The night is dark.
Your lights flicker — and then go out.
Your heart is pounding. Your palms are sweating. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
Suddenly, you hear a soul-piercing sound echoing through your empty house, seemingly coming from everywhere at once, causing a chill to race up and down your spine and your skin to break out in a fevered sweat.
Is it the howl of a monster?
No, it’s worse.
It’s your client.
Contrary to our sincere hopes for ourselves and others, we humans are not rational creatures.
At times, this can be an infuriating reality to encounter.
We’re surrounded by evidence that people don’t act rationally: You were the best person for the job, but they hired the dropkick loser who interviewed after you. You loved them to bits, and you’re awesome, but they dumped you anyway. You know you’ll lose your job if you call in sick yet again, but you do it anyway. You had one paper left to finish your degree, but you just kind of forgot about it. Etcetera, etcetera, et-traumatic-cetera. Our real lives are messy, irrational places.
I don’t know where I got the idea that everybody (including me) is meant to act in a rational manner (although admittedly, it would be convenient, albeit boring). Nevertheless, the expectation seems to be there.
Every year, meteorologists have the unenviable—but necessary—job of communicating information to viewers and readers about major weather events like hurricanes and snowstorms. They walk a fine line between taking technical information and putting it in a form people can understand, and doing so in a way that gets people to act in a particular fashion (e.g. evacuating coastal areas).
And they constantly run the risk of “getting it wrong,” even when they have all the correct information and communicate it over and over again.
We see the same thing when talking about whether different types of food are good for you or not. A few years ago, eggs were pretty much a forbidden food; now they’re not only okay to eat, but a critical part of a good diet.
Coffee. Butter. Meat. All these food items have been on the merry-go-round of scientific okayness.
And then there are the controversial subjects: climate change, fossil fuels, pharmaceuticals, medical procedures. Do you really understand everything your doctor tells you? Or what the difference is between climate change and global warming?
But it’s not just the hot-button topics. If you’re writing about anything with a specific lexicon or specialized knowledge—software development, car repair, taxes, being a digital nomad, rocket science—you have to be able to communicate information to an audience that may not be familiar with the language you use.
When you love what you do for a living, it’s hard to establish boundaries around your work.
I’ve never had a regular job where I could motivate myself to wake up at five in the morning and get right to work, but being a professional freelancer does it. I want to spend as many waking hours as possible (and sleeping hours, if I could work in my sleep) writing, editing, and brainstorming new pitches and marketing strategies. Hell, I don’t even need coffee that early — my adrenaline kicks in and I’m ready to dive into work.
But recently, I’ve experienced what happens when I don’t put boundaries around my work. When you’re working 60+ hours per week, even if it’s doing something you love, there is a lot to balance.