Changing course

I’ve been in advertising for nearly 19 years.

I used to get super excited about pitches, concepting, PR-ability, awards, recognition. Just the mere mention of a new project with a client who was “ready for something different” was the ultimate adrenaline rush. Everything needed to be bigger, better, more brilliant than the last in a “shit-that’s-so-simple-it’s-perfect” kind of way.

I studied other creatives’ work. Envied their ability to inspire and engage and connect. I thrived on challenging myself, and my teams, do the same. My ego told me I could. It propelled me up the ranks. It was my tried-and-true sidekick. Yes, it always had to prove something. But it also got me to where I am today.

Except where I am today, and who I am today, doesn’t really give a shit about any of that anymore. At least not in the same way.

When I shifted from consumer advertising to the non-profit world four years ago, I thought I got my second wind. And in many ways, I did. Creating campaigns and developing brand language for organizations that were fighting poverty, or addressing homelessness, or trying to improve the foster care system felt meaningful and life-affirming. The gnawing sense of dread I’d started feeling over the previous few years, sacrificing myself for the bottom-line of power tool companies and paper product brands, started to diminish. My excitement came back.

For a while.

These days, my enthusiasm for actively working on creative projects is harder to find. There’s something that feels removed for me. Even though my agency, and my team, is helping organizations change the world for the better, it’s not filling my soul in the same way it used to.

I wrote a piece for the 3% Movement nearly five years ago, called “You are not a brand—you are a person.” In it, I spoke about how this industry teaches us that we need to have a persona, a specialty, a facade—especially as women—in order to succeed. We’re bombarded with messages about how we need to craft a “personal brand” on social media in order to get more followers, which will lead to more professional visibility, and therefore, more success. I mean shit, the entire Influencer industry is built on this premise.

But I also talk about something else:

The reason we all got into this business in the first place was to do amazing creative work that’s personally fulfilling and rewarding. If that’s no longer your North Star, it’s completely okay, and maybe it’s time for a change. But if it’s still the reason you get up and go to work every day, then the only brand you need to be is the one that stands for yourself.

I’ve been ignoring my own words for a while now, but they’re just too loud to drown out anymore:
I no longer get up everyday to do amazing creative work.

Instead, I have built an incredibly talented team, over the last four years, that does amazing, thoughtful, impactful creative work. I see the excitement in their eyes, and the energy in their presence, when we get the opportunity to do something meaningful. To tell human stories, to build connections, to use narrative and design to uplift, empower, and engage.

Maybe it’s because I’m nearing 40, but I get more joy from seeing my team nail a presentation, or get a major concept approved, than I do from creating work of my own. They’re what’s rewarding for me. Helping them grow, and learn, and keep rekindling that spark, time and time again.

AND.

AND AND AND.

Giving them the resources and support they need to do all of those things, while also prioritizing their mental and emotional wellbeing.

No one taught me how to work through self-doubt, or how to truly savor a big accomplishment by “being in the moment,” or how to let myself rest, because going full-throttle all the time can actually be counterproductive. I’d bet that 90% of other senior creatives were never taught those things, either. The message was always “work harder, keep climbing, stay hungry, you’re only as good as your last win.” And we wonder why the burnout and dropout rates in this industry are so abysmal.

But I have a different North Star now: People.

(Ok, and maybe also systems.)

I wake up in the morning and read books about growth and self-understanding. Spirituality and knowing. Psychology and connection. Then I do my best to share what I’m learning with others (and practice it for myself, too).

I talk to other industry folks about mental health, and try to learn from their experiences.

I researched, planned, and launched my agency’s first comprehensive employee wellness program to support aspects of our lives—mind, body, heart, and family. It’s not perfect, but it’s a start.

I try to always remember to ask my team how they’re doing when we talk, even when I’m in a rough spot myself.

I’m still working on not always feeling like I need to “fix” things for them. That I can just be there to listen, to empathize, and only if they want it, to share my perspective.

—

I believe that all of this is where I’m meant to be right now. I feel a calling toward this work the same way I used to feel a calling toward big ideas.

I’m mourning that loss of my fiery creative ambition, though. It’s been my identity for the last two decades.

But I am not a brand. I am a person. And I am allowed to change course.

I know that refocusing my efforts around leadership and mental health isn’t going to be a cakewalk. And I also know that I don’t want to make the same mistakes I’ve made in the past. I can’t throw myself so completely into this new direction that I wind up giving more of my heart and energy to others than I’m giving to myself. But I will keep going down this road, and figuring it out, until it’s no longer fulfilling or rewarding anymore.

The North Star in the sky might be fixed, but North Stars in people can change.

Don’t cling so tightly to yours that you can’t notice when it starts to fade out.