Your 9-5 Job Is Cool

My personal job history, why I stepped away from full-time freelance, and how routine changes lives.

You're either a writer or a liar who's good with words. Sometimes both. Often entangled in a way that's hard to read.

I'm the Editor of the Moment Journal, an online digest of camera reviews, photo essays, roundups, and educational content to support our creative community. I've been with the company for over six years and have mothered that publication through its lifetime's ebbs and flows. When I first joined, I wasn't a word-obsessed head-of-anything like I am now, nor did I even know what website SEO was. Hell, my knowledge of how to grow a website, reach out to fellow writers, and craft a signature at the bottom of my emails is still a work in progress. Imposter syndrome is a healthy disease. It wasn't until a couple of years later that I dived headfirst into something worth building on someone else's dollar.

In my industry, it's standard to change jobs every two years or to romanticize the daily existential manic love of freelance work, but I don't prefer either. I'm loyal and hard-working, and I love stability. I don't slip my name under the door for a larger salary while co-workers aren't looking or take personal loans to fund an excessive online presence; I work with a solid team of good people passionate about travel and cameras. I can stay home with my daughter, shop at Sprouts, and save money for a girls' trip. To me, I've got it all. I still budget and have to remain humble. But the good old American Dream affords me the time and money to do the big (or small) things I love doing.

Travels over the years.

I was a full-time freelance photographer for years before starting my job at Moment. I photographed weddings, portraits, brands, social media posts, travel campaigns—you name it. Now, I primarily focus on editorial photography for brands or publications, with the occasional wedding on film with my best friend. My side work is way more streamlined to my current creative ethos.

But back then, I did it all: a yes-woman, a friend, and a confidante in the chaotic schedule of overworking myself until my eyes grew puffy. I made large chunks of cash on jobs, more than I'd usually get on a single paycheck now. One year, I slept away from my bed, boyfriend, and dogs for 253 out of 365 days just to catch the next flight out of the country. It was beautiful. And it was selfish. It was such a quintessential early-20s trope, and I loved every second of it.

Until I didn't...

There's too much pressure to constantly satisfy your cravings — coins of self-praise and head-nodding in exchange for newness. Something was different one morning when I woke up in a hotel in Japan in 2018: I didn’t want to think about myself anymore. Showing my work online in exchange for the next grocery fund became a senseless chore. Travel grew redundant. Suddenly, the very thing that got me high made me sick. My usual righteousness left me weak, starved.

The second an epiphany makes the call, it's too loud to ignore. Using my personality and craft as life support was my first mistake. Narcissistically believing my title was vital to my survival left me dry, feeling low and pigeonholed in constantly reinventing myself to stay relevant.

I was on a train headed toward Tokyo, looking at a job listing online as a blog writer. I decided to find something to pay the bills so I could take pictures just for me again. While I maintained a livelihood from my photographs, I didn't want it to be the driving factor anymore. Ultimately, I knew it was temporary, and my will to survive would evaporate quickly. I was good at writing and enjoyed reading Tumblr blogs (Substack wasn't a thing then!), so I just went for it.

The next thing I knew, the Head of Content interviewed me at Moment and hired me within 48 hours. It was exciting, scary, and relieving but nauseating all at once.

Calling myself an "artist" is weird. It feels really flashy and honestly gross. But, in a way, it's what I do — I write, take photos, and work with fellow creators for a living. But I'm also a mom and a wife. I love my routine; I stick to the schedule.

Self-proclaimed artists these days want to feel purposeful without a ton of legwork while also making a killing. The truth is that it can't happen without sacrifice. Taking photos and writing words is a privilege, but relying on those creative forces as a financial lifeline gets tricky. That sick, twisted desire for artistic satisfaction is no longer my primary driver. My family is.

Still, I'm in an extraordinarily privileged position, and I'd be remiss to claim otherwise. One of my favorite quotes from Anthony Bourdain sums it up:

“Writing is a privilege and a luxury. Anybody who whines about writer's block should be forced to clean squid all day.”

You have to be a hopeless romantic to invest in yourself. But at what point does the investment become a net negative? Skills can be taught, but character is something you either have, or you don’t (Also something Anthony Bourdain taught me).

There is beauty, comfort, and growth in the mundane. I've come to love my morning coffee and cleaning routine while I send my husband and our family out the door to carpool to work by 7 AM. On Sundays, we invite friends for a potluck dinner and catch up on our favorite TV shows. On Wednesdays, there are middle-school football games at my husband's school; we'll sit in the grass with a hot Starbucks latte and catch the sunset. My husband and I have a shared calendar and have to plan for everything we want to do ahead of time, because we're busy and tired. I love it.

The schedule will lift one day, and free time will be more abundant. I'll revisit the thrill of an early morning road trip or the taste of that first coffee after a night out in a new city. I won't have to clean milk stains off the kitchen counters or make reminders for up-to-date doctor's appointments. I'll be less stressed, and less full. Dog fur won't be around in the corners of my car seats because they'll be buried in my dad's backyard under the Texas ebony. Our daughter won't text us back; she's with her friends. Sunday dinners will become less frequent; too many conflicting schedules. We'll have more money and more time than we know what to do with... but that's what you wanted, right?

My grandma Carol and my great aunt Linda. The kind of photos I love the most and have more time for.

At home, gardening or with family. Where the fruit is ripe and the dogs get muddy.

All a man truly has is his word, so if you say you're going to do something, you damn well better follow through and do it. Integrity is built on keeping the promises you make to yourself. At the same time, discipline is developed by doing one single thing over and over until you pursue the task with a relentless obsession for perfection. That's why the job of a line cook is equally, if not more, important than that of the head chef.

The night before work, my husband puts his patinaed Tecovas work boots in the closet for quick morning access. I wake up an extra hour early to pour his coffee and set out his keys, then welcome my stepsister at sunrise so they can carpool together. There's a routine. There's structure.

Prior preparation is always the key to perseverance, and those with a concrete schedule are compelled to abide by that structure more than freelancers. At least, for me.

I like it here. I'll stay for a while.

More time for them.