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I have a confession to make: I’m scared of failure. I’m scared of rejection too. I avoid doing things if I don’t think I can succeed. I don’t allow myself to want something if I don’t think I can have it.

And I have an even bigger confession to make: it doesn’t work. I still want things—big, scary, wonderful things—that I can only dream of ever having. I still stick out my neck and dream too big, aim too high, and fall down face first when I get shot down. I want to travel the world but student loans loom over my head and “responsible adults” don’t waste their money on train tickets when there are bills that can be paid off instead. I dream of doing cool and amazing work at cool and amazing places but I have a toxic sinking fear that my work is not good enough, my words are not polished enough, I don’t have the right look, the right vibe, the right portfolio of work to ever run with the big dogs so I put off internship opportunities and applications. I suffer from rare but crippling bouts of self doubt and I, like most artists, crave validation because my imposter syndrome tells me that I’m just not good enough.

And yet my best work is all stuff I was afraid to show anyone.
But that’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s the secret ingredient. As Brené Brown says in her one of her amazing TED talks:

“Vulnerability is the birthplace of innovation, creativity and change. To create is to make something that has never existed before. There’s nothing more vulnerable than that.”

So as Victor Hugo said, “if we must suffer, let us suffer nobly.” Therefore if I must fail, let me fail spectacularly and learn all the more from it. If I am rejected, let it be painfully blunt so I can get up a move on. And if I’m under-qualified let me be brave and/or stupid enough apply anyway, because the worst they can say is no, which is always the answer when you’re too scared to even ask. Because being vulnerable means I am courageous enough to try.

Insight is defined by OED as “an accurate or deep understanding; illumination; revelation.” My definition goes a bit farther, as I consider insight to be all of the above but also “a truth that seems obvious once stated.” Insight for me is that Ah-ha moment that you get when you realize something that was probably staring you in the face the whole time. It’s the lightning strike during a creative brainstorm. It’s the foundational nugget of wisdom that makes you reevaluate your method of thinking a little. It gives you goosebumps and makes you excited and it’s pretty much what advertisers live and die for.

So how can a person like you or me develop their ability to find insight, to reach enlightenment or revelation? When your craft is creativity, how do you hone it? How do you ‘practice’ discovering ideas? Well, that question is actually fascinating to neuroscientists because creativity involves creating NEW connections between synapses. We get inspiration, we have ideas, and it makes us smarter! When we learn new things, we create new dots for our brains to connect when we need it. I’ve sort of always had this hunch and I even found a quote by Steve Jobs about it. He put it really well:

“Creativity is just connecting things. When you ask creative people how they did something, they feel a little guilty because they didn’t really do it, they just saw something. It seemed obvious to them after a while. That’s because they were able to connect experiences they’ve had and synthesize new things. And the reason they were able to do that was that they’ve had more experiences or they have thought more about their experiences than other people.”

And there are lots of ways to do that. Reading books that challenge our current knowledge and understanding of concepts helps us make new dots to connect. Talking to new people can do the job too. Sometimes we have all but one important piece to a puzzle and talking to a designer friend, reading a news article, looking at a piece of art, or just about any seemingly random experience can be just what we need to discover that final missing aspect of a great idea. Because creativity doesn’t happen in a vacuum. So go to that new exhibit at the museum! Listen to new music, explore the places you visit, and gather new experiences like an artist gathers raw materials for a new project. Fill your toolkit with unique and interesting endeavors so you’ll have that much more to work with when you need a brain blast. Take a class, learn a new skill, have fun improving yourself and become a better creative in the process. It’s a new year, after all, so go for it!

 

If your life was a book, how would it read?
If the story of you was told with words and pages, what would it be about? Would it be pulp fiction? Nonfiction? Action? Comedy? Romance? Would it be a self-help five-step wonder-guide or perhaps more of a reflective memoir? Would it be factual or fantasy? Would it be interesting?

It’s probably just my nerdy copywriter brain, but I think about this often. I wonder if my book would be all of my tweets compiled into an ironic coffee table book of late-millennial-musings. Or maybe it would be the biography of an obscure hero, mostly lost to history. That book would be written, of course, by one like myself; who takes notice of those not in the limelight, but running the show from backstage. Maybe it would be a choose-your-own-adventure like the cheeky “autobiography” by Neil Patrick Harris. I think I’d definitely want the book of me to be at least kind of funny. (Wow, if that isn’t a hopeful self-characterization. “Hi, I’m at least kind of funny.”) But I guess the real question here is deeper than my game of “what if” during a perusal of the sections in my local Barnes & Noble, it’s actually asking:

“What do I want to be remembered for?”

