🔓 Freedom isn’t availability — it’s leverage over how and why you work.

🧭 Being “in demand” isn’t the same as being in control.

💡 Time is limited; outcomes and assets create value beyond your hours.

📣 Don’t just get booked — get known for something that matters.

🚀 25 years freelancing wasn’t the finish line — it was the launch pad.

After a quarter-century of working as an independent SAP consultant, Isard finds himself at a crossroads. Twenty-five years of being his own boss have given him countless projects, flexibility, and a sense of control – or so he thinks. But as he celebrates this milestone, a question looms: has it truly been freedom, or just a more flexible form of employment? This article unfolds as a candid dialogue between Isard and his long-time friend and mentor, Wiz, who isn’t afraid to shine a light on uncomfortable truths. It’s written for experienced freelancers and independent consultants who, like Isard, are beginning to question what freedom really means in their work.

In their conversation, Isard and Wiz explore lessons that resonate with many seasoned freelancers:

• The illusion of control that comes with freelancing.
• The nature of leverage (or lack thereof) in a solo career.
• The difference between selling time and owning outcomes.
• How to shift from relentless execution to true ownership.

These themes emerge through stories, metaphors, and reflections – not as a linear lecture, but as a winding journey with tangents and revelations. If you’ve spent years honing your craft independently, consider this a friendly eavesdrop into a conversation that might mirror questions you’ve been asking yourself.

Now, let’s join Isard and Wiz as they meet to toast 25 years of “freedom” – and gently unravel what that word really means.

Isard: [raising his pint] Cheers to 25 years of being on my own! Can you believe it, Wiz? Twenty-five years without a boss – total freedom, eh?

Wiz: [clinks his glass with Isard’s] Congratulations, mate. Twenty-five years is quite the stint. You’ve certainly escaped the cubicle life longer than most. But I have to ask – are you truly free, or have you just spent 25 years working a job with a slightly longer leash?

Isard: [chuckles] A “longer leash”? That’s a bit harsh. I prefer to think of it as no leash at all. I set my own schedule, choose my clients, take on projects I like. I mean, I’ve been the captain of my ship since the early 00’s.

Wiz: The captain of a ship, eh? You did chart your own path in some ways, I’ll give you that. But even a captain answers to the tides and the weather – in your case, clients and market forces. You chose your projects, sure, but only among the ones that chose you too. A freelancer still has to audition for each gig like an actor, waiting to be picked for the part. That’s not exactly no leash – just a longer one.

Isard: Fair enough, I did have to win each contract. Not every proposal landed, and I had my share of anxious waits when work was scarce. I won’t pretend clients just fell from the sky. But when work was steady, I enjoyed more autonomy day-to-day than I ever did as an employee. I decided when to work. I could take a Friday off and wander through London. I couldn’t do that in a normal 9-to-5 job.

Wiz: True, you’ve had flexibility. No denying that. You swapped the 9-to-5 for the 24/7. [smirks] How many holidays did you really take without worrying about the next contract or a client emergency?

Isard: [pauses] If I’m honest, not many. I remember travelling for a week and spending half the time on my laptop because a client’s system upgrade went sideways. So yes, sometimes the “freedom” felt like juggling flaming torches – exciting but precarious.

Wiz: Exactly. You traded a boss for multiple bosses – your clients. Instead of one manager breathing down your neck, you had five. Sometimes they’d all breathe fire at once. Remember when two clients each demanded you deliver in the same week?

Isard: Ha, how could I forget? That was a nightmare. I had Client A and Client B, totally unrelated, both insist their go-live had to happen before Easter. I spent that April surviving on coffee and adrenaline, racing between two projects. I pulled back-to-back all-nighters to keep both happy. So much for setting my own schedule!

Wiz: [raises an eyebrow] And during that chaos, who was in control? You, or the clients and their deadlines? It’s an honest question. You felt in control because you said “yes” to both projects – but once you did, they were effectively running your calendar.

Isard: When you put it that way, I was at their mercy. I chose the projects, but after that my time wasn’t really mine. It was an illusion of control.

