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inking back on my transition to full-time freelance work brings a myriad of emotionally confusing scenarios to mind. I sometimes allow my brain to conduct a symphony of uneasy visions of the parts of my life that would be better had I remained under the full-time employ of The Man. There would be the certainty of my regular paycheck, and its amount. There would be a kind hand on the shoulder and a soft word in the ear from my bank. There would be other people to interact with all day. There would be a plethora of insurance benefits toppling those I have now. There would also be the strong possibility that the synapses in my brain would once again begin to misfire due to a micromanaging stereotypical corporate agency, letting my thoughts yield to the primal urge of setting the building on fire and painting a large archaic symbol on my chest using the blood of my coworkers.

All in all, freedom to schedule my work week the way I want it is my favorite part. Also, I don’t have to wear big boy pants to work.

This is one reason I remain a freelancer.

Several years ago, I was hired in my first agency position as a 3D animator. As a sample of my work, I shared an uncomfortably bizarre demo reel laid across obscure techno music, a piece I had put together using old 3D software called Bryce. I wasn’t applying for a job as a 3D animator mind you—I went in basically looking for them to hire me to do whatever they wanted, be it 3D work or holding my hands in a cupped shape for the CEO to discard peanut shells into. A week later I was hired, so I bought some tan slacks and colored socks, and I cut my long hippie hair into a respectable corporate haircut. I spent the next fourteen months there and—much like microwaving my own shoes—I accomplished very little, but learned a lot.

You see, due to the poor management of this company on every level, they had hired a 3D animator (me), but had never done 3D work before—and they didn’t do any active marketing for, well, anything. I wasn’t making much money, so it wasn’t a huge financial drain on them, which meant I was able to haunt the hallways for a little over a year, picking up things such as how the design process works, how to properly conduct process meetings, and that you can roll up an entire pack of Gushers Fruit Snacks into a ball and eat it like one giant Gusher. I was gradually transitioned into the Interactive Team and got really interested in web design. I created that agency’s first intranet, a massive project that they promoted internally by way of posters and even themed coffee mugs. We launched the intranet, used it like crazy, and then they canned me a few weeks later. Checking their portfolio, I see it’s the same now as it was six years ago.

After I was canned (they called it laid off) as a pseudo-web-guy, I spent about a month just sending out resumes and sleeping until about seven at night, slowly slipping into physical depression, living on chocolate-chip waffles and store-brand Fruit Loops. I finally got a phone call from an advertising agency that was looking to hire someone to replace their web intern, and when I got there I was so out of it I totally forgot what I was interviewing for. I only had a couple of websites in my portfolio, but they seemed to do the trick, because a week later they offered me a job. I spent the next four years gradually learning to hate the typical poorly paying advertising agency, its micromanagement, and its disdain for its employees. While my agency time wasn’t fun, I learned a lot about the world of web design, and went from replacing an intern to being the agency’s only web designer. I wasn’t that great, mind you, but I can make a mean pot of Joe, and I acquired a killer French toast recipe—never doubt the power of French toast. I learned about screen dimensions, color theory, the client process, and not to splice photos of my Grandma at the roller disco into a design just because it’s funny. OK, I never really did that, but it’s something I’ve often thought would provide the sweet, sweet icing on top of the “I quit” cake