This is what’s on my desk right now:

• Plastic stacking trays. In the top tray: about ten manila folders for each design job I have on the burner. Never too many irons in the fire. The next tray below: individual bundles of business cards from all the networking events I’ve attended in the past year. Tray three: store cards, credit cards, vouchers, gift certificates, coupons. Four: a couple bumper stickers and some free emollient samples from the mall. This is the luxuriously almost-empty shelf. Five: sketch book, paperwork that’s hard to file because I haven’t created a category for it yet, past scheduling calendars. Six: notebook for longhand free-writing—the kind I do away from the computer, often by the fountain when it’s nice and I need to get out.

• Two stainless steel desk lamps, each broken in their unique way because they’re cheap and made in China.

• Inspiring ink-jet printouts tucked under my clear Vyco (Danish, thank you) desk cover. 

• Harman Kardon speakers, the kind that are still for sale at the MoMa design store in NYC. Love them.

• Apple 30″ monitor, elevated on a temple of black Strathmore paper wrapped particle board and industrial-looking metal boxes. On said temple: lavender L’Occitane lotion, shocked-face bottle opener, Bic lighter, Blistex, three iTunes vouchers for free DeVotchKa songs, Wausau Paper free notepad, wire-mesh thingy full of paper clips, with binder clips clipped around the edges, post-it notes, Listerine cool mint PocketPak, pencil, highlighter, black Sharpies, both thick and thin, cordless phone, stand-up stapler, Kleenexes, toenail clippers, a golf pencil and a postcard of Zion Canyon to remind me that the outside world exists. 

• Papers for current project scattered to the left of the keyboard. The keyboard, mouse, and accompanying squishy pads, front and center. Mouse charger, bamboo plant, incense burner, noise-canceling headphones, and Franklin Covey planner to the right of the keyboard. 

I had to write something. Actually I’m supposed to be working. Whatever.

My better half tends to be more of a shaker than a hugger, which is a good thing, in the long run. Frustrating in the short term, however, depending on his delivery. But who am I to talk? I’m really good at saying all the wrong things at precisely the wrong time.

You never know when you’re hearing something profound until a few days later when you realize it’s become a subliminal haze among your thoughts. The other night he and I went for a walk and ended up having a few drinks at a bar nearby. He understands me in ways I don’t even know. He explained that I don’t trust my footing. When we go hiking together along the edge of a cliff, I become tentative, and he points it out then, too. He said his mom also didn’t trust her footing, and often slipped because of it. So basically it’s fatalistic. This mentality is present in all my cognitive reasoning.

I don’t have a strong opinion, and I allow it to change freely. I’m both stubborn and mutable at the same time. I run on pure emotion. If I change my mind about something, so be it. Deal with it. I’m not the same person I was yesterday. He also explained how true to my sign that is (Pisces). As astrological ruler of the feet, it doesn’t necessarily mean we come with solid ground. I’m a mutable water sign, and I don’t have a solid foundation across which I flow. A long time ago, I decided that holding beliefs eliminates freedom, and I’ve since chosen to disbelieve most things. Unfortunately, I don’t even trust my own judgment. My mother didn’t trust my judgment, either, but we won’t get into the whole nature vs. nurture thing just yet.

So far, what I’ve concluded from this hypothesis is that if you watch your step too much, you’ll miss out on the purpose of the experience. I spent 18+ years missing out, and I hate missing out. So I’m generally unhappy with being consumed with details. (This also applies to a bittersweet career pitfall I suffer from.) You just need to trust that your foot will land squarely on the next stair without watching your feet. Like in 8th grade typing class, the teacher told us to stop looking at our hands while we type. Don’t look at what you’re typing; look at what you’re going to type. Watch where you’re going, not where you are. Trust your ability to motor through details. Trust your footing.

Of trivial things that consume time and have no measurable value, I am compelled to keep the blog going. Back on the macro topic… The pursuit of happiness involves increasing consciousness of the human condition. It may be a common fallacy that to be happy, we have to overcome our weaknesses and appreciate our strengths, but alas, that’s way too utopian for humankind.

My goal is to face who I am, admit it, and love it in spite. At this point, I’m just going to say I’m not interested in changing my behavior; rather, I’d like to understand it first, then decide what to change in order to be happier. It helps to keep in mind that there is no right or wrong, which weeds out the tainted thoughts indoctrinated by our experiences throughout life. It’s a chore in itself to avoid feeling shame or guilt for our true feelings.

If the pursuit of happiness were a 12-step program, the first step would be identifying the problem. For example, I am selfish and self-indulged. To what degree is relative and depends entirely on who you ask. If I happen to know a lot of people who affect me as extremely self-indulged, then I might see myself as pretty humble. We see everyone around us as one extreme or another of a trait we recognize in ourselves. My mom likes to say that if you point your finger at someone, three more are pointing back at you.

Anyway, I am the type who enjoys devoting energy to self-actualization. I appreciate the tools mankind has come up with to understand ourselves better. I take online personality quizzes that may or may not be developed by professional psychiatrists. I took a Myers-Briggs, Enneagram, and even one of those online IQ tests. I read my horoscope. I did my star chart. All with a grain a of salt. Being the objective person I am, this type of stuff is entertaining at least, and revealing at best. You take what you want from it, ultimately. Life is full of little clues, if you just look for them. If I decide this behavior harms the people I love and yields negative effects, then I’ll focus on changing.

