What It Feels Like....To Make a Living at Design

Author's Note: This is part of a new series inspired by Sexyhusbandomine's bathroom copy of ESQUIRE MAGAZINE, which features brief articles such as What it Feels Like To Be Bitten By a Shark or What It Feels Like To Sleep with Pamela Anderson. My series will obviously not be as exciting. (Or well written for that matter- since ESQUIRE is the new NEW YORKER.) I can only write what I know. So watch for future installments such as What it Feels Like to Raise Kids in New York City or What it Feels Like to Really Eat That Jenny Craig Crap. Please add any additional suggestions for future What It Feels Like pieces in comments-but keep it clean people.

WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO MAKE A LIVING AT DESIGN

Some days it is like this: OMGosh I have the GREATEST job in the world! I actually get paid to draw, paint, fiddle around with clay, surf the internet guilt free, and buy competitive products with other people's money! The rush and excitement of CREATION! The warm fuzzies from positive feedback! I am walking on sunshine and the day is too short-I want to work through the night, through the weekend, give The Spawn my love and tell them I will see them sometime next week. I am jacked up, I am high, I am running around yelling "Let There Be Light" and there is! I could remove my brain from my head and french kiss it.

Other days it is like this: OMgosh, THE PRESSURE. I need AN IDEA like a dime bag junkie really really needs a fix. I will spend hours on GOOGLE. I will leave no stone unturned in search of any kind of inspiration. I will begin to believe that all the GOOD IDEAS have been had by other people. I will begin to believe I have lost my creative mojo. I will begin to question if I EVER made anything good or if I was just LUCKY. I will have irrational thoughts like "Maybe if I put some glitter on it I can make it work." I will replay comments I have heard in the past such as "How hard can it be to throw some words on something?" I will worry how I am going to feed The Spawn after they discover I am a phoney phoney fake fake and fire me and if it will be easy for me to find another job teaching now that I am older than dirt.

Other days it is like this: OMgosh I am sooooo bored with myself. I want to be like that chick on Etsy. Felt birdies are the bomb. Maybe I am not too old to pierce my eyebrow. Maybe I should be more like that fine artist I know. Maybe I should try to make prettier things. Maybe if I change everything about myself and the way I do things I could end up in a Flicker photo on one of those Design Blogs. Maybe I should dye my hair blue and do pencil sketches of ravens.

It's a roller coaster ride of narcissism and humility, of self indulgence and selflessness. This Job: It is the greatest love affair, the most complicated friendship, the most needy and gratifying of relationships. Sometimes it sits on my back and drops banana peels behind me, other times it lies on the pillow beside my head and won't shut up and allow me to sleep, other times it is the very sun that warms me.