his was not supposed to happen. Neither the start of this blog, nor the end of it. Yet both have come to pass. The start, in the late summer of last year; the end, right now.
The plan in the summer of last year was supposed to be, I save a nest-egg to rely on while I take a professional leap of faith. I quit my job as a graphic designer and resume work with my temp agency, which I heard was paying as much as $50 per hour, and would therefore be able to match my then-current salary in three weekdays (I was one of their top artists back in the day, only idle about 15 or 20 days in a year). The other two days would be devoted to DutchNewYork.com. That was the plan.
Then the economy hit the fan. The job I left would probably have laid me off, since it was in a newspaper. And nobody was hiring. Not a single nibble for a staff job. And my temp agency, and all their competitors, spent their days praying.
But soon, I got nibbles for individual work, through networking media like Twitter, and good old face-to-face meetings. Most for good will and/or credit, some actually for pay. And I realized something.
The idea of blogging about local history occurred to me at a point in my graphic design career where I questioned whether it was time for a change of direction. I had spent so long being a kowtowing subordinate at the bottom of an unclimbable ladder in a classic corporate bog, that I began to hate what I did for a living. When reality hit in October, I sat for months (months I couldn’t really afford) at a crossroads, pondering my future: do I blog, or do I design?
The answer now is clear. First and foremost, I have to do something I can directly translate into cash. I mean right now. Not after careful nurturing of a readership and assembly of a tribe, which may or may not amount to something.
But also, after this forced vacation, I discover I like graphic design again. Especially as an independent contractor. I can look clients in the eye and use a judicious mix of forthrightness and diplomacy, just as I always knew I could but so rarely got the chance in the corporation.
And it’s fun! I’d forgotten how fun it can be. I’m rusty at some skills, but with others it’s like riding a bike, never forgotten. And there are new skills I’ll need soon, such as the coding end of web design, with all the acronyms the geeks know and love. I’m grateful for the discovery — vindication of a suspicion, really — that I can put together a good sentence; blogging did that. (Then there’s the whole 1099 thing, which is better left alone here and now.)
I suppose I could have worked harder to find a job. I’m a two-hour commute from midtown Manhattan, door-to-door. Lots of people do it. But I’ve been afraid of duplicating my mistake with the aforementioned corporation. I can’t spend my life leaping from frying pan to frying pan. If I’m going to use all the attention I can muster, it’s going to be spent proving I’m as good as everyone’s been saying I am, and tooting my own horn. Entrepreneurship is where it’s at. As I’ve suspected all along.
The Henry Hudson Quadricentennial will happen on schedule, as inconvenient as that is. And it will be as fine as it’s able to be. I wish the celebrants well. And my wife and I will come visit. I may even write about it, in my personal blog. I’ll definitely photograph it. But my plans to become the be-all and end-all source for New Netherland news will have to wait for when I win the lottery. It’d make a great hobby. But I haven’t got time for a hobby right now.
The moment that storage of this now dormant blog costs me money, if nothing changes between then and now (like I don’t win the lottery), I’m killing it. If this post produces a solid offer for the domain names (the .com plus the .org and .net), I’ll sell them. If you want to continue it, if I can figure out the tech end of transferring it to you, it’s yours. No charge. Mazel tov. I’m leaving the Manifesto page alone, as testimony to what I had planned; maybe you can pick up where I left off.
There are 18 subscribers. I have no way of knowing who you are (I’ve looked), and I bet you forgot this blog existed until you got this post. Still, thank you for at least clicking on the button. The thought of multiplying your number by 1000 seems laughable now.
If you ask me after this experience if one can make money blogging one’s passion, I have to tell you I don’t know. I couldn’t devote the attention to trying it. Not really.
I’ll still be at RickWolff.com. See you there.
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It’s sometime in the mid-1600s. We’re in a clerical office. The room is dominated by a hutch with dozens of cubbyholes, each brimming with a rolled document. It doesn’t look orderly. There is a great chair, in which sits the Schout, a combination sheriff and prosecutor. On a smaller bench sits an English couple: the wife, Goody Goodgirl, and her husband, Mr. Goodgirl. They look distraught. Goody Goodgirl is pleating her apron nervously. Mr. Goodgirl’s hat is on his lap, and he is fingering the huge buckle on it. 



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