Wiz: Illusion of control. Spot on. Freelancing often gives us just enough rope to feel independent, but not necessarily enough to pull ourselves out of the grind. You had autonomy in choosing your work, but once committed, you were as bound as any employee – sometimes more, since the buck stopped with you.

Isard: It’s true. If a client had a crisis, I couldn’t exactly say, “Not my problem.” In a regular job, you might call IT or a colleague. In my case, I was the IT department, the firefighter, everything. Freedom came with a side of responsibility.

Wiz: Responsibility is fine – it’s the trade-off. But let’s examine this “freedom” further. How often did you take on a project you weren’t excited about, just because you had bills to pay?

Isard: [sighs] More times than I’d like to admit. Especially in the early years – I took on a few dull contracts or difficult clients just to keep the income flowing. There were months I said yes to work that made me groan in the morning, simply because I didn’t feel free to say no.

Wiz: Right. The mortgage tends to override the luxury of choice. That’s something many of us realise: the supposed freedom to “only do interesting work” often yields to the reality of “do what pays the bills.” It’s honest work, but it isn’t the romantic freedom we envisioned when quitting the corporate job.

Isard: [nods] I remember when I left my permanent job – I thought I’d be working on passion projects and cutting-edge stuff. Instead, I sometimes found myself debugging the same old SAP modules at midnight for a client I barely liked, just because it was paying well.

Wiz: You left the corporate cage, only to build yourself a new one – a roomier, nicer cage, perhaps, with a window view. But a cage nonetheless.

Isard: Ouch. Calling my freelance career a cage is a bit much, don’t you think? I mean, I still wouldn’t trade it for a corporate life.

Wiz: Don’t get me wrong, Isard. Freelancing was a brilliant choice for you. It was liberating in many ways. You earned more than you likely would have climbing a corporate ladder, you avoided office politics, you even got to work in your slippers some days. That’s not nothing! But after 25 years, it’s fair to ask: have you been flying free, or just circling the same sky?

Isard: I hear you. Perhaps I’ve been circling. I have friends who went into corporate jobs and envy my independence. Yet I envy that some of them built teams or products – things bigger than themselves. Meanwhile, every project I finish, I hand over and move on, nothing to show except an invoice paid.

Wiz: Ah, now we’re touching on it – leverage. Or the lack of it. For a quarter century, you’ve essentially sold your time and expertise one project at a time. You get paid once for each slice of work. Have you ever built something that pays you even when you’re not working?

Isard: You mean like a product or royalties or something? Not really. I was fully focused on client work, delivering their outcomes. When the project ended, my involvement ended. If they went on to save millions using what I implemented, good for them – I got my fee and moved to the next gig.

Wiz: That right there is the classic freelancer’s conundrum. You create a lot of value, but you capture only a fraction of it. The rest slips through your fingers and fuels someone else’s engine.

Isard: It’s true. I once led a systems overhaul that saved a client’s business – they were able to handle triple the orders after the new SAP setup. They probably made a fortune from that efficiency. I was paid well for my six months of work, sure, but just a fixed fee. In hindsight, if I had even a small stake or a bonus tied to results, it would have been a windfall.

Wiz: [grins] And did you ask for a stake or performance bonus?

Isard: No, it didn’t even cross my mind at the time. I was in consultant mode – scope, deliver, invoice, repeat. The idea of sharing in the outcome wasn’t how I operated. Perhaps I didn’t feel I had the leverage to ask, or I didn’t consider it a possibility.

Wiz: Most freelancers don’t. We’re so used to selling time or deliverables. But after 25 years, you start to realise time is a limited commodity – the one thing you can’t get more of. You reached an income ceiling because there are only so many hours, and only so much you personally can do.

Isard: Yes. Even at my busiest and highest day rates, there’s a cap. I can’t work more than maybe 220 days a year. And there’s a market cap on rates in my field too. I’ve hit an earning plateau unless I clone myself.

Wiz: Leverage, my friend. The only way to break past that plateau is to introduce leverage – people, products, or property working for you. In our world, that often means systems and intellectual property. Think of it this way: you can carry one brick at a time on your back – that’s freelancing. Or you can design a pulley, get a team to carry bricks with you, or build a machine that multiplies your force. That’s leverage.

