This is Why Every Job Has a Shitty Part

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My job’s pretty great. It wasn’t long ago I was shooting with swimsuit models and crisscrossing the globe on multi-thousand dollar contracts. That lifestyle doesn’t work so great for me anymore (and this is why), but I had a good thing going. It was easy for others to be envious. They didn’t see all the hard work below the surface.

Yes, I’d shoot world-class conferences and their eventual afterparties, but they never saw me cabbing to a backup site in a faraway hotel at 2 in the morning when I needed to be up again to shoot at 6. Yes, I photographed models, but people never saw me working with an awkward 14-year-old model who seemed like she was forced into it by her mother. Yes, I shot extravagant weddings that I adored, but no one saw me editing for 15-hour days for full weeks at a time. I went kinda batshit. I once went so insane I’d edit for 15 minutes, THEN JOG AROUND THE FUCKING BLOCK before I could edit another 15 minutes! I was twitching like a meth addict. It was fucking hell. And you know what?

It was still a great job.

Like mopping at my liquor store, I found it far too easy to complain about shitty tasks. It wasn’t until speaking to people like my programmer roommate or film industry friends that I realized I was being a baby about it.

“Oh, you spend 15 hours a day editing in a warm room where you can sneak a beer anytime you want? Life must be SO HARD.”

“You don’t have a boss and get final say on your images? Try having to communicate with six other people working on the same project, and making that project WORK. Fuck off.”

I’m paraphrasing, but the sentiment is genuine. The shitty parts of my job were negligible to other people. To them, I was already living the dream, and here’s why: I GOT SO USED TO ALL THE DIFFERENT ASPECTS OF MY JOB, I SIMPLY CHOSE THE LEAST ENJOYABLE PARTS OF IT TO COMPLAIN ABOUT. I had a great job all along!

No one’s denying there are parts of your job that suck. It just helps to have perspective from people who have it worse off than you. I hated mopping. Tell that to a janitor. He hates cleaning urinals. Tell that to a sanitation engineer at a wastewater treatment plant. She hates unclogging pipes in literal human waste. Tell that to a “manual scavenger” in India with no protective gear. YOUR JOB DOESN’T SUCK. YOU’RE JUST SO USED TO HOW CUSHY IT IS, IT’S MADE YOU A WUSS.

Surely, maintaining your composure as a customer asks for EVEN MORE extra olives on their sandwich isn’t cause for hara-kiri, and overtime on Christmas might actually be okay once you account for stat pay. If you’re in North America and working for above minimum wage, you actually have it pretty good. What’s shitty to you is a dream to someone else! Even my friends who work in the Downtown Eastside do so as a passion project, and THEY HAVE THE CHOICE TO LEAVE.

Stop complaining. Love your job. Difficulty doesn’t suck, it helps you grow.

THE ONLY REASON YOU COMPLAIN ABOUT YOUR JOB AT ALL IS BECAUSE YOU HAVE IT SO GOOD, YOU FEEL THE NEED TO FIND SOMETHING NEGATIVE ABOUT IT.

Prove me wrong. Go ahead and tell us why your job sucks in the comments.

What I Learned About Money from My Parents

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My dad once paid $10,000 to advertise in a Chinese newspaper. I still admire him for that. He risked everything to run his own business as a driving instructor, but in the end, I don’t think he ever made that money back. Most of my family considers him a failure, but I don’t. He actually believed in something. To me, he was an inspiration.

My dad wasn’t a very good businessperson. Assuming he spent exactly $10,000 on advertising, and using his old rate of $30/hour, he should’ve done the math and realized it’d take him over 333 hours just to break even on his ads. Generating that many leads turned out to be impossible. He also somehow forgot to factor in gas and overhead. The business was destined to implode. In a family where his siblings earn far more, tensions arose. My grandparents eventually covered his ad costs, but resented him for it. He kept trying, but his health gave out. He eventually stopped working.

One night in 2014, he was admitted to Royal Columbian Hospital with chest pains. I rushed to the hospital and found him. He was very much alive, and was sitting up in bed telling dad jokes to our pastor. Apparently, he’d called him too. I don’t think any of us understood the seriousness of the situation that night. I figured he’d be home soon, and everything would be back to normal. We stayed up, told bad jokes, and just laughed. He was eventually admitted to the high acuity unit. I visited him there the next few days, and found him happy. He’d sing to the nurses and read the Garfield comics I brought for him. He didn’t seem like he had many regrets. Eventually, his aorta ruptured. I wasn’t there. From the last time I saw him alive, I remember two things: He was grinning like an idiot, and I told him I loved him.

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Ironically, my mom puts together advertising materials. She works for a marketing company, and as far as I know, spends most of her time feeding paper into a machine. She believes in a steady job, and not taking risks. I don’t think she’s ever made more than $15/hour. To her, what I’m doing is ludicrous. I’m going down the same destructive path as my dad by owning a business. After all, she’s seen what happened to him. If only he’d had a steady job, right? A steady job brings security, and security is all that matters.

