accidental flares of love burst through the atmosphere

On Risk and Value and Love

If we try to please everyone, all we'll ever be is average. I frequently remind myself of this when I feel like I'm the queen of unpopular opinions. I don't mind being the Perpetual Sayer of Things No One Else Will Say, and I don't mind being labeled as aggressive or mean because of it. I've noticed lately that the more people push against me or ignore me when I need to be heard, the louder I yell with very little remorse. All I ask is to be valued; I am absolutely worth that much. That's the bare minimum. I took an über home on Saturday afternoon and had a short but important conversation with the woman that was driving me. When I got out of the car she told me to "never stop keeping it real" and it was a perfect reminder that beautiful people are everywhere. And it also made me feel like I'm doing something right.


(photo found here)

Pep introduced me to Art & Copy, a documentary about advertising. In it, there was a segment on Lee Clow (above) and TBWAWorldwide that made me so overwhelmed with simultaneous relief and rage that I teared up at my desk when I watched the clip. For a while now, I've been fighting battles that never get resolved. They're barely even acknowledged. I suppose it's easy to not trust people when we see no value in what they do. The relationship between risk and value is a very, very important one to anyone in a creative field. Lee Clow's part in Art & Copy will stick with me forever, because it's the first time I've realized I might actually end up somewhere someday where I'm trusted completely, where quality is more important than speed, where the cheapest option is not the only option, and where great risks are rewarded instead of avoided at all costs. Until then, I guess I just keep yelling and getting myself in trouble. I am yelling with only the best intentions; there is not a selfish thread in any of it. I want to see projects succeed on a scale that is so much larger than what I've seen so far.

I always try to put my heart into what I make, but it all gets taped up and redone so many times in the process of coming to life that by the end, very little of me is left in it, and so I feel I have nothing to show for it, no attachment to it, no pride in it. Each time, I reach a point where I have to stop caring and let it become disappointing and so much less than it has the potential to be. If I didn't stop caring, I'd be heartbroken constantly. Before you question my dedication, do you know what I'm like when I'm heartbroken? DO YOU? You do. I remember. I cannot do that all the time.

I love illustrating things in my sketchbook because it's mine and only mine. It feels important, even when it's just mindless doodling, because no one can tell me to change it and so it becomes the only way that I can accurately track my own growth.

I have a good relationship with risk. I have moved across the country for love not once, but twice. I have moved right back home because of a broken heart and a job that I hated. I will happily go right back to the things that burn me once, because I know it will be better the second time. Sometimes I'm wrong about that, but when I'm right I am so right that it makes all the times it didn't work totally irrelevant. All of the best things in my life are free, and most of them exist because of some major risk that I took.

Once in a while I catch myself in a period of growth and unrest, where it becomes obvious that improvements need to be made. I feel like everyone around me can probably only see the outside of that, aka the side that goes on flailing and complaining, but I promise that I'm working it out and figuring out how to solve things. And thank you to anyone and everyone that lets me carry on and on about all the shit that make me rage. It always results in something bigger and better.

Karma and Balance and So Much Heart