Isard: Are you suggesting I hire employees? The whole reason I stayed solo was to avoid that management headache.

Wiz: Not necessarily employees, unless you want to. There are other forms of leverage. Software is leverage – you write code once, it runs many times. Content is leverage – write a book or a guide, and it reaches thousands. Even your reputation is leverage – being known for something specific means opportunities come to you without you chasing every one.

Isard: So, essentially find ways to decouple my value from my hours.

Wiz: Exactly. Right now, your income has been directly tied to hours or, at best, project scopes. To earn more or impact more, you had to work more, or take on longer projects. But what if you package what you know so it can earn money or deliver value without you in the room every time?

Isard: I suppose I have accumulated a lot of knowledge about SAP and how businesses implement it. I could… I don’t know, create a training programme, or some kind of template that companies could use?

Wiz: Now you’re thinking. Maybe you develop a specialised SAP add-on and sell licences. Or you create an online course for new consultants. Or you write the definitive book on avoiding ERP pitfalls. Each of those is something you build once (or a few times) and it keeps paying you. That’s owning an outcome rather than just selling your time.

Isard: Funny, I always saw myself as free because I wasn’t anyone’s employee, but I never thought about it in terms of what I own. All I “own” is my one-man company’s goodwill and my skills. Once I stop working, that basically stops generating income.

Wiz: And do you plan to ever stop working? Or slow down?

Isard: [smiles wryly] I’d like to, at some point. It’d be nice to take a sabbatical or retire knowing something I built is still chugging along.

Wiz: Well, that’s the difference: owning vs. renting your time. You’ve been renting out your brain by the hour. No shame in that – it provided well. But you haven’t built an asset that works without you. After 25 years, you’ve got a mighty engine of expertise, but it’s only running when you’re in the driver’s seat. Perhaps it’s time to build a vehicle that can move even when you step out.

Isard: You make it sound so obvious. Why didn’t I do this earlier? Part of me feels a bit foolish – like I’ve spent decades working hard but maybe not smart.

Wiz: Hey, you did what you knew and what worked. Don’t beat yourself up. You provided for your family, built a great reputation in your circle, and enjoyed a lifestyle many envy. This isn’t about regret; it’s about the next chapter. Consider it an evolution, not an error.

Isard: That’s a comforting way to look at it – an evolution. So, what else would evolving entail?

Wiz: Let’s talk about being known versus just being booked. You’ve mostly gotten work through word of mouth in a relatively small network, right?

Isard: Yes, mostly former colleagues, referrals, the odd recruiter who heard of me. I’ve never really advertised or put myself out there publicly. I was always busy enough through my network.

Wiz: Busy is good, but being booked solid often meant you had no time to raise your head and see beyond the project at hand. You were too in the weeds to plant seeds for the future, if you’ll pardon the rhyme.

Isard: True. I never wrote blogs or spoke at conferences – I was too occupied delivering for clients. And perhaps a bit shy about it, to be honest.

Wiz: Understandable. But think of those who are known names in consulting or tech. They might not be grinding on client work 40 hours a week, yet opportunities chase them. They get to pick the choicest projects, maybe even have clients adapt to their schedule because their name carries weight.

Isard: You’re talking about thought leaders – the gurus who publish and speak. I always figured that was for other people, the flamboyant types or academics. I was a hands-on practitioner.

Wiz: Nothing wrong with that. But one can be a practitioner and share knowledge widely. In fact, who better than someone with battle scars from 25 years in the field? You could have been – and still could be – known as the guy for, say, rescuing failed ERP projects or optimising SAP for midsize firms. If that reputation were out there, how different might your last decade have looked?

Isard: I imagine I might have had more inquiries than I could handle. Possibly I could have charged more, or picked only projects that really interested me. Or pivoted to coaching other consultants.

Wiz: Precisely. When you’re simply booked, you’re in execution mode, submerged in the work. When you’re known, you have a platform. You can influence, attract opportunities, and you’re not just waiting to be chosen by whatever client finds you – you get to do the choosing because more people are coming to you.

Isard: So I spent 25 years being great at what I do, but largely in the shadows, known only within my contracts. Meanwhile, others out there built personal brands. One could say I chose being busy over being visible.

