I thought today was going to be a good day. When I pulled out of my driveway this morning, I had to stop, get out of my car, and proceed to shoo a chipmunk out of the street. It was cute. “Surely, a day that begins with shooing tiny cheek-stuffed chipmunks is destined to be a good day,” I thought as I took a sip of coffee. Then I arrived to my first class.
Today, in my Intro to Photojournalism class, we calculated the cost of doing business per year when starting your own freelance photojournalism business directly out of college. As a photojournalism student, calculating the cost of business was approximately as much fun as planning my own funeral. In fact, I’m almost sure I would have rather spent the morning arranging my funeral because at the very least, I would have gotten to go shopping, even if just for a casket.
After a grueling 45 minutes of discussion and almost 10 minutes of calculating (keep in mind, many of us are Journalism students because we can’t add), the grand total came to $45,000……………..a year. And, remember, we need to make a profit so we can do things like, you know.…eat.
Oh. My. Dear. God. I scanned the room for a brown paper sack to breathe into. As soon as he released us, I sprinted to my car (which, I might add, is a good half a mile from the Journalism building). Then I did the only thing I knew to do after being informed I could possibly be living in a cardboard box under the Broad Street bridge and left to dig in dumpsters to find food with a $4,000 camera around my neck. I called my dad.
The phone rang. And rang. And rang again.
“I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry,” I thought.
He answered on the last ring. “Hello?”
“Hey, Dad, what are you doing?”
“Oh, just working at the surgery center today.”
The tears started. “Oh, fabulous, so you’re making money. That is something I will never be able to experience.”
I guess he picked up on the subtle hint that something was wrong from my last statement. “Well…why? What’s going on?”
I proceeded between sobs to tell him all about the grueling two hour class that made me question my career path and my sanity. I told him how we measured things like equipment, office space, insurance, transportation, computers and software into the cost of business. I told him to make room, that’d I’d be the child that never left home. We laughed when we agreed that I could live with Baylee, the future brain surgeon, in her mansion. We decided that she would be happy to pay me to wake her up in the mornings and get her dressed.
Then we talked things out logically. Something I’ve always had trouble doing.
“Well, do you even want to open up your own freelance photojournalism business after college?”
This was something I hadn’t even thought of during my full-blown panic attack. “Well….no….I want to work on the photo staff for a newspaper or magazine.”
“Ok, well that eliminates the need for office space and thousands of dollars worth of expensive equipment. You’re creative, you write things that people enjoy reading. You’re taking professional grade photographs. Of course it’s going to be more difficult to make money in your field, but I believe you have everything it takes to succeed.”
The point is, sometimes I make stupid decisions. Like deciding I was tall enough to get the cooler down from the top shelf in the garage by myself, only to have it fall on my mom’s car and ding an $800 dent in the hood. Or the Christmas I thought it would be HILARIOUS to give my mom a Hooter’s T-shirt until she opened it on Christmas morning and…no one thought it was funny. At all. But I’m really hanging on to the fact that this decision is not stupid. I’m choosing to do something I love. Something that I look forward to everyday. Something I can spend hours, days, years doing and I never tire of it. I just hope it’s enough.
I hung up the phone feeling much better.
Then, I did what anybody else would do after just being told they’re not going to make any money. I headed to Target to spend some.
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