Looking back, it should probably surprise not a single person that I knew when I was eight that I might one day attempt to be my own boss. That was the summer where I started my own 'Learn to Read' camp on our front lawn, collecting the small children from our neighbourhood and teaching them to read Amelia Bedelia books over and over for a smidgen of their parents pocket change. I'm pretty sure my childhood marketing brain determined that we needed branded workbooks for our afternoon lessons.
We made sandwiches, and drank jugs of lemonade from concentrate and in essence, I babysat people's children for hours on end for just pennies a day while their babysitters sunned themselves on back porches in bikinis with bottles of hawaiian tropic tanning oil at their sides. It was the eighties, and I was the (nerdy) kid who ran a reading school in my front yard.
Flash forward to today, and don't be surprised when I say that I'm ditching the 9-5 workforce for something a little more unpredictable. Last week I turned down a great-sounding, great-everything job because while it was a fantastic opportunity with lovely people, I just wasn't *excited* about it. Unbelievably, I am about to tell you that what I am excited about is not knowing what my future holds or where my next paycheque is coming from. And in case you were starting to think I might be crazy, I should say that I'm also terrified.
I've always thought that everything worthwhile should be mildly terrifying. Booking ocean-bound sailing trips without a stitch of sailing experience, jumping out of planes, and leaving a regular job and a steady paycheque behind all fall into that category.
Starting tomorrow, with a handful of projects lined up, and my home office ready for action, I become a marketing superhero for hire (no kidding, it's on my business cards). And I have no idea where it goes from here, but good things will happen. They always do.