I am quickly finding out that starting your own business is going to be hard. Like, really hard. I live in a house where chaos reigns supreme, noise is the constant and downtime is nearly unobtainable. But I refuse to let that stop me. I know that in order to be successful, I need to insert the passion I have for this idea into reality. I know that it won’t be an overnight success and I also know that I know NOTHING about what the hell I am doing. So, I am going back to school first. Well, online school, but its still learning, right? Courses come complete with a certificate (woot woot!) and hopefully the knowledge or at least the basics of what I will need to trudge forward with this crazy idea that I could be my own boss.
In the meantime, I do need to generate some income. So, as much as I expect my dream job of writing for TV and movies to fall into my lap (ha ha) I am going to start at the bottom and try some freelance writing. In my never ending search for sustainable income, that’s right ladies and gents, I am going to try and get paid doing the most unreliable thing in the world! FREELANCING! Am I qualified to be a freelance writer? Meh, probably not. But there’s a whole lot of people in this world who do things that they aren’t qualified to do, so why should it stop me?
While all this craziness is going on, we are in the process of selling our home and attempting to relocate to a different state. Why? Well because New Jersey has become a place for the likes of the one percenters and not really a place for me and my family to prosper as a mid-low income family. However, finding a job in the area we picked is proving to be much more difficult that I first thought. Hence, the attempt at freelancing.
I want to make this whole dream happen. I need to make it happen. This picture of my family’s future that is painted in my head is far to amazing to not come to fruition. Trust me, it’s not much. I don’t want a home that Robin Leech would feature (wow! really dated myself with THAT reference). I don’t want a garage full of cars or a marina full of yachts. I don’t even care if our vacations are far and few between. I am striving for a home large enough to house the five of us, and a few pets with room for the kids’ friends to hang. I am hoping for that home to be in a decent neighborhood, where if I forget to lock my car one night, my iPod won’t take a walk (true story, by the way). I’d love for my husband to look forward to the job he attends and not feel like he’s physically spent at age 35. But mostly, I want this business to work so it gives me the freedom to be there when my kids need me, and not have to worry about once again being let go because I put my family first. I don’t think all that is too much to want, right?
I am sitting here now and watching the kids run around and play, and I can’t help but get a little misty-eyed. They are difficult, fresh, mischievous, head-ache inducing buckets of snot and some unknown substance created from syrup and yogurt. They frustrate me, make me cry and lash out at me when they decide they don’t want… whatever it is I am trying to give them. Three kids under the age of three is THE hardest thing I have or will ever do. But, I love it. I love them. Their hugs and kisses are the best cure for just about anything. Their creativity in art and play, amazes me. They have a wonderful curiosity for music and books, and I love being the one that opens them to it on a daily basis.
Now, can you see why I need to make this all happen? I need to do this for them.