MY STORY

I always hated “favorites.” Favorite color. Favorite meal. Favorite song. There were too many to choose from. I never understood how my Kindergarten classmates could so confidently shout out “yellow” or “red” or “purple” without even taking a moment to consider all of the other options out there. What about magenta or hazel or emerald? What about all the colors we didn’t even know existed yet? How could they sit there and commit themselves to such a limited spectrum in only a matter of seconds?

Not wanting to risk my chance to claim a color, I would shout “blue” into the chaos, but secretly my mind would be taking stock of all the colors I'd left behind, worrying how long I could actually commit to this claim. Could I live with blue for the rest of my life? Did this mean that every birthday cake from here until my death had to be blue? Would I always have to paint my walls blue or risk being called a fraud?

There were no questions or winding roads.

My indecision followed me through high school, except by then the stakes were raised, and I had to commit to a career rather than a color. I was kicking myself for taking the simplicity of Kindergarten for granted. It didn’t help that both of my parents were doctors, so their entire lives were basically mapped out from the day they graduated: study pre-med in college, apply to med school, graduate, survive residency, be a doctor. It was pretty straight forward. There were no questions or winding roads. There was no doubt in their minds that they would pursue medicine until their hands failed them. There would be no confusion or switching paths — you either wanted to be a doctor or you didn’t — but once you committed, that was pretty much it.

For me, it wasn’t so simple. Unlike my parents, I was never interested in medicine or anything that I felt I could commit to for more than a few months. It didn’t help that all of my friends seemed to have their entire lives figured out by high school either. How did they know for sure that they wanted to be chemical engineers or journalists or consultants? When were these decisions made and how did I miss the deadline?

I flipped between wanting to be the first female president, to a professional soccer player, and I’m pretty sure I even wanted to be a news anchor at one point, but nothing ever stuck. I hated that all of my friends were so excited about their futures, while I struggled to find an industry that I was actually passionate about. Any time friends or family asked what I wanted to do professionally I would flashback to those days in Kindergarten, chanting “lawyer” — or whatever else I had settled on that month — on command, as I did the color blue.

Trying to commit to a career was like going through a pile of old clothes desperately hoping something would fit — and often, trying to convince myself that it did fit — before realizing that I would probably have to donate everything. I eventually started telling people I wanted to go into business, hoping that was an appropriately admirable profession to distract them before they realized I was cowering behind its ambiguity.

Dreams aren't like foods you can force yourself to eat until you eventually develop the tastebuds for them...

In yet another effort to cope with my indecision, I started borrowing friends’ dreams, hoping that if I pursued an idea long enough, I would eventually become passionate about it too. The problem with this, as you can imagine, is that it’s not realistic; dreams aren’t like foods you can force yourself to eat until you eventually develop the tastebuds for them. Dreams have to develop naturally if you really want to be happy or successful. This realization was probably the most disheartening conclusion I’ve ever come to.

Flash forward to a random night during my freshman year of high school; I was sitting in the living room watching tv — probably The Bachelor — with my mom, when a Nike commercial came on. It was part of their “Find Your Greatness” campaign, launched in 2012, and this particular commercial was “Jogger.” It featured a young, overweight boy gasping for air as he jogged down a desolate dirt road. There was no music or special effects, nor did it feature anyone notable or any impressive skills, but despite its seeming insignificance, this commercial stood out to me above any other commercial I had ever seen. So much so, that rather than playing on my phone as I usually did, I was completely glued to the screen, and even made my mom rewind so I could watch it again.

But why was it so special? In those mere 62 seconds, Nike was able to make me feel something beyond desire for a product; I felt empowered, inspired, and humbled. These emotions, combined with an increased admiration and respect for the brand, were evoked without Nike even stating its name once. Rather than trying to sell me something, Nike was promoting an idea; in those 62 seconds Nike was able to make me feel something I previously had only recognized when reading deeply personal articles or watching dramatic movies. In short, Nike leveraged a stereotypically “sleezy” consumeristic platform in order to promote a far more wholesome and far less quantifiable entity — inspiration — much bigger than any singular product.

It’s also important to recognize the advertising atmosphere of that time; of course today, in 2018, consumers are not just accustomed to seeing, but expect to see, a wide range of diversity in the media. Whether it be in shows, movies, or even advertising materials, there is no longer an excuse not to celebrate people of all different sizes, races, abilities, or backgrounds — in fact, those who fail to do so are often criticized so harshly that they can no longer afford to stay in business.

This was not the case in 2012, however; although there had been strides to be more racially diverse throughout media industries, many other types of diversity were never highlighted, including body diversity. The fact that such a powerful and influential brand as Nike — which championed the world’s most elite athletes — was essentially promoting the antithesis of its brand’s preexisting image was incredible, and inspired me to think about all the ways in which other influential brands could use their platform to make such a statement.

I finally realized what I wanted to do...

It was in that moment that I finally realized what I wanted to do; I wanted to change the face of the media industry. The idea of being able to make people feel something in an industry that is often viewed as callous and shallow was inspiring to me, and led me to start observing commercial materials more closely. I’m not even sure that I recognized my desire to pursue marketing or advertising professionally in that moment, rather, it was merely an interest I couldn’t shake. I spent hours researching popular advertisements, watching reel after reel of popular Superbowl commercials on Youtube and collecting pages from magazines around my house.