And honestly folks, that’s a pretty damn relevant question for an aspiring professional trying to find her place. The answer to that question will in a lot of ways shape the twists and turns that my career path will take because it asks who I eventually want to become. What will people remember about the person I become in a decade? What will my peers recollect about me years from now? What they think of when I come to mind? What impression did I leave? Was I hardworking? Creative? Kind? Did I make people smile and laugh? Did I put them at ease by creating a safe space? Did I help when they needed it? Was I a leader?
I hope the impression was positive overall, but I’ll probably never really know. That doesn’t mean asking myself what kind of person people see me as isn’t an important exercise. Because, whether I think about it or not, my actions do affect my results. And I take my behavior seriously because I understand that it impacts those around me here and now but it can also hurt my chances for things down the line. If ten years from now an old group project partner is in charge of recruiting somewhere, and all they remember about me is how much our project sucked, then I’m definitely not going to get the job. That’s not okay. I want to be a good person now because it’s the right thing, and because it’s an investment in my future opportunities.

But back to the question, I want to be remembered for…the things I endeavor to be. Generous with my time. Kind to those who are often overlooked. Collaborative and creative and passionate. Open to new experiences. Thirsty for knowledge. Ready to learn. Accepting of criticism. These are the traits I strive for and want to be admired for. Characterizations of a woman slightly better than I am, but one I aspire to embody.
I want to be remembered for always trying to improve. Never giving up. Being smart and fearless and above all honest. Because I make mistakes, just like everyone else. I don’t know everything. But the first step of understanding something new is admitting that you don’t already know. So yeah, I want to be the person who asks the stupid question because she needs the answer in order to not be stupid anymore. I want to make sure that we are on the same page and that means communication, not assuming or bluffing, just unpretentiously asking.

So maybe my book will just be a list of all the questions I’ve ever asked. Because my dad taught me that if you never ask, the answer is always no. And that a desire to know is never a bad thing. Maybe that’s why I’ve had former supervisors remember me for my “HEALTHY curiosity” when I was never hesitant to ask “why?” sixteen times every day. Because I wanted to know. I had the desire to learn and understand. That’s why the book of me will be a book of questions, and I’ll call it “Out of Curiosity” because that is the answer I give to every sarcastic mimic in response when I repeatedly inquire about pretty much everything. Why do I ask? Out of curiosity.
I like that. It has a circularity to it. A nod to where this all started: a fun, offbeat class called curiousness where I honed my creativity and started writing this very blog. Can you read me?

I’ve been doing a lot of job soul searching recently, and one of the most pressing questions during the process of finding work that doesn’t make you hate your life is “Why?” Finding the answer is not just helpful for the tough interview questions like ‘what are your life goals?’ but also questions about identity that people ask themselves. Why did I choose this field? What makes me happy? Why do I exist?

Basically, what is the meaning of my life?

That’s not an easy question, and I’ve put a good deal of thought into it. My take is this:

For me, the meaning of life is to create and appreciate beauty.

This is what I landed on because the definition of beauty is different for everyone.

My beauty is words. A well written poem speaks to me in sultry whispers and I think it’s beautiful. A good book draws me into wonderful worlds full of fantastic places. I love the power that language has to do that. And I love the feeling when I find the right words to say exactly what I’m thinking. I also a love being a part of the community of creators who sculpt language into beautiful things. I create and find beauty to appreciate and it is meaningful.

But that’s just me. Maybe your beauty is discovering the a new species, or writing and performing a great song. Maybe it’s creating another person; you live to create brand new humans, children who are unique and beautiful. Maybe your meaning is capturing the unexpected beauty around you through art. Or just drawing funny doodles for the internet. Maybe it’s none of those things, and you just live to appreciate the beauty around you. You find beauty in the soothing sounds of a quiet creek, in the funny shapes you see in the clouds, in the intricate cracks time traces in the pavement, or in the beautiful art that others create.

Whatever beauty means to us, it gives us purpose.

I like this because it means we are never ‘done’. There is progress because there are always new things to inspire us. Our ‘job’ is to see beauty and make beautiful things for others to find and appreciate. Beauty is everywhere. Life is beautiful and scary and meaningful because humanity makes it those things. This is my why. My manifesto. I live to create and appreciate beauty and reminding myself of that whenever I’m struggling to find motivation or a job or whatever it is, it really helps. I also made it into a comic, because why not?

