Mr. Microwave
Growing up, I was a Detroit Pistons fan, which was blasphemy given that I was a Chicagoan during Jordan’s prime. Even when MJ was dropping 50 every night and Pippen was serving triple-doubles left ‘n’ right, I still checked for the Pistons. Why? I wanted to see The Microwave. Vinnie Johnson sorta looked like my dad—muscular, balding, and not real tall. (Even when Vinnie was young he looked old.) He was the consummate super-sub—always came ready to play even when he didn't get to play. He’d come off the bench and give you 20 on 7-for-11 with a couple treys and dimes for good measure. He got hot fast, cooked ‘til they won, kept quiet and cashed his checks. By the time Vinnie hung ‘em up, he’d driven most every defense nuts, made a few million, and earned a couple championship rings.
Watching Vinnie taught me something: If you want to be that hired gun people call when they need it hot and fast, you have to hone your craft. I was never a lazy full-timer, but at some point I got complacent. And once the frustration and typical corporate BS got to me, I started coasting. Had I settled for another full-time gig right away I probably would have spent the next 25 years staying just good enough to collect a pension.
Getting canned woke me up quick. I took everything I’d learned, good and bad, and used it to step my game up. After a while, I got to a point where every single place I freelanced for offered me a full-time job—that’s when I knew I was good. But the coolest thing about freelancing and consulting is even though someone else is signing your paychecks you still work for yourself. You determine how long you want to work at a particular place. You determine your own salary. If you decide you won’t work for less than $10G a week, then you don’t. On the other hand if no one’s offering $10G you have to lower your fee and possibly your standards. You also have to be willing to go wherever the money is, which for me often meant hitting other cities—that’s what took me to NYC. As I said earlier, freelance is a risky proposition—depending on your city, your industry and the economy, you work in spurts, but at least you’re your own boss. And that’s always a good thing.
Funny thing is, some companies respect freelance talent more than they respect their own employees. They know how stupid it is to hire somebody for hundreds or thousands of dollars a day and then not listen to them. But when you’re on staff, it’s like you’re their property. They’ll make you work overtime and weekends knowing it costs them the same amount no matter what. Plus they’ll push you to produce more knowing they can threaten to fire you if you don’t. But as a freelancer, you tell them what you can do and how much it’ll cost them once they agree. It’s as close as you can get to a partnership without starting a business.
And that’s what it means to be a freelancer. If you can get sharp and stay on your game, you’ll always get paid to help a team win. Companies will always pay for talent. And since most companies and industries are too shortsighted and greedy to train and retain talent, they will always pay for polished talent. And if you catch ‘em at the right time, they’ll overpay for it. The downside is that you don’t always know when you’ll work again or even how much you’ll make from month to month. Plus, health insurance is usually up to you. Also, you have to work extra to maintain connections since business changes so much so quickly. But in a weird way, it’s worth all it. You have freedom as a freelancer that you’ll never ever have as a permanent employee.
As long as you work for someone else, there’ll always be someone else to worry about. So I’m just putting my faith in the biggest, strongest someone else I know—God—and just rolling wherever He takes me. Whether this book goes platinum or wood, it’ll be my words, not a watered-down version of what a publisher that’s only giving me 10% wants. I’m not writing for Hollywood or NYT's bestseller list. I’m writing for God and regular people like you. And if that means I end up at UPS or flipping burgers then so be it. But rich or not, no one will ever tell me what to write or how to write again.
I don’t think you can ever find truth if the only path you’re on is the one somebody else is running. That’s what The Hustle is—being suckered into following somebody else’s path. If you don’t like my route, fine. I just want you to know that you have more options than you think. Besides, if you want to eat, I mean truly eat to live; you can’t wait for table scraps to fall off of somebody else’s plate. And when you work for companies, especially big companies, all you’re doing is waiting for them to finish eating and throw you some crumbs.
I’ve worked at companies where I helped clients boost their revenues by millions of dollars while helping my bosses make money hand over fist. But my reward was an annual salary of $20G, $40G, at best $100G. Give a company a few decades of yourself and maybe you’ve got 6 figures in your late 60s to play with. Nope, I can’t go out like that anymore. Again I’m not greedy or looking to get rich. But if I’m baking the pie, I deserve a slice. We all do. So going solo, at least for me, is the best chance I have at achieving that.
Getting canned woke me up quick. I took everything I’d learned, good and bad, and used it to step my game up. After a while, I got to a point where every single place I freelanced for offered me a full-time job—that’s when I knew I was good. But the coolest thing about freelancing and consulting is even though someone else is signing your paychecks you still work for yourself. You determine how long you want to work at a particular place. You determine your own salary. If you decide you won’t work for less than $10G a week, then you don’t. On the other hand if no one’s offering $10G you have to lower your fee and possibly your standards. You also have to be willing to go wherever the money is, which for me often meant hitting other cities—that’s what took me to NYC. As I said earlier, freelance is a risky proposition—depending on your city, your industry and the economy, you work in spurts, but at least you’re your own boss. And that’s always a good thing.
Funny thing is, some companies respect freelance talent more than they respect their own employees. They know how stupid it is to hire somebody for hundreds or thousands of dollars a day and then not listen to them. But when you’re on staff, it’s like you’re their property. They’ll make you work overtime and weekends knowing it costs them the same amount no matter what. Plus they’ll push you to produce more knowing they can threaten to fire you if you don’t. But as a freelancer, you tell them what you can do and how much it’ll cost them once they agree. It’s as close as you can get to a partnership without starting a business.
And that’s what it means to be a freelancer. If you can get sharp and stay on your game, you’ll always get paid to help a team win. Companies will always pay for talent. And since most companies and industries are too shortsighted and greedy to train and retain talent, they will always pay for polished talent. And if you catch ‘em at the right time, they’ll overpay for it. The downside is that you don’t always know when you’ll work again or even how much you’ll make from month to month. Plus, health insurance is usually up to you. Also, you have to work extra to maintain connections since business changes so much so quickly. But in a weird way, it’s worth all it. You have freedom as a freelancer that you’ll never ever have as a permanent employee.
As long as you work for someone else, there’ll always be someone else to worry about. So I’m just putting my faith in the biggest, strongest someone else I know—God—and just rolling wherever He takes me. Whether this book goes platinum or wood, it’ll be my words, not a watered-down version of what a publisher that’s only giving me 10% wants. I’m not writing for Hollywood or NYT's bestseller list. I’m writing for God and regular people like you. And if that means I end up at UPS or flipping burgers then so be it. But rich or not, no one will ever tell me what to write or how to write again.
I don’t think you can ever find truth if the only path you’re on is the one somebody else is running. That’s what The Hustle is—being suckered into following somebody else’s path. If you don’t like my route, fine. I just want you to know that you have more options than you think. Besides, if you want to eat, I mean truly eat to live; you can’t wait for table scraps to fall off of somebody else’s plate. And when you work for companies, especially big companies, all you’re doing is waiting for them to finish eating and throw you some crumbs.
I’ve worked at companies where I helped clients boost their revenues by millions of dollars while helping my bosses make money hand over fist. But my reward was an annual salary of $20G, $40G, at best $100G. Give a company a few decades of yourself and maybe you’ve got 6 figures in your late 60s to play with. Nope, I can’t go out like that anymore. Again I’m not greedy or looking to get rich. But if I’m baking the pie, I deserve a slice. We all do. So going solo, at least for me, is the best chance I have at achieving that.
