Reflections on a former life
I was in the middle of editing a PDF slideshow for a school project when it hit me: I will never do this work again. Not exactly, anyway.
Some of my pages were pretty awesome. You don’t keep copies of the humdrum days, of which there were many. But those knockout days made me realize how fulfilling it was to do a good, daring design.
I miss it. I don’t miss the malarkey. I don’t miss the daily battles, nor the clamp on my creativity by a new sheriff.
But I miss the respectability of full employment. I miss the paycheck. The health insurance. The life insurance. The sense of direction. I miss my house.
I gave up a lot when I moved to Sacramento. And then I decided to attend graduate school in hopes of changing careers, to restart my creativity in a what I hope is a healthier field.
I was sad tonight. My pages were beautiful. Sometimes unloved, unsung, or cooked with too many cooks in the kitchen. But they were mine. They were something I could point to and say I did this. I have value. My work is seen by 200,000 people every day.
Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m excited about my new beginnings. But I think it’s OK to miss what was and what shall never be again. I watch morbidly as another one bites the dust, or a few more former coworkers land in the same boat of unemployment. It’s a little like watching the deterioration of a beloved friend, due to illness or booze or drugs. I want to love you. I still love you. I just can’t get too near you anymore. It hurts. Please don’t call me anymore.
