Back in the spring, I wrote about my “soft pivot” — moving from a decade at the National Democratic Institute into freelance consulting. That shift was more than just a change in employment status. It was an opportunity to rethink how I show up in a space that’s still reeling from the collapse of U.S. foreign assistance, and to re-anchor my work in values that feel urgent in this moment: inclusion, human-centered design, and democratic resilience in the face of rapid technological and political change.

The first wave of work came fast — old contacts reached out, projects materialized quickly — and I was fortunate to find meaningful, mission-aligned work with smart people and organizations I respect.

Now, as summer turns to fall and the days are getting shorter, new projects aren’t coming as easily. My main project is set to wrap at the end of September, and I don’t have any new work lined up. A friend who is also a consultant reassured me that when he was first starting up, he went through a similar period where it was hard to consistently string contracts together. And while I’m still engaged in several smaller pro-bono efforts — mentoring students, advising nonprofits, developing my own civic tech initiatives — I’ve started asking questions about what comes next. Why the slowdown? Is it a natural summer lull or was the early burst of projects just the inertia of my old network? What happens if that momentum has run out?

The initial work that came my way was all inbound — from people who already knew me. My “soft pivot” was built on existing trust. But networks have edges, and I find myself hesitating to push beyond mine. I’ve kept ties warm, but I haven’t made network-building a deliberate practice. Part of that is bandwidth — networking often feels like an opportunity cost. Time I spend reaching out to new contacts is time I’m not spending working on my current contracts or applying for full-time jobs — all while juggling the stress of my kids starting school amid the latest upheavals in DC. The returns on networking are real, but they’re also diffuse and hard to measure — especially compared to the immediacy of creating something or hitting “submit” on a job application.

I’ve also had to face the fact that I’m not a natural salesperson. Reaching out cold, pitching my consulting services to people who don’t already know me — it’s uncomfortable, and it’s outside my default mode of work, which has always leaned on reputation, trust, continuity, and collaboration. One thing I’ve found surprisingly comfortable, though, is writing. Blogging about my experience — naming the uncertainties, reflecting on the process, sharing what I’m learning — has been one of the easiest and most grounding ways to stay visible. It doesn’t feel like selling; it feels like processing out loud. And maybe that’s the point — finding ways to show up that feel honest, even when they fall outside the usual playbook.

Requests for Proposals (RFPs) feel like another opportunity cost — time-consuming, uncertain, and rarely yielding meaningful work. Proposals take hours to write, the odds of success are low, and it’s rarely clear if the effort will result in meaningful work or just another polite rejection. One recent RFP drove this home for me. I considered an RFP that seemed straightforward at first glance: a fixed budget, a clear deliverable, and a mission-aligned organization. But once I dug into the details, ambiguity started to pile up. The technical platform wasn’t specified. The data quality was unclear. The number and complexity of visualizations weren’t defined. There were references to narrative components and training, but no clarity on whether those were in or out of scope. I spent hours drafting a response that tried to honor the budget while outlining a realistic scope, but didn’t ultimately submit a formal proposal. In this case, the value of the opportunity simply didn’t feel worth the cost or risk.

Applying for full-time jobs can feel similar. Each application often requires a customized resume, a tailored cover letter, and hours of research — all with no guarantee of a response, let alone an interview. It’s labor-intensive and emotionally draining, and when time is limited, it competes directly with other obligations. So I keep applying, but I do it slowly, deliberately — when the job feels right, not just available. 

In the meantime, I migrated my old blog to a new self-hosted WordPress site — not just as a technical update, but as a symbolic one. The ads WordPress.com was serving on my old site didn’t align with my values, and in the era of AI scrapers, ownership over my content felt even more urgent. Having full control over how my work is presented — and how it can be used — became increasingly important. The new site also now represents the home of my consulting practice, and a place where I will continue to share ideas, tools, and reflections from this next chapter of work.

My work centers on helping organizations make thoughtful technology choices, design inclusive tools, and align digital projects with their needs and values. If you’re looking for a partner to support that kind of work, I’d love to connect. And if you’ve walked through a freelance chapter yourself, I’d also be curious to hear how you approached business development and networking — how you grew beyond your initial contacts, sustained momentum, and decided when it was time to shift gears.You can learn more about my consultancy at secondhandworlds.org/consulting-services.