Why I Stopped Taking Commissions That Did Not Excite Me

There comes a point in every freelancer’s life when they stare at their inbox and feel nothing. Not dread, exactly. Not excitement. Just a flat, gray nothing, like looking at a bowl of unseasoned oatmeal and knowing you’re going to eat it anyway because it’s there and you’re hungry.

That was me, about two years ago. Checking email felt like opening a refrigerator that needed to be cleaned out. Somewhere beneath the Tupperware of obligation was something I actually wanted, but I’d have to dig through a lot of questionable leftovers to find it.

The Commission That Broke the Camel’s Back

Let me tell you about the project that changed things. A client—perfectly nice, perfectly reasonable—wanted me to create a series of pieces for their corporate wellness initiative. The brief was clear. The timeline was generous. The pay was fine. “Fine” is the operative word here. Not good, not great, not “I can’t believe they’re paying me this much.” Just fine. Like room-temperature water.

I said yes because that’s what I’d always done. Said yes, nodded along, made the thing, got paid, moved on. But this time, halfway through the project, I realized I was spending my evenings dreading the next morning’s work. Not because the client was difficult or the scope was unreasonable. Because I simply did not care about what I was making.

The final deliverables were perfectly adequate. Professional. On time. Completely lifeless, like a tax return formatted as interpretive dance. The client was happy. I was relieved it was over. And then I sat there, wondering why I’d just spent three weeks of my one short life making something that left me feeling absolutely nothing.

The Math That Changed My Mind

After that project, I started doing some uncomfortable arithmetic. Not the financial kind—I’d already done that, and the numbers looked acceptable on paper. No, I mean the life-span kind. The hours-in-a-week kind. The what-am-I-doing-with-my-limited-time-on-this-planet kind.

Here’s what I figured out: if I was spending roughly 40 hours a week on work that didn’t interest me, and I planned to work for another 25 years, that’s roughly 52,000 hours. 52,000 hours of not caring. Of clock-watching. Of making things I wouldn’t want to look at twice, let alone put in a portfolio.

That math didn’t add up to anything I wanted. So I made a rule, right there at my desk, mid-existential crisis: no more commissions that didn’t excite me.

What “Excitement” Actually Means

Let me clarify, because “excitement” is a loaded word. I’m not talking about fireworks-and-confetti enthusiasm. I’m not waiting for projects that make me want to compose sonnets about the creative process. Excitement, in this context, means curiosity. It means looking at a brief and thinking, “Oh, that’s interesting,” or “I’ve never tried that before,” or even just, “I’d actually like to see how this turns out.”

That’s a low bar. A deliberately low bar. I’m not expecting every project to be a passion project. I’m just expecting to not be bored out of my skull while doing it.

The Terror of Saying No

Here’s what nobody tells you about turning down work: at first, it feels like setting money on fire. Every “no, thank you” feels like you’re personally funding your own future bankruptcy. Your brain starts doing the math in reverse: That’s a rent payment I just threw away. That’s groceries for a month. That’s contributing to my retirement account instead of hoping I die before 70.

I won’t sugarcoat it. The first three months after I started turning down unexciting commissions were uncomfortable. Not destitute—I had enough of a cushion and enough existing clients to stay afloat—but uncomfortable in the way that breaking any habit is uncomfortable. The reflex to say “yes, sure, when do you need it?” was strong.

But then something shifted. The space I’d created by saying no started filling up. Not immediately, and not without effort, but gradually. With projects I actually wanted to do.

The Surprising Economics of Selective Acceptance

Here’s the part I didn’t expect: I started making more money. Not because I raised my rates dramatically (though I did nudge them up), but because the work I was excited about turned out to be work I was better at. Turns out, when you give a damn about what you’re making, you make better things. And better things get noticed.

According to a study published in the American Psychological Association‘s research on workplace motivation, intrinsic motivation—that’s the kind that comes from genuine interest, not external rewards—is a stronger predictor of creativity, persistence, and overall job performance than extrinsic motivation alone. Which is a fancy way of saying: caring about your work makes you better at it.

I found this out the hard way, by accident, because I was too tired to keep doing things the old way. The projects I cared about received my best ideas, my most focused attention, my willingness to go back and revise until something actually worked well instead of just functioned. The dull projects got my minimum viable effort, and it showed.

The Portfolio Effect

There’s also the portfolio consideration. When you take every commission that comes your way, your portfolio becomes a grab bag of whatever happened to be in your inbox. It doesn’t tell a story. It doesn’t demonstrate a point of view. It just exists, like a junk drawer of creative output.

When I started being selective, my portfolio started making sense. There was a through-line. People could look at my work and understand what I was about, which meant the people who reached out next were people who wanted what I was actually good at. A self-reinforcing cycle, and a welcome one.

