I’ve spent the better part of my professional life inside the logic and chaos of Tech. Fifteen years or so, give or take a few moments of disillusionment, working in roles that stretch from the deeply technical to the tenderly human. I’ve always been drawn to the space where structure meets imagination, where we take an idea, still breathing from someone’s lips, and give it form. That’s where I belong; in the murky middle, between vision and reality, between what is said and what is truly needed.
I never set out to be here. As a boy, I wanted to be an attorney. Not for prestige, not for power, but to fight for children, to make sense of the things that didn’t. In some innocent, oddly structured version of my dream, I imagined making enough money from my Tech business to fund the life of a child rights advocate. My name on the letterhead, my soul in the courtroom. That Tech business? That was always part of the plan.
Over the years, I’ve worn many titles, but the roles that have stayed with me, the ones I think about on long drives or in quiet rooms, are Business Analyst and Programs Manager. These aren’t glamorous roles. But they’re sacred in their own way. They’re the roles where things take shape. Where needs are listened to, distilled, broken open, and stitched back into a working reality. Where chaos gets translated into order.
In those roles, I learned something I wish I’d learned sooner: Charge by the hour.
Not just as a billing model, but as a way of living. A philosophy, really. Because people will spend your time like it costs them nothing, unless you show them it’s worth something.
The truth is, people don’t always mean to waste your time. They often don’t even realize they are. And for a while, I didn’t realize either. I gave it freely. I showed up early, stayed late, responded quickly. I wanted to help. I wanted to be needed. But slowly, something inside began to feel used, not in the dramatic sense, but in the quiet way that erodes you. Like giving someone your seat and realizing, hours later, that they never stood back up. Truth is: the cost of your time is invisible to others unless you make it visible to yourself first.
What I’ve learned is this: people won’t respect what you don’t protect. And time, your time, isn’t just a schedule or a calendar entry. It’s your life, sliced into measurable, irreversible segments. Every hour you give is an hour you never get back. So if you’re going to give it, let it be worth something. Not just to them, but to you.
That’s what Charge by the hour really means. It means: own your time.
Not arrogantly. Not defensively. But with the quiet confidence that says, I know what I’ve built, and I know what it costs me to show up this way.
I’ve sat across too many tables, whiteboards behind us, coffee cooling beside us, listening to a client explain the same vision for the third time. Round and round we’d go, eventually landing back at the same idea I proposed an hour ago. Not because they’re difficult (though some are) but because validation often dresses itself as collaboration. And that confusion wastes time.
But here’s what hurts most: when it’s your time being spent, it’s your life being borrowed. Every meeting that overruns, every call that starts late, every “quick” question that turns into an hour-long brainstorm, these are pieces of your life chipped away, sometimes for free.
So no, Charging by the hour isn’t about greed. It’s about clarity. It isn’t about slapping a price tag on every minute of your day. It’s about moving through life with the awareness that your time is finite, your presence is powerful, and your energy isn’t bottomless. It’s about setting the tone for how people interact with you, not because you demand it, but because you live it. It’s about showing others how to treat your time by first deciding how you treat it yourself.
You don’t have to demand payment for every favor. You don’t need to be cold or transactional. But you must be clear: your time has weight. Your years carry wisdom. And the miles you’ve walked in your career, however meandering, have brought you somewhere valuable.
And yet, we forget. We underestimate the things we’ve done because they didn’t come with titles or applause. We downplay our experience because it didn’t always feel “big enough.”
But recently, sitting in job interviews, I’ve watched people light up when I speak about the projects I once brushed aside. The small wins. The quiet innovations. The little systems I built that saved someone else hours of work. Those mattered. I just didn’t know they did.
Until we learn to name the value of our time, others will keep treating it like it’s theirs.
There is no arrogance in self-belief. There is only peace in finally seeing yourself clearly.
So charge by the hour. Because you’ve studied. Because you’ve failed and gotten back up. Because you’ve listened, and learned, and built. Because you’ve spent your time learning how not to waste it.
Let the world meet you with the same respect you’ve earned in silence. Let them show up on time. Let them think twice before calling. Let them know that your time, like theirs, matters.
In all these years, one thing has never changed: People treat you the way you show them to.