to things, then squeezing them into evenings, holidays, and lunch breaks.
That, my friends, is absolutely. Not. A. Good. Way. To. Do. It.
So why did I do it?
Because anyone who knows the feast-and-famine ways of freelance existence knows the fear, too. I was terrified that stopping my work would mean I’d never be able to start again.
That feeling isn’t wrong, but it is a little off.
If you want to get back to freelancing, you have to start thinking ahead. Which brings me to the next section.
Don’t let your pipeline dry up
If at all possible, keep yourself open to new work and new clients. This is really hard, and it might not be possible for everyone. But your journey back to freelancing will be a slippery uphill one if you’re not careful.
That doesn’t mean taking on more work and stretching yourself impossibly thin. It means being clear and firm with yourself about what you actually have time for. It means establishing rules and systems that keep you focused.
If you have to turn down work, say it’s because you’re at capacity, then recommend someone else. Make a note to follow up when you can.
Of course, I am a sucker for punishment. If a project is inconvenient but achievable, it’s probably worth doing, especially if there’s long-term potential.
But it’s more important to keep your website and portfolio moving. Keep posting on LinkedIn. Keep running your newsletter if you possibly can. Even if your actual capacity is minuscule, keep your business alive.
You’ll thank you later.
I’ll be back with more ramblings soon - and we’ll be back with another episode of BRAVE NEW WORD next week.
In the meantime, please keep sending your questions and content requests, or post them as comments here.
H