Am I really going to be doing this for the rest of my life?
onposting.substack.com
June will be my best month of 2021. I don't keep a ledger — I usually only discover how much money I made each year after adding up all the numbers in TurboTax — but I've also been freelancing long enough to know that my most significant financial outliers usually occur in the same month that I'm assigned an exceptionally banal piece of sponsored content. I can't go into specific details here, because I'm not getting fired over an On Posting, but a media company recently cast me as the stenographer for an outrageously dubious startup; one that is promising to solve vast global injustice with a vague strata of Hustle Guy potpourri. I admire the faith it must take to believe a nebulous amalgamation of nouveau tech, sweaty venture capital sophistry, and the sort of greasy TED Talks where everyone seems to be wearing jeans will deliver humanity to utopia — I just don't want to be keeping that faith alive as the skies above radiate a queasy grey-green hue. But that's not the point. The point is that the job carried the richest contract I've seen this year, exceeding my Atlantic stories, my New York Times stories, the Washington Post pieces, whatever. I wrote it on a Friday afternoon while basking in a very distinct flavor of libertine freelance sweetness; the feeling of getting paid a lot of money for absolutely no justifiable reason, whatsoever.
Am I really going to be doing this for the rest of my life?
Am I really going to be doing this for the…
Am I really going to be doing this for the rest of my life?
June will be my best month of 2021. I don't keep a ledger — I usually only discover how much money I made each year after adding up all the numbers in TurboTax — but I've also been freelancing long enough to know that my most significant financial outliers usually occur in the same month that I'm assigned an exceptionally banal piece of sponsored content. I can't go into specific details here, because I'm not getting fired over an On Posting, but a media company recently cast me as the stenographer for an outrageously dubious startup; one that is promising to solve vast global injustice with a vague strata of Hustle Guy potpourri. I admire the faith it must take to believe a nebulous amalgamation of nouveau tech, sweaty venture capital sophistry, and the sort of greasy TED Talks where everyone seems to be wearing jeans will deliver humanity to utopia — I just don't want to be keeping that faith alive as the skies above radiate a queasy grey-green hue. But that's not the point. The point is that the job carried the richest contract I've seen this year, exceeding my Atlantic stories, my New York Times stories, the Washington Post pieces, whatever. I wrote it on a Friday afternoon while basking in a very distinct flavor of libertine freelance sweetness; the feeling of getting paid a lot of money for absolutely no justifiable reason, whatsoever.