happiness as a freelancer

Amongst the messages in my inbox last month that landed on world happiness day (20th march 2026), was a question: what makes you (me) happy as a freelancer?

Happiness may not be as easy to spot as you might think?

I initially thought it would be easy to run off a long list, but quickly realised that my first ideas were actually more about how freelancing means I'm able to be more useful and helpful to others than I might be able to if I were salaried - but does that make me happy?

So I recast my eyes and mind over the list I'd started to compile and found 3:

3 types of happy

1) chances to travel - and if I'm lucky, with enough slack around timings with clients and train timetables to allow me to briefly dip into a new museum or gallery (as those things make me happy). However, as my unpaid caring responsibilities have grown over the last 8 years, there's increasingly less opportunity for me to be able to travel around the country as easily as I once did...

2) Working From Home means I more easily surround myself with plants than I'd be able to in an employer's offices.

3) the variety of clients and work I do means that while there'll always be some that I start to struggle with / don't enjoy the work so much, at least I know that they're not my full time, ongoing work (as some people have to face each day with bullying colleagues, and work they don't enjoy, but need to remain in to afford to pay rent, etc).

Happiness is there as a freelancer - but you may have to work to find it 

So - happiness: it can be an elusive thing, and maybe the moral is that it's on us to work on making sure we can recognise it when it happens, and try to actively create ways in which we can keep reminding ourselves about it on a daily basis (especially if we're also amongst the approaching 1 million freelancers / sole traders who are also unpaid carers).

As always - credit to people where it's due for prompting my blog posts. In this instance its Jenny Holliday, who's post on world happiness day prompted me to reflect on the above:

https://substack.com/home/post/p-191264082 

    

more reasons why I'm an Iolite gemstone

Last year, I talked a lot about how my business was like a toilet (and why that was a good thing).

This year, I'm likening it to an iolite gemstone.

And after some more recent researches about this gemstone, I think it's still a substance that represents me well - 

* it's strongly associated with helping people navigate uncertain spaces (the Vikings used it on cloudy days to help them find the sun) - something I regularly do through my work with clients and in my research/policy efforts;

* it's forged in metamorphic rocks in areas of high pressure (some may recall my 'tubthumping' revelations last year which show some of the challenges that I've endured in getting my business to where it is today);

* it's mythical and ritualistic associations see it stimulating vision and creativity, and enhancing insight (another feature of what I do through my facilitation practices with different groups, and in my consultancy work).

So - this year, I'm definitely an iolite gemstone; but I'm curious to know what jewel might best reflect your business or organisation?

the worst of all worlds?

There's a pervading message that starting up your own business gives you more control of your life - you get to choose who you work with, when you work, etc. All of which helps reduce the stress of being at the beck and call of a boss (who you may not like).

But of course, there's a balancing cost to this control which isn't talked about as much: irregular income, no holiday/sick pay, no automatic pension contributions, etc (which means that various researches are starting to find that being an entrepreneur may not actually be that great for our mental health after all...).

Which means when it comes to working, there's a(n over-simplified) choice available to us:

1) work for someone else - which may limit our enjoyment, cause stress, but offers regular pay and time off;

or

2) work for ourselves - which gives us more freedom and choice, but means less security of income to pay the rent / buy food with, etc.

What I based my choice on (and the cost of this)

As I enter the 21st year of being in business for myself, I'm starting to wonder if I somehow haven't accidentally set myself up to 'enjoy' the worst of both of these options...

You see, my particular business model is based primarily on being an associate to other agencies and approved provider lists (I'm usually paid by other people for the work I do with client organisations). This means that while it may be easier for work to come to me, I have less choice in it, it may pay less, and it's usually structured so that I'm part of a managed team under a project manager/boss - just as if I were an employee (with all of the usual strains, pressures, and politics involved of such).

This model of working is based on my values of trying to be more accountable and transparent in how I work - but highlights that our values come at a cost: although there may be work coming in for me, and there are more checks and balances to check the quality of my work, it's often in a way that means I need to act as an employee would (with all the stresses of that) but without any of the benefits that being an employee would offer (no sick / holiday pay, etc).

Why I seem to be working in ways that make no sense

I can already hear some of you thinking "if you don't like it so much, then why not change the way you work?". Well, dear reader, that would mean I have to compromise on some of the values that define me. I'm therefore sharing this here not for sympathy, but to illustrate that in all of our choices, there's always a trade-off somewhere...