Wiz: That’s one way to frame it. And look, there’s no universal right answer – being known isn’t everyone’s goal. But since we’re examining freedom: which scenario gives you more freedom in the long run? Being known for your expertise, or just being the reliable contractor who will parachute in and fix things?

Isard: Being known would give more options, I see that now. It’s another form of leverage, really – my reputation working for me even when I’m not actively networking.

Wiz: You got it. Leverage isn’t just tools and products; it’s also relationships and reputation. They all compound. It’s the difference between running on a treadmill and building momentum that carries you forward.

Isard: [laughs] I certainly have felt like I was on a treadmill at times – running fast but not necessarily getting somewhere new. Always busy, but sometimes wondering, “What’s the endgame here?”

Wiz: So, Isard, let me ask: what is the endgame? Another 10 or 15 years doing the same thing? Will you celebrate 40 years freelancing, still delivering projects until you eventually stop?

Isard: The thought of doing the exact same thing for another decade… honestly, it’s not as appealing as it once was. I love my work, but I don’t want to be 65 scrambling for the next contract or grinding out timesheets. I’d like to have something to show for all this experience beyond a list of past projects and a healthy bank account.

Wiz: What might that “something” be?

Isard: Perhaps a business of my own – not just me as the business. Maybe a small consultancy where I mentor younger consultants, multiplying impact. Or a product to address a gap I’ve seen in the market. Or even intellectual property – a framework, a book, a training course as you mentioned. Something that gives back, and yes, keeps earning even if I step away.

Wiz: Now you’re thinking like an owner, not just a freelancer. And that word “intentional” comes to mind. For 25 years you’ve worked hard, but maybe somewhat reactively – taking projects as they came, doing what was asked. What if from here on, you design your career intentionally? Choose a direction where each piece of work builds towards a bigger picture you care about.

Isard: That makes a lot of sense. It’s like I spent years climbing a ladder, but I need to check if it’s leaning on the right wall. Going forward, I can reposition that ladder.

Wiz: Or build a new ladder entirely – one that’s yours. You have the freedom now to define what success in the next phase looks like. It could be less about chasing contracts and more about creating something that lasts.

Isard: You know, at the start of this conversation I was just thinking about celebrating my longevity. Now I realise it’s not about how long I’ve been at it, but what I’ve accumulated in that time and how I can use it differently.

Wiz: You’ve accumulated wisdom, skills, credibility, and probably a decent financial cushion. Those are tremendous assets. Many people at 25 years in are coasting to retirement. But I suspect you’re a bit too restless for a quiet retirement just yet.

Isard: [grins] You know me well. I don’t think I can just potter around the garden all day. I still have passion for this field – I just want to channel it into something that’s mine.

Wiz: So maybe these 25 years weren’t a destination, but a preparation. Not a plateau, but a launch pad.

Isard: I like that idea: a launch pad. It certainly reframes things. All this time I’ve been gathering fuel without realising it. And perhaps now it’s time to ignite something new.

Wiz: Better late than never to launch the rocket, right? You have experience as your fuel and wisdom as your navigation. Combine that with a bit of courage and you’ll find that your notion of freedom will expand far beyond what freelancing alone offered.

Isard: It’s funny – I felt I had reached the peak of my independence by hitting the 25-year mark. But you’ve got me seeing it differently. This could be the beginning of a more intentional journey. One where I still consult, but also create, own, and lead in new ways.

Wiz: That’s the spirit. You’re not ending a 25-year run; you’re starting a new chapter where you leverage those 25 years for something greater. You’re moving from simply being in control of your work schedule to being in control of your destiny – by owning the outcome.

Isard: Thank you, Wiz. Trust you to turn my celebratory drink into a philosophy session. [laughs] But truly, you’ve given me a lot to think about. This has been an unexpected gift for my 25th freelancerversary.

Wiz: I live to serve – with a side of dry humour and tough love, of course. And hey, I expect an invite to the launch party of whatever you embark on next.

Isard: Count on it. Here’s to the next phase – may it be freedom in the truest sense.

Wiz: [raises his glass one more time] Hear, hear – to turning a long freelance voyage into a launch towards new horizons.