<digression>
If I could learn to play a new instrument, it would be the cello. It’s such a lonesome, soulful sound. It would be so surreal to have a sunlit atrium with stone tile in which to practice, for the acoustics and moody surroundings. My second choice would be the vibraphone for its über-mod, retro sound.
</digression>

I dedicate this title to those who honestly believe the damage we’ve caused our earth is reversible. Now let’s talk about clothing made in China.

As I was hanging up some new clothes from White House Black Market, I came up with this title. I was imagining my new satin tunic-style shirt concealing—I’m embarrassed to admit—the elastic waistband on a ten-year-old skirt. I suppose if that’s the worst thing hanging in my closet, then I’m not doing too bad.

The new White House Black Market in my neighborhood is going to be like black clothing crack. I’ll bet if people had to choose black over white, black would win 3 to 1. If there were other stores that carried the same styles, I would never know it because the combination of too many colors I don’t like and nothing in either black or my size may have overwhelmed me, and I’d never give them a chance.

The overall concept of the store is brilliant. Artistically speaking, once you remove the element of color, you’re down to only the variable of style, which makes shopping more definitive and easier to deduct a solution. (In my drawing class I prefer to stick to one type of media until I feel more at ease with interpreting the human figure.) The design of the store is not opulent, but it’s nothing short of alluring; the clothes are the heroes. It’s such a novelty in itself that only black and white are on display. The fitting area is like a “Best Of” women’s clothing retail environments: they have the deluxe lighted mirrors from Ann Taylor and the inviting, open-style fitting area from Anthropologie, all with dramatic but flattering lighting. Anyway, I made off with a fair armload for my 29.95th un-birthday. It’s enough to tide me over till 30.

Ikea opens on March 12 (daily f-ing news in Cin City), and Crate & Barrell is coming soon to my neighborhood as well. The only thing that would make me happier is Scandinavian Designs. (Oh, and a Tokyo Joe’s. Or Yo! Sushi, but I’m not sure if they have those on stateside.) Lord have mercy. Capitalism at its best. Recessions are caused by rumors of recession. If people shop enough to ignore the news, they’ll just keep shopping. Look at me go!

I signed up for the Art Academy’s Saturday figure drawing class for a second season. It’s such a great release of creative energy with a range of skill levels, from high schoolers to art directors to IT professors. Everyone has their unique reasons for being there, contrary to working amongst art school students that only run the gamut from shrinking violets to vehement egos, all with one common goal.

Art school is an oxymoron. It implies that there is a right and a wrong way of creative expression. As long as the curriculum resists rigid instruction and encourages freedom of thought, it’s beneficial to be encouraged to challenge your comfort zone and explore different types of media and methods. The other side to that coin is art history, which is important for understanding art’s place in this world and appreciating how far it’s come in response to the history surrounding it. However [enter soapbox, stage left], if you can’t learn it from a book on your own, your parents paying for someone to spoon-feed it to you won’t do much good, either.

Today’s class was great. I like drawing this particular model; I usually get good drawings from her poses. She has an imperfect body but, in the straightest way possible, such a sassy style that makes her sexier than the usual fashion-magazine suspects. Her poses provide great lines and shapes that are interesting to draw. Overall, her appeal is more modern than classical, which suits my needs better, since I’m more interested in drawing for graphic design purposes than for fine art.

My parents came to visit for a week.

They are the most amazing guests. They are content to entertain themselves when the inevitable, shameless deadline wedges its way into my week off with the folks. Furthermore, I live in the best apartment complex a 29.93-year-old could ask for. Mom and Dad had their own guest room at the club house: over 1000 square feet of fully furnished, granny-cozy splendor, complete with two soft-as-a-cloud, four-poster queen beds. All for a deal much better than a corporate discount at the nearest hotel. Our club house has its own gym and pub, which worked out splendidly. They have no problem getting to know the locals and making new friends. It’s actually quite impressive for a couple of small-town Idahoans. Both of them seemed very content to be here, hang out and chill. It was a great reason to spend a cold evening together at home, order pizza, build a fire, shoot Nerf guns and watch reruns of Sarah Silverman, Reno 911, and It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia.

Okay. Let’s be real, here. I stressed out about my parents coming to visit because I didn’t want to have my nose to the grindstone the whole time. Things get complicated on their own, so I tried to start as far up the hill as possible. Naturally, a project I was trying to work on around this schedule got right in the middle of it. I was still able to make a fabulous prime rib on Sunday, but I worked every other waking hour through the weekend to make my Monday deadline. As far as the job was concerned, it went swimmingly and as expected: a slow ramp up to inspiration followed by denial and procrastination, then fear and loathing, then adrenaline-charged, sink-or-swim breakthrough, then 3 a.m. burnout to Monday morning presentation.

“Procrastination to Presentation” is the new “Concept to Completion.”

