Don't hate me cause I'm working

Week One is in the books.

Recently I got booked on a freelance gig. Not with an ad agency. But with an in house creative department. Discretion and caution prevent me from disclosing the name of the client.

So I won't.

Nor do I intend to inflict any pain on my many fellow colleagues in the creative field who now find themselves unemployed and with few, and fewer by the day, prospects. I feel your pain. There is no worse feeling than wanting to work but not being able to find people to work for.

I know from the boredom, the hopelessness and the endless dialing and smiling.

In short, I'm very lucky.

Which is ironic, because like most native New Yorkers, I never felt much like a lucky person.

We, meaning Big Apple natives, have a natural tendency to view the world pitting itself against our fate. When you grow up in NYC everything is a fight: getting crosstown, getting a table in a restaurant, getting a seat on the subway, even getting across the street. See Dustin Hoffman. See Yellow Cab. See "I'm walking here."

But getting booked on a job only covers half my luck. It goes beyond that.

The people I'm working with, everyone of them is younger than my 44 years of age, couldn't be nicer. Or more receptive. Or more helpful. Perhaps because none of them have met me in person. Or perhaps it's all being done through the magic of teleconferencing.

And yet still, I have not conveyed the complete fullness of my good fortune.

Because here's the best part. The unnamed company I am working for places a high premium on creativity. And an even higher premium on funny. So instead of dialing back on what I love to do best, I was told to "push it further. Find the edge of the envelope and go there."

Damn.

Maybe this is the just job honeymoon speaking, I'm hoping it's not.

But I'll share with you what I shared with the last big group on a teleconference call, "I've had more fun and more laughs in the last week than I've had in the past 3 years in the ad business."