How I Decide What to Take On

So what’s my system? It’s not complicated. Probably because I’m not a complicated person when it comes to decision-making. I ask myself three questions:

1. Does this project present a problem I haven’t solved before? If the answer is yes, I’m probably interested. Novelty keeps the brain engaged. Repetition makes it want to take a nap.

2. Would I make this even if nobody was paying me? Okay, that’s idealistic. I wouldn’t make most things for free because I also enjoy eating and having a roof. But the question is whether the project aligns with something I’d want to explore anyway. A personal interest. A creative direction I’d want to wander toward regardless.

3. Will I be embarrassed to have my name on this? Not in the sense of “is this uncool,” because I’ve never been cool and I’m not about to start now. More in the sense of “does this represent work I’m actually proud of?” If the answer is no, I pass.

The Exceptions (Because There Are Always Exceptions)

I’d love to tell you I never take unexciting commissions anymore, but that would be a lie, and I’m trying to be honest here. Sometimes, a boring project comes with enough money to fund three months of life, and three months of life is worth a few weeks of tedium. Sometimes, a dull project is for a client I really like working with, and the relationship matters enough that I’ll slog through something uninteresting to maintain it.

The difference is that these are conscious choices now, not default settings. I’m not taking every commission that lands in my inbox because I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t. I’m taking the occasional unexciting one because I’ve decided it’s worth the trade-off in that specific instance.

According to research from the Stanford Graduate School of Business, people who feel they have agency over their choices—even difficult ones—report higher satisfaction than those who feel their circumstances are imposed on them. In other words, choosing to do something tedious is different from feeling forced to do it. The task might be the same, but your experience of it is completely different.

What I’d Tell Someone Considering the Same Shift

First: build a cushion. Even a small one. Turning down work is a lot easier when you’re not simultaneously calculating how many days until your rent is late. Even a month’s worth of expenses in the bank gives you enough breathing room to say no without spiraling.

Second: expect the fear to show up. It doesn’t go away. You just get used to it. Every time I turn down a project that would’ve paid well but bored me silly, there’s a small voice that whispers, What if nothing better comes along? I’ve learned to acknowledge that voice, nod politely, and keep going. So far, better things have come along. Not on my timeline, and not without effort, but they’ve shown up.

Third: be prepared to explain your shift to existing clients. Some of them won’t understand why you’re suddenly being “picky.” That’s fine. The ones worth keeping will respect your boundaries, and the ones who don’t probably weren’t great to work with anyway.

FAQ

Isn’t turning down commissions just a privilege that established creatives have?

Yes, partly. I’m not going to pretend that being selective is easy when you’re starting out or when your financial situation is precarious. If you need to take every commission that comes your way to keep the lights on, do that. Survival comes first. But even then, you can start building toward selectivity. Take the unexciting work now, use it to build your skill set and reputation, and start giving yourself permission to say no as soon as you have even a little wiggle room. The shift doesn’t have to be overnight.

How do you know if a project will be exciting before you start?

You don’t, not always. Some projects that sound interesting on paper turn out to be slogs, and some boring-sounding briefs surprise you. But you can make educated guesses based on the subject matter, the client’s approach, and whether the brief leaves room for you to bring something of yourself to the work. If a project description makes you curious, that’s a good sign. If it makes you want to close your laptop and stare at the ceiling, that’s a bad one.

What do you say to clients when turning down a commission?

I keep it simple and honest without over-explaining. Something like: “I appreciate you thinking of me, but I don’t think I’m the right fit for this particular project. I want to make sure you get the best possible result, and I don’t think I’m the person to deliver that here.” Most clients respect that. The ones who don’t are probably the ones you didn’t want to work with anyway.

Has saying no ever led to better opportunities with the same client?

Surprisingly, yes. A few times, turning down a project has led to a conversation about what I do want to work on, and that conversation has resulted in a brief that’s actually exciting to me. Sometimes clients don’t know what’s possible until you tell them. Other times, they come back months later with something completely different. The relationship doesn’t have to end just because one project wasn’t a fit.

The Bottom Line

Stopping the cycle of taking every commission that came my way was one of the best professional decisions I’ve made. Not because it was easy—it wasn’t—and not because I never have dull days anymore—I definitely still do. But because the overall quality of my work and my life improved once I started treating my time and attention as finite resources worth protecting.

If you’re reading this while staring at your own inbox full of projects you don’t care about, consider this your permission to start saying no. Not recklessly. Not without a plan. But intentionally, with the understanding that your hours are limited and your capacity for drudgery is not infinite. There’s enough interesting work out there if you make room for it. But you have to make the room first.