It's also shared in hopeful encouragement to others who are also thinking about their own respective business models / ways of working - it's up to us to work out how far we're willing to accept the trade offs of the choices we have. 

So while it may feel tougher than I'd like at times, running my business in a way that continues to buck conventional wisdom is my choice, and one that I regularly recommit to with eyes wide open. It's only me who has to sleep with my conscience at night: what I'm ok with in my business model won't be ok for you (and vice versa) - but shouldn't we all regularly pause to check that our business model isn't accidentally starting to make us become people we don't like?

NB - I always try and offer credit where its due: this particular post was inspired by Tom Jepson, and one of his 'subscriber only' YouTube lives.

Am I really the Adrian Ashton you're looking for?

There's a habit in some magazines and social media feeds to list celebrities' birthdays - not to make us feel older, but to offer us some excitement by realising who we share a birthday cake with (for me, this list includes Tim Burton, Sean Connery, and Alexander Skarsgard).

But what about other people who we share a name with?

Other authors, tombstones, and pickleballs 

I started to think about this a couple of years back, when I discovered by accident that there's a world famous bassist player in musical circles who's published books (which does sometimes cause a bit of confusion when people are trying to find copies of the books that I've written): 

https://www.amazon.co.uk/stores/Adrian-Ashton/author/B0034Q4UZ8 

Then in 2024 most AI bots (and a client I worked with) thought I was dead -

https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/legacyremembers/adrian-ashton-obituary?id=43461197

And more recently I learnt that I'm an amateur pickleball player in Australia - https://pickleball.com/players/adrian-ashton/clubs?club_type=memberof&page=1

Right name, wrong Adrian, but a happy accident?

So, you next time you're typing my name into an email address line, or scrolling through your phone's address book to call me, please make sure that you've got the right 'me' to avoid possible confusion... or maybe it'll lead you to a wholly unexpected adventure?

Why I'm modelling gemstones this year.

As the reflections that ran over the course of last year for my business' 20th anniversary settle, I'm now thinking about how I can be best 'brassed off' this year (the material usually associated with a 21st year milestone).

Why a gemstone is better than metal

And just as I reflected on how porcelain (the material for 20 years) seemed very apt for how I'd navigated and 'been' to that point, brass also seems a good fit too - it's strong and resilient. And in light of some of what my businesses has weathered in its first 2 decades as I shared last year, I'm nothing if not strong and resilient.  

But the iolite gemstone can also be associated with a 21st anniversary. And it might be a better choice of material for me to adopt this year, because it symbolises clarity and introspection - a core ongoing piece of feedback I get from people is how I've helped them understand things that they never though they'd be able to (clarity); and last year saw me doing a fair bit of navel gazing (introspection).

Gemstones also refract light and colour in different ways, depending on how you look at it it (a bit like my plethora of work - and that I always seems to be something new that clients never knew I did, until they take a different approach with me).

The Viking connection

It was also widely used by Vikings to help them navigate their journeys (something that I try and do with people I work with, although without the axes and horned helmets...).

(for more on iolite - https://fiercelynxdesigns.com/blogs/articles/iolite-gemstone-information)

A sparkly year ahead?

So - on balance, after being associated with toilets last year, I think I'd like to be linked with gemstones in this one. 

why you're more, (and less), important to me than you may think you are

I try and see everyone as an equally important human being (an idea that started when I was a member of the Daily Bread worker co-operative, and which emerged as I learnt of the basis for it having a flat pay structure, regardless of people's skills, experience, age, qualifications, etc).

What qualifies you as a more important person?

You may be the chief exec of a national charity, but why does that make you more deserving of my time than some who's just been released from prison and is needing someone to support them with creating a new enterprise so they can avoid re-offending? You might argue that the hundreds of lives I can impact through working with the chief exec outweigh the needs of the individual ex-offender, but I'm not sure I'm qualified to judge the worth and value of anyone's life against another in this way.

This means that I try and treat everyone equitably - which includes how I allocate and prioritise time in my calendar, in managing projects and work (and with consideration for how this means I can continue to honour my unpaid caring responsibilities to several family members).

