Holy shit, fuckers. So many people are surprising themselves lately.
No, I don’t mean they’re buying impromptu flowers for their kitchen table or dining solo. (Though, for the record, I dig that shit, too.)
They’re taking leaps,
shaking shit up,
going fucking rogue.
They’re betting on themselves.
In the past six months, I’ve talked with friends who
quit their toxic jobs,
got walk-ins-welcome tattoos,
took side gigs for fun,
registered for grad school,
planned career shifts opposite from what they spent time and money at college studying.
How badass is that?!
Inspired by the endless opportunity hidden deep in the panic of breaking the status quo—I am following their lead. I’m going to do that one thing I really should have done before I got too tired and busy.
I’m going fucking freelance, baby. Full-fucking-time.
So, you know, pay me to write shit. Or edit shit. Or just get coffee with me because all I do now is drink coffee and stalk my Twitter feed. Oh, and stalk me on Twitter.
Mary's One Hundred 