*Turtle Emoji*

Why is there a turtle emoji? Because I’ve been seeing signs about turtles. The universe is sending me turtles right now. Okay I’m clocked in right now.

REDACTED is giving me instructions on what to do next via a screen recording sent via Dropbox link sent via Whatsapp. REDACTED is not the type of person who is going to sit down and try to type out instructions clearly. The best way is verbal instruction with a visual aid, it’s a foolproof way to get what you want.

I’m surprised and impressed by his first instruction. Adding a completely new secondary color to our group of secondary colors. We had just abruptly changed our hero color on all of our packaging a few weeks ago. That was also a surprising decision. After two years of that other blue color.

REDACTED didn’t give us time to grieve the loss of the previous blue. We swapped the color in a day and never spoke about it again.

The thing is, it was the right choice. It had to happen. It propelled us forward with renewed vigor and excitement. The product was new and alive again.

So he wants to add a teal to the secondaries. It’s a lovely color, I actually gave an impressed nod when I submitted the hex code and my colorless figma rectangle was filled with a soft, mature teal. Okay, REDACTED.

Oh my god my Upwork just screenshotted while this page was up LMFAO I need to delete that imediately. Writing here while working is NOT going to work jesus christ

Okay I’m clocked out. His second instruction had been an additional color addition, the color ended up being one that I liked a lot less but I also understand the decision.

Getting to know REDACTED over the past two years has been such an interesting part of my life. I would almost call us friends at this point. Two years of multi-hour long video chats once a week and you really start to get to know a person. In some ways, we are always there for each other. We’ve seen each other… Seen is a strong word because the Google Meet camera is always turned off— that’s part of the requirements for our meetings. Our cameras are turned off, and mute is never used—

We show up for each other. I know that REDACTED will be on time. He knows that I will be too. We both show up one minute early to our meetings almost every time. We appreciate each other’s punctuality and therefore are trusting when the punctuality comes under siege. When real life affects our work. And we are two people whose real lives NEVER affect our work. We are determined together, we keep each other up. We clock in and put our all into the task before us, no matter how small of a task, we are thorough and detailed and satisfied with the final product. I would like to say that REDACTED’s motivations are pure-hearted. I view him as someone who works hard simply because he feels as though it’s his duty. He feels responsible and can go above and beyond for the cause he cares about. But the truth is, I have no idea.

I have never questioned REDACTED’s motives before, and am wondering now, why? And I know that the answer is because I’ve been thinking about my own. I work hard, of course. I’m thorough, I’m detailed. Is it out of the goodness of my own heart? Is it because I just can’t help myself? I’m just that great of a person that it’s OBVIOUS that I should work hard at everything I do because everything is important and life feels good when you’re striving towards a goal even if the goal is not even your own and you have absolutely no say in the creative direction and whose skills are constantly taken advantage of

I have my frustrations with my clients.

My motivation is money. I love being detailed because every detail you discuss adds one minute to the clock. I love a slow and steady pace. The slower you go, the steadier the flow baby. The thing is, my work is good. My work ends up fabulous. My work has been thoughtfully examined, discussed, and polished over time. So am I really that evil? Are my motivations really that backwards? Is money so bad if my work is so good? That money is MINE.

All of this contributes to me thinking that I’m a bad person. The imposter syndrome bit that is just discussed too often and the solutions are too fragile. I’m just accepting it. Because I don’t care if being money-hungry is right or wrong, my hunger doesn’t go away. It’s there and I’m really tired of trying to change it. Maybe I should listen to the thing clawing inside me, frothing at the mouth at the sight of something green, that looks at every moment like a possibility for creation.

That’s why they call it making money.