I can’t even fault her for thinking this way. She’s right: I’d probably make more with a full-time job as a retail manager. Would I be happy though? Fuck, no! That’s not me. Like my dad, I need to pursue something that I build on my own. The last thing I want is a job like hers, feeding paper into a machine for peanuts while I make someone else rich. She doesn’t take any risks with money or investments either, so index funds are scary and $15/hour sounds just fine. She can’t understand I’d rather make $400/hour doing what I love on a not-so-frequent basis, and she’d rather see me in a Target or Burger King grinding out full-time hours like her. She’s seen my dad’s business fail, and she doesn’t believe in me. It’s depressing as fuck.

I was able to learn something though. I’d now seen both extremes. My dad risked everything. My mom risks nothing. Well, obviously, the answer that made sense lay in the middle. I could do both.

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With my photography business, I’m crazy. I’m all in, all the time. I risk my money, time and sanity to capture the perfect shot, and try to wow my clients always. I give everything. I also work at a liquor store. I really don’t need it to pay my bills, but the added security is nice. Want numbers? In June, photography brought in $3,262. I didn’t even shoot a wedding that month. The side job brought in $1,518. Not bad for added security, right?

My dad taught me to chase my dreams and take risks. It’s paid off. My mom taught me a little bit of grinding at a day job might not be so bad after all, even if I fundamentally believe Smart Work always trumps Hard Work. I figure one hand washes the other, since the more security I have, the more risks I can take. I think I’ve found a good middle ground!

Ultimately, I’ll have to forge my own path. I may not be stoked about it, but I’m still equal parts my dad and my mom. What do you think? Have I struck a perfect balance, or is a normal life and a normal job the way to go? Tell us in the comments, and don’t forget to share.

Hate Your 9-to-5? Start a 10-to-2!

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I was hungry in 2007. I had just given up on my childhood dream of becoming a film director, and I held a diploma in Motion Picture Production that I knew would never be useful. I’d just wasted two years, and all I had was an entry-level DSLR and no plan. I knew I needed to make money, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna do it in a Burger King. Even at 19, I thought I was too good for that shit. I was a typical millennial, full of pride and not enough shame. I was on my way to being a fuckup.

One night, I opened Craigslist. At this point, I’d been a casual photographer for seven months and was halfway through Project 365. I always had my camera on me, and took at least one picture a day that year as a sort of visual journal. I thought to myself, “What the hell, I’ll try and make some money as a photographer. Everyone else seems to be doing it.” I was naïve, but Craigslist was the ultimate equalizer. Browsing through the postings, I discovered a couple: Sarah and Russell. They were eloping in Vancouver and needed a shooter on the cheap. I had no experience and asked for $60. They said yes.

From 2010 to 2013, I had bills to pay and had a day job in a high-end liquor store. By then, I was making equal amounts in both jobs. The only difference was my liquor store took up 40 hours a week – the proverbial 9-to-5 – and my photography was relegated to 10 PM and into the night, or what I called my “10-to-2”. A mental shift happened when I was fired in 2013. If I was making the same amount of money in 20 hours a week doing photography, what was stopping me from utilizing my other 40 hours doing the same thing and making even MORE money? Maybe I could even have time to myself! Holy shit. So I started doing that, and it all began with my 10-to-2.

This isn’t a new idea. Gary Vaynerchuk talks about working on your passion from 7 PM to 2 AM in his book “Crush It!”, but I don’t know how sustainable that is. Four hours a night after a leisurely dinner was what produced the best results for me, and I’m a night owl, so 10-to-2 was what stuck. Some people, in dire need of money, might suggest taking on a SECOND full-time job similar to their 9-to-5. I’m here to tell you that’s a great way to kill your dreams. 80 hours a week? Faced with that, I’d rather swan dive into a wood chipper. 80 hours a week at jobs you’re not passionate about WILL kill you. I used to do 40 hours at my regular job and 20 at my passion, so 60 hours a week. That was tough. Within three years though, I’d moved to 20 hours at a liquor store job I don’t financially need and 8 hours at photography. Hell, throw in the 2 hours I put in every week writing for this blog for an even 30! Where some people grind out 80 hours a week wanting to die, I work way less and work for fun! And the bills all get paid!

You don’t even need to do it for the money. I fully advocate that ANYONE should have a “10-to-2”, whatever the hours. If you follow your passion and have even an iota of business sense, you CAN make money, but that’s not the point. What matters is you’re finally realizing the potential inside you to do something you actually care about. Write that novel. Fix up that old car. Learn to code. Start that personal finance blog. You’ll even be happier at your day job, knowing you can work FOR YOURSELF later in the day! It’s exhilarating.

In the movie of your life, what would you like to see? Is your narrative arc really as a photocopy jockey, or do you see yourself building a startup in your basement that will take over the world? Do you want to make someone else rich, or do you want to strive for greater and eclipse your boss? The decision is yours. What will YOU do tonight?