Transitioning to Self-Employment

Today marked the end of an era. At three o’clock this afternoon – after twenty-one years, eleven jobs and five-and-a-half-years of working the same one — I went from being partially self-employed to fully self-employed.

Now this might not sound like a huge deal to you, but to me? I held onto that last vestige of working-for-the-other-guy the way Dr. Oz holds onto his one o’clock time slot: mercilessly and with a smidgen of desperation. Over the last several months, as my own business grew busier, working at the resort spa morphed from financial necessity to psychological security blanket. I had always worked for someone else! Was I really ready to swim in the choppy waters of free market capitalism while depending on a child-sized flotation device labeled LIPOMI’S BUSINESS ACUMEN?

I knew I’d never know if I never tried. I knew I was suffering from burnout while juggling ten-hour Sunday shifts at the resort spa, appointments with my own clientele, and managing my continuing education business to the best of my ability given the complete lack of residual hours in my day. I was also becoming increasingly aware of the effect that death and grief can have on a person (me). It became almost painful for me to be away from my better half every Sunday, and I didn’t want to get to the point where I resented my massage therapy career choices. I love what I do; it gives me purpose. I hope I never lose that.

For better or for worse, all signs were pointing to “hey Andrea, dump the resort spa job”.  This option was made even more attractive when I received some timely external validation from marketing expert Seth Godin by way of his book THE DIP: I was caught in a cul-de-sac. A dead-end job was taking time, energy and attention away from other promising projects that needed me – all of me – to succeed. I may be slow to process information, but after being bludgeoned repeatedly by obviousness in its most obvious form, I knew what I had to do.

The email was polite and to the point. I gave my manager a little bit more than two-weeks’ notice. I only hesitated for five minutes before hitting “send”.

And here I am! Sitting at a Starbucks just down the street from my former employer with a refreshingly recalibrated focus on what matters most. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so grateful for the opportunities that came my way while I was employed by other guys: steady paychecks, priceless experience, awesome clients, sweet coworkers, lessons, stories, inspiration and adventure…but all chapters must come to an end, and I’m really looking forward to experiencing this new one as it unfolds.

* Are you on Instagram and/or Twitter? Search for #AndreasLastDay to see more photos and videos from, ya know, #AndreasLastDay. *

Facebook Burnout and the Need for Feed

Facebook my dear, I have so many wonderful things to thank you for. You’ve allowed me to get to know and become actual real-life friends with people who live across the continent, across town, and in my backyard. You’ve introduced me to a passionate community of evidence-based massage therapists, sassy bloggers, inspirational creatives, and empathetic virtual friends who are prompt with a kind word of encouragement when I’m feeling venty and clawing at the edges of insanity.

Remember that time you told me about the Depeche Mode tribute band that was playing at Voodoo Lounge? They were sooooo goooood! Or when you clued me in to the free performances of Teller’s ‘Play Dead’ at the Rio? I mean, that guy ate a damn light bulb on stage. A light bulb!

Darling Facebook, you make crowdfunding possible, and oftentimes vastly successful! You are a wandering searcher’s muse and a coupon code addict’s wet dream. Your messaging capabilities make it easy to contact peeps in a jiffy, and Facebook events are the ultimate in convenience (assuming all desired attendees are suckling at your networky teat). I can inflict my instagrams on both you and Twitter simultaneously with minimal effort. Foursquare check-ins, too! (Or Swarm, or whatever they’re calling it today. To my shame, I’m still firmly entrenched in fiscal first quarter 2014.)

Sweet social network of choice, you’ve been great – you really have – but as is the sad case so often in this life, all good things must come to unfriend.

 

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Now before you go all weepy on me, let me explain: it’s not you, it’s me. I’ve got an intensely obsessive personality, and your constant barrage of information overload has led me to develop the unhealthy habit of spending countless hours idly trolling your feed, for, geez, I don’t even know what. Distraction, I suppose.

The free magic shows and Dave Gahan-esque dance moves have gotten lost in a sea of the mundane, speckled with rare buoys of profundity. I sincerely appreciate the thoughts, the emotions – the people – behind these blips, but I’m just no longer cut out to be one of the lovelies manning the radar. Life beckons, and pressing tasks call.

Facebook, if it’s alright with you, I won’t deactivate you at this point in time. I’d like to continue to be tagged in posts and photos if need be, messaged when my input or assistance is required, and invited to join fun events that are of interest to me. I will continue to participate in a few choice Facebook groups, and will continue to maintain my business pages. I hope you won’t take offense when I share this blog post on my wall. I really hope you won’t brand me an ungrateful twat when I confess I just installed News Feed Eradicator on my laptop, and that I’ve unfollowed essentially everyone on my mobile app, save George Takei.

What’s that, you irresistible blue and white dealer of human commodification? Oh no, I’m not trading you in for Snapchat or the next Twitter, if that’s what you’re afraid of. You can rest assured I’m reassessing virtual boundaries across the board: instead of being overcome by the onslaught of curated life snippets y’all hurl at the masses on a moment-by-moment basis, I’ll be out there embracing my own corporeal experiences like a mofo, external validation be damned.

 

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