 

Some days I feel like I’m just standing on my little soapbox in the street yelling desperately at the strangers passing by and hoping that maybe, if I just rattle off my credentials a little louder, someone will give me a “real” job in my field. And then I think about the joke Sarah Kay tells in her TED talk about the other kind of field and I giggle, and I remember that talk, and I feel less like a pathetic almost-post grad and more like an explorer about to set out on the next great adventure.

My biggest issue at the moment isn’t even job hunting, it’s the bitterness I feel towards the “internship” racket. I have a really hard time justifying giving valuable time away for free to a firm that could afford to pay me but doesn’t. There’s a really awesome professor with VCUarts who agrees with my sentiment in somewhat fewer and blunter words:

“Don’t be a slut, make people pay for your art.” –Peter Fraser

Because the whole ‘work-for-the-experience’ BS feels like just that. Bullshit. I would rather (and do) give my time to a good cause that can’t afford to pay me, like a small nonprofit or an underfunded passion project. I can get just as much, if not more, “experience” creating content for people who wouldn’t get it otherwise. Plus, it’s miles more fulfilling than making the daily coffee run at even the coolest agency ever. If I’m forced to work for free in order to pad my resume (or whatever the logic for interning is), I’d much rather do things that matter. I’d rather know I’m helping people who deserve help. I’d rather make the world better by donating my talents than let some CEO flush them down the toilet and laugh at all these fools who are willing to work for free.

I think a lot of recent graduates struggle to value themselves and their work. Validation basically evaporates when you leave the academic world and that can be hard. I am here to tell you: you deserve to be paid. You have a degree that you (or someone else) paid for, you have earned the right to ask for compensation. This is about more than the wage gap, I know that society brainwashes women to be less able to demand payment, this is about your worth as a creative person. YOU, yes, you have talent and skill that are worthy of a decent wage.

So don’t be a slut.

 

A week ago I had the amazing opportunity to be a Team Leader at VCU’s CreateAthon event over spring break. I had been preparing for this all semester in my nonprofit project development class, learning all I could about the client and their marketing needs in anticipation of making them some awesome content during the 24 hour event. I was the liaison, the leader, the Go-To Gal™.
And I had the worst case of impostor syndrome I’ve ever experienced.
I felt unqualified, unprepared, and actually sick. (I lost my voice to a miserable throat cold during the course of the 24 hours.) I wasn’t on my ‘A-game’ and I had nagging fears of inadequacy plaguing me not unlike the nasty cough I was suffering. It didn’t matter that my fears were completely unfounded, or that the client loved everything we presented; I still felt the looming, inevitable threat of being called a fake. I was so obviously just pretending to be an adult, a leader, a worthwhile copywriter and teammate. Maybe it was my illness but I spent the whole event wrapped up in feeling inadequate. I couldn’t collaborate because it hurt to talk. I should have researched that aspect more. I should have thought to ask the client these questions sooner, why didn’t I have those answers?

But through that soul crushing inner monologue I found myself surrounded by wonderful talented people who somehow believed I was one of them. I came up with a headline for the organization that said exactly what they had been trying to say for five years in one sentence. I rewrote their redundantly wordy materials in language people would actually use and understand. I did what I was good at; writing copy and sharing things I learned with my team. Anyone who has met me can tell you that I don’t hesitate to share nuggets of knowledge like they’re snacks and I’m your friend’s super nice mom who always feeds you. I love to share. Sometimes I can’t help but share; I’ll drunkenly talk your ear off about whatever random facts I happen to have absorbed recently, regardless of your interest. It’s part of my charm, I hope. I succeeded.

And I realized as soon as I got some sleep and got out of my own head that we actually made work that was worthy of the client’s joyful reaction. We made stuff she needed and will use. And that feeling, knowing I did something genuinely helpful for someone who needed the help; that is what reminded me that I’m not a failure, so I needed to stop feeling like one. I did something really cool! While I was pretty damn sick and sleepless to boot, I might add. I worked with a fantastic multi-skilled team for a nonprofit that wasn’t getting what they needed from their parent organization and it was my pleasure. I didn’t take the class out of obligation, I wanted to. I had the urge to do something that mattered and the feeling I have now, when I remind myself why I bother, is not failure, it’s pride.