When I first started freelancing—eight years ago, now—I had a state-of-the-art Sony Vaio laptop that weighed about seven pounds. (It’s okay, you can laugh. I don’t mind. It is pretty hilarious to think about, now.) I did most of my work on that laptop, in the beginning, and most often while sitting in my bed, late at night, after my kids had gone down for the night.
As time went on and it became clear that I was actually going to make a go of this freelancing thing, I moved to a desk in the corner of the family room. The kids could play and I could keep an eye on them and continue to work. Sort of. And once they were both in school I could work at the desk in blessed silence.
When I moved to Georgia five and a half years ago, I was excited to finally have a proper office. Oh, sure, my from-a-kit desk didn’t fare too well on the move—the hutch bowed in the center and was never quite right again—and I was sharing the space with my new husband, but still. An office! Like a grown-up! This was the start of a new chapter for me, both personally and professionally, and I felt rather heady with the possibilities.
And then, of course, life set back in.
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