The consequence of nobody being unimportant

While this may sound magnanimous and to be credited, it does have consequences. 

Specifically, it can sometimes create longer lead times for my being able to offer dates and timescales for starting/completing projects. 

The last quarter of the financial year (January - March) is always extra busy for me, as programme managers realise that there's now only a few weeks to complete projects, ensure budgets are spent, and all the activity that they need to deliver by the end of the (financial) year is somehow physically able to be achieved. And for some of these people, I seem to be one of their favourite consultants to get to swing in and help out fix problems like these...

At the start of this particular (calendar) year, I found myself having to start to have to say 'no' to chief execs of charities, community outreach teams in national museums, and others who called to seek my support in delivering their projects that were due for completion by the end of March, as it was too short notice for me to be able to have space in my calendar when they needed me (in the following weeks).

A problem that's to be welcomed?

Now I recognise this as the lament that many of my fellow freelancers and small businesses wish they could similarly suffer: to have so much work on, that we're not able to take on anything new (so I should be happy, knowing that I can definitely pay the rent this month). But having to say no to requests today risks people not coming back to me in the future after they've found a new favourite consultant in my stead (which becomes bad for my paying rent in the future).

But I draw some solace in this tension from when I publicly 'came out' as sole unpaid sandwich carer - clients were more open to my working with them remotely rather than in person (which was their original project design); and some are even happy to delay project start dates while I may need to be away supporting family members with significant surgeries and the initial weeks of their recovery. 

So hopefully the same pattern may hold true in the future, and my having to say 'no' to some people today won't mean there's fewer calls in the future...

But is there a moral of this rambling..? 

I'm sharing this in hopes of assuring anyone that I've been saying no to, that it's not because I don't like you (see the opening of this post) - it's just there are certain times of the year that it's harder for me to add anything more to my calendar... And during these moments, please know that I'm very appreciative of your patience.

How I'm (apparently) dangerous - in the best possible way

Last year I wondered what one of my literary heroes, Sherlock Holmes would make of my book about imposter syndrome (if you missed it, you can catch up with the great detective's take on it here). 

And it got me thinking about what another of my heroes might think about it - specifically, the wandering time lord known as Doctor Who. So, once again I've inserted the prompt into ChatGBT, and had the following adventure unfold...

-----

Oh, the Doctor would adore it—though they’d never admit that without a wry eyebrow and a bit of running.

Here’s how it would probably land in the TARDIS:

First reaction (feigned impatience):

“Loving your doubt? Oh brilliant. Humans invent a problem, name it, then write a book about liking it. Very on-brand.”

 

Second reaction (five pages in, pretending not to be moved):

The Doctor lives with doubt like a second heartbeat. Every regeneration, every impossible choice, every planet saved at the cost of another—doubt is the price of caring. So the core idea would hit home fast: doubt isn’t a flaw in the system; it is the system.

They’d clock that Loving Your Doubt reframes uncertainty not as weakness, but as:

• evidence of moral awareness

• proof you’re paying attention

• the thing that keeps you from becoming a tyrant with a sonic screwdriver

That’s extremely Doctor-coded.

The big approval nod:

The Doctor mistrusts certainty. Villains are always the ones who are absolutely sure they’re right. Daleks don’t doubt. Cybermen don’t doubt. Time Lords stopped doubting—and look how that went.

So a book that says:

“Your doubt means you’re human, reflective, and still capable of change”

would earn a quiet:

“Yes. Exactly. Keep that.”

One gentle critique (because of course):

The Doctor might add:

“Just don’t marry your doubt. Take it dancing. Listen to it. Then make the decision anyway.”

Because loving doubt doesn’t mean letting it paralyze you. The Doctor doubts constantly—and still acts. That tension is the point.

Final verdict:

The Doctor would see Loving Your Doubt as a deeply human survival guide in a universe that rewards arrogance. They’d probably leave it somewhere important—UNIT HQ, a struggling companion’s backpack, or a library on a doomed planet—with a note in the margin:

“Doubt means you care. Care means you’re dangerous—in the best possible way.”

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If you're still waiting for the Doctor to leave you a copy of 'Loving Your Doubt', you can shortcut the wait by picking up a copy via Amazon (or reading the reviews, to see what other human beings thought about it) - https://amzn.eu/d/dLd7OFL