My Improbable Career: The Naked Truth

(Adapted from an Ignite talk, delivered at the Plenary session for the 2016  NTC conference. Video here if you want to watch rather than read.)

Once upon a time, the only thing standing in the way of my design career was a naked woman.

But let me back up a little bit.

This was my very first drawing, and the reason I know this is because mom (a former artist) kept and dated everything I made in her old portfolio case. 

Sadly my drawing skills never matured much further, so mom taught me how to paint with watercolors. It was liberating to build a story out of colors and shapes rather than stressing over perfection.

And then there was Lite Brite. Oh, how I loved my Lite Brite as a kid. I’d spend hours in the dark, designing patterns and pictures with those luminous little pegs. It was my happy place.

Actually both my parents had artistic backgrounds (yes, that’s my father, the 3rd swan on the right, performing with the Princeton Triangle club on the Ed Sullivan show. Go dad), but pursued more “professional” careers in teaching and medicine. So I figured I needed to do the same, never thinking I could make a living at being creative.

So, what to be when I grew up? With a deeply rooted sense of social justice, and a big mouth, I decided to become civil rights attorney like my grandfather. (don't ask me why I had a briefcase on the first day of 2nd grade in that picture). But as I headed off to college, there was always a copy of Rilke's “Letters to a Young Poet” in my bag - to remind me of my creative roots.

As a philosophy major at the University of Pennsylvania, I’d spend my days arguing how two identical combination locks were metaphysically different (because they ARE, but that's a totally different story). 

But my nights! My nights were once again spent in the dark, designing lighting for campus theatre. It all started as a much-needed distraction from the intensity of my studies. Better yet – it was like playing with a HUGE Lite Brite.

And then one night it hit me. Bringing stories to life out of thin air made me incredibly happy. I'd rather be in the theatre than anywhere else.

It felt like ...  home. 

So much for law school. (sorry grandpa)

Armed only with chutzpah,  I was accepted into the Masters of Fine Arts theatrical lighting design program at Brandeis University. In retrospect, this leap of faith looks heroic. In reality it was youthful idealism followed rapidly by “oh my god, what have I done”.

A fear all but confirmed on day one in life drawing class facing that very naked model. (remember her?) Surrounded by skilled classmates, I suddenly felt ten times more exposed than that model was and had a bit of an existential … meltdown.

Who the hell do I think I am?
What was I thinking?
Why did they accept me?
I can’t do this.

But everything changed in the next class. The task: analyze the story and characters of a classic play and design a stage concept for it.

BOOM. 

Suddenly it all made sense to me. This is who I am. I could learn to draw (or really, paint) well enough to express my design vision. But that philosophy training gave me the one skill I most needed to become a designer. 

It taught me how to solve problems. 

Brandeis gave me the second gift - a shot.

They saw potential and then it was up to me to do something with it. (See, mom dated EVERYTHING). By itself, this would be a great story, right? Combining different skills into a brand new career that I loved.

But I’m sure you know what happened next. 

I failed. 

Even with a shiny new MFA, the “perfect” theatre resume and a good deal of talent, I couldn’t get work. In 1995, heartbroken and lost, I heard about this thing called “Web Design” and wondered … why couldn’t I apply the design principles I learned for the stage to the screen? What’s the worse that could happen? Law school? 

I snagged a copy of Photoshop, an HTML “how to” book and leapt again. But this time was different. I had company.

Everyone came from someplace else and used old skills in new ways. Or (my personal favorite) made it up as we went along.  21 years later, I am exactly where I never knew I wanted to be.

I even ended up in social justice (developing digital experiences for non profits), just from an unexpected direction. 

I owe my career to a combination of curiosity, tenacity and a commitment to learning rather than any specific course of training. I firmly believe that WHO we are is far more important than WHAT we do. Because, really … how could I have said, “When I grow up, I want to be the creative director of Beaconfire RED” when our industry didn’t even exist?

I could just as easily have said I wanted to be Madonna. (Because I did.) 

Our path through life is never straight, and really shouldn't  be. It’s what we discover on those seemingly unrelated side trips that set us apart from everyone else. And like painting with watercolors, if you get a little lost, just blend and create a new path.

Right before I left for grad school, mom took me aside and gave me her old portfolio case, the one that housed all my childhood creations. Taped inside was a single Lite Brite peg, and a yellow sticky that simply read, “Follow your bliss”.

It may be the only time I ever listened to her.