Later that year I was required to take an art class as part of my high school’s curriculum. Given that my artistic capabilities barely extended beyond that of a third grader’s, I knew Studio Art was out of the question, and after being warned of the hours of homework assigned in Photography, that class was ruled out just as quickly. It came down to Theater and Media Arts, neither of which I was particularly interested in, but given a small falling out with the Theater professor years prior over my pronunciation of “Tuesday,” I figured Media Arts was my safest bet.

I started the class with absolutely no knowledge of what it would entail, but the teacher — an incredibly sassy, “stick-it-to-the-man,” hippy-looking woman in her mid 40’s — seemed like an entertaining enough person to spend my afternoon with three times a week, so I was optimistic. Our very first day of class she walked in — ten minutes late of course — sporting her iconic combat boots and flare jeans, a look I would soon realize was her subtle rebellion against the uptight administration in their Tory Burch flats and plaid sweater vests. She hopped nonchalantly on top of one of the tables, sizing up the room as if to decide whether we would be a nuisance or entertaining for the remainder of the year. She smiled, so I’m assuming she concluded the later, and casually sipped her tea before stating that “this class [was] for those of [us] whose best version of drawing includes stick figures." I was in the right place.

While the first few weeks were primarily dedicated to learning Adobe Suite, we were eventually assigned a branding project. The goal of this assignment was to create a company and to design a series of promotional materials, including business cards and letterhead, for it. This was the first opportunity I was given to apply what I had learned from observing marketing materials, and to see if my interest could become more than a hobby.

I have to admit, I was basically winging it at this point. I had no idea what was considered “good” or would work, but for the first time in my education I wasn’t concerned with trying to please my teacher, I just wanted to create. I was always the kind of student who believed in working smart not hard. This doesn’t mean I didn’t put time or effort into my work, but if I could figure out exactly what my teachers wanted to see or hear, I was always willing to sacrifice my creativity to produce that because I knew it would guarantee me a good grade. This wasn’t the case with my Media Arts class, though. I spent hours working on that project; I would arrive early and leave late from class, and would even skip lunch or stay late after school just to get more time in the studio. I was completely obsessed.

It’s almost embarrassing to admit, but when we were first assigned the project I pretended I was an executive at a Marketing or Advertising agency being approached by a client. This really helped me get into my work because I felt like I was serving a greater purpose, beyond simply trying to get an A. At the start of every class I would plug my headphones in and completely shut out the rest of the world. For those 50 minutes I would almost forget I that was a grade-grubbing sellout, and actually felt like my work mattered, like one day I could actually apply what I was learning in the real world.

This feeling never wavered.

I spent the rest of the semester happily working in my little corner of the computer lab, completely zoned in on my work. I would spend hours there without even realizing it, and when I wasn’t in the studio, I was jotting ideas in the margins of my notes for other classes about how I could improve my projects. It was pretty much all I ever thought about.

My obsession with the industry carried over outside of school as well. I started critically observing advertisements in my daily life, and especially looked forward to long car rides because there was never a shortage of material on the highways. I would spend those hours analyzing the countless signs that we passed, noting the most creative and the most mundane. Eventually, I was inspired to start creating my own materials; whenever I would see a billboard that stood out to me — particularly ones that advertised obscure objects, like car mats — I would construct alternative storylines, jotting the details in my “Notes” App of what the new billboard or commercial would look like.

It's weird trying to describe this process because I have no technical experience, yet I feel like it's all that I know. Sometimes I don't even intend to create something, I'll just be looking out my window and start writing instinctively. I get in these zones where I'm completely oblivious to everything around me because I'm just trying to copy down my thoughts as quickly as they stream through my head. I think my family has completely given up trying to hold conversations with me because they know I'll never listen.

You feel powerful. Exhilarated. Assured.

Passion. It's a difficult feeling to describe, and I'm not even sure I understand it outside of this context, but the feeling I get when I'm writing these storylines is the same feeling I used to get in Media Arts class. The best way I can describe it is by comparing it to a post workout feeling. Not immediately after when you're exhausted and praying you won't throw up from that last set of sprints, but ten minutes later when you're finally starting to recover and your body feels strong. Your heart is still racing, and you almost feel like you're shaking with energy. You feel powerful. Exhilarated. Assured. That's how I feel when I'm creating.

I put my headphones in and, as cliché as it sounds, the world really does seem to disappear. Maybe it's because I listen to my music on full volume and can't hear people talking, or because I'm typing so quickly that I can barely see what's going on around me, but when I'm focused on my work it's a completely different experience from how I feel normally. I'd like to to think I'm a pretty social person, but when I get hooked on an idea or project I don't even have the desire to connect with people around me, I just want to work.

Although I'm not exactly sure where this interest will take me, or if my work will ever be used professionally, I'm excited to see where this goes. For the first time in a long time I feel like I have some idea of what I want to do with my life. I think if I keep clinging to this feeling, I'll end up where I'm supposed to be.

So if you're not already, I encourage you to chase that feeling, too.