While I ponder going back to work for the man vs. continuing to struggle as an independent writer and content creator, I want to discuss the pros and cons of each. I don’t plan to do so in an organized way because I have a lot on my mind this morning, and most of it relates to working for The Man again. But the beauty of working for myself—at the moment—is that I don’t have to answer to anyone and can cut corners whenever the fuck I want.
If you’re not contemplating entrepreneurialism in 2025, I encourage you to start. The recent jobs report is just the beginning: We’re fucked. The American Dream for most of us is already a nightmare. Recession is nigh. We are trapped in a large, leaky ship barreling toward a waterfall with Captain Asshat at the helm. There’s no logical reason to feel anything other than abject terror—even if you’re still dumb or in denial enough to think Trump knows what he’s doing.
But the saving grace, for some of us at least, is to attempt to control our own fate by appointing ourselves captain. That way, even if the ship sinks, it’ll at least be our fault. The corporate masters won’t get to choose when, how, where, or why it sinks, and they won’t be able to profit from the sinking. There’s virtue in that.
I generally admire people with the grit to work for themselves. I know a lot of entrepreneurs and count them as good friends and sources of inspiration. It’s not working well for me, though, because there’s a goddam tyrant living rent-free in my head that I can’t get rid of except with the help of drugs and sleep. (I used to think it was my grandmother, but she’s been dead a long time, and I don’t believe in the afterlife.)
The voice gets so loud that sometimes I prefer an external tyrant—that I can tune out—to that omnipresent asshole. It questions why I’m not making enough money (or any money), why I’m not working harder (or, conversely, taking more breaks to conserve energy so that I can work smarter), why I’m doing this thing (instead of that thing), and why I think I’m special enough to succeed on my own in the first place. Of course, when I last worked for someone else, the internal tyrant came up with 15 reasons to hate that company, boss, environment, specific role, and so on. It doesn’t seem to matter what I do—there’s no pleasing the bloviating bastard.
Thus, I continue to doubt that the answer is to keep throwing shit at the wall and hope it sticks. This is what an entrepreneur does in effect. Nothing is guaranteed, especially in 2025. Plus, the shit entrepreneurs tend to throw can do a lot more than stain a wall or stink up a bathroom—it can drain their bank accounts, ruin their marriages, and destroy their reputations. Starting a business is inherently risky if you’re not already rich. Even great ideas fall flat all the time.
The average person wouldn’t know a great idea if it hit him in the face. It’s not due to a lack of intellect: Most Americans are working so hard and dealing with so much stress, fear, and uncertainty that the act of thinking is impossible. When times are tough, people fall back on what is familiar and predictable. This must be why the goddam Simpsons are still on television.
If people can’t think, they can’t read. Therefore, I’m fucked as a writer. I should just quit and work for The Man.
Or, better yet, work for The Man and then trash him in my writing.
He won’t be able to read it.
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Previously Published on substack and is republished on Medium.
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Photo credit: iStock