We need to put things in perspective to really appreciate where we are and how far we’ve come. Here’s a memo of encouragement to my five-years-ago self:

Today I got the HOW Design Annual in the mail to see my first actual contribution to that magazine. Today I’m working through a unique point-of-sale design problem for a premier line of school products. Today I received a thank-you note from a freelance writer and close friend for whom I hooked up an opportunity with a hot agency. Today I received a deposit for logo design for a new client. Today I was needed. Today my better half told me how proud he is of me, and how happy he is with our life. Today I was loved.

That’s awesome.

There are approximately 9,734 different, high-quality templates to choose from on WordPress. The coding is clean, functions well, and it looks nice. For some reason, I chose the one the artist called “Chaotic Soul.”

<distraught>What does this mean?</distraught>

Don’t take it personally, my soul. You are chaotic. I’m attracted to extremes and high contrast, like hard lines and contrasting colors. I quit smoking cold-turkey. I wore black to my wedding. I’ve yanked stakes and moved to another city three times without a job or contacts. I like extreme personalities and nonconformity in general.

Until you have nothing, you can do anything. You’ll only regret the things you didn’t do. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing. Besides, how do you know how much is enough until you’ve done too much? Or as the Mister says, Go big or go home. We box ourselves in and create our own obstacles. Don’t wish for the guts to do something; dive in with both feet. In high school, I always heard girls joke about wearing something ironic or risque under their sheer, white robe at graduation. At mine, I wore a vintage yellow and green halter-top bikini and spray-painted my feet silver. Why? Who the fuck cares.

Some probably think I should be psychoanalyzed. Others just wish they had the guts to do what they want. At some point, I think many people are made to believe that it’s wrong to pursue what your heart desires. To pursue what you want is selfish, and you should only do what you should. A good friend of mine taught me that if you catch yourself saying, “I should…” then it’s time to re-align, because you’re living out someone else’s ideal. The world has its ideas of what you ought to be doing, but the world is not there to help you. You can spend every last breath trying to please everyone else, but you’ll only end up disappointed.

A few weeks ago, a large client asked me for an estimate for a decent-sized project, and then asked if I’d be willing to work in-house. Not that I’m upset with them, but that would mean giving up as many as three hours of my day to driving. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past five years, it’s that time is money. I can spend that three hours recharging my batteries, spending quality time with the Mister, or doing other billable work. The only safe and productive thing you can do in a car is listen to audiobooks… which there are plenty of in this world, but that’s only one small part of who I want to be.

Another perfect example of clients wasting your time are the ones who are trying to get you to chase down a cheaper printing quote. *Slides soapbox to downstage center.* In doing so, they’re racking up billable hours. They get the upper hand if I’m not billing them for that time, which happens more than I care to admit. Another reason I won’t do it anymore is because it destroys my relationships with vendors by making them jump through hoops, and essentially, it’s peddling bids. They are better off trusting that I’m going to choose a good vendor, and finding a cheaper one will still cost them the same amount, but with cheapened results. Their other option is to take it and get it printed themselves, which usually means they’re rolling the dice. Then it costs them more in the end to have me come in and do it right the second time around. Given, there is a chance that it will turn out all right, but they have no control over the quality of the files I relinquish. I would never sabotage a client’s files, but in good conscience I can’t guarantee the outcome when my contact with the vendor is cut off. I encourage clients to challenge this theory if so tempted, because I don’t care to waste my time trying to convince them to do it my way.

Working with clients can be quite masochistic. I’m a glutton for the challenge, the struggle, the fear and loathing, and the chase.

Well, I’m only a writer when I sit down and write something. Some days, I do more writing than design, between note-taking for projects, communication with clients and friends, updating my freelance profiles online, and my new blogging fascination. Regardless, I still opt for graphic designer.

Anyhow, there’s a storm tonight. I had just snuggled up to the Mister when we heard the air-raid sirens in Cincinnati - just about the creepiest thing you’ll ever hear. There are several horns staggered around the city, and they all blow a different note, and it rises and falls like a breathing organism. It’s a despairing, urgent, mournful sound that reminds me of the sirens on CNN when watching the Iraq war with my dad in 1991. The Cincinnati sirens do a test run on the first Wednesday of every month. Check… but it’s the middle of the night. The other reason for the sound-off is a severe thunderstorm warning, since the rainstorms here are merciless. It pours like mega-buckets from the sky, complete with flash flood warnings from Northern Kentucky to Indianapolis to Dayton and all of greater Cincinnati. This afternoon there was a mudslide that prevented some from taking their usual route home from work.

We have a fairly sophisticated camping kit in an 18-gallon Rubbermaid tote. Inside, there is a dynamo-powered radio with a weather receiver, which reports regional weather 24-7. Apparently there are tornado warnings North of us as well. I’m thrilled that my better half has taken ownership of making sure we are always locked, stocked and loaded. Being prepared is a quality we each derived from our upbringing, and it’s well worth the peace of mind, not to mention the convenience of being able to cook something or steal away for a weekend camping trip on a whim.

Time for a glass of wine while I play Vortex on my iPod Nano until my eyes slam shut to the sound of rain, thunder and cool music.