There’s one of me. I’m not a “we” or a team. I’m me. Unapologetically, authentically, just me. And this is a very brief version of my story.
Sometime in the 1980s, when I was in high school, I chose to pursue a career in graphic design. My parents supported me even though I’m pretty sure that they were pretty sure I’d become a “starving artist” when all was said and done, but they sent me to college to pursue my fine arts major specializing in graphic design, and I’m completely certain that to this day they don’t regret that support or my career choice.
And you know what? I’m pretty darned proud. Proud that I chose a career that I’d stick with beyond college; proud that I’ve made a living for myself; and now proud that all these thirty-plus years I’ve been evolving and growing and morphing my skills, to get to where I am today. Still doing this thing.
Do the math. I’m not young. Although, I feel pretty young. Ish. But I’m far from done doing this career thing. I have more work to do, more learning to do, more growing to do. As Colin Hay’s song goes, “I’m waiting for my real life to begin.”
Not at all done. I really do feel like I’m just beginning, actually. It’s been a journey, but I’ve got miles to go before I reach my destination.
What IS my destination? And why am I going on about this? Because there’s a reason for the scenic landscape images I’m using across my brand. And it’s all about the journey. And the possibilities that this journey holds.
I’m an outdoorsy kind of girl, and I always have been. I’ve been aspiring to climb to the top of nifty-looking hills ever since I was riding in my parent’s car on road trips and my feet couldn’t reach the floor of the car, and I’d ask them if we could pull over “so I can go climb that”.
And, climb I did, and do. Many many hills and mountains later, I’m still addicted to the climb. Even when I was broken, I was still climbing. And while the views from the summits are a huge reward, my most favorite parts of all are the trails themselves. The sun dappled ferns on forest floors, the enormous trees stretching so high over my head with tippy tops converging and closing in to the point where I can’t tell what color the sky is, the sounds of the birds and babbling brooks, and the smells of nature in all of its magical forms, from the fresh clean air to the balsam needles to the moss-covered rocks. That’s where I find my inspiration, my eagerness to press on even if my legs are tired and feet are sore.
Because right up there, where the trail bends off to the left, there might be a lake, or a view that tops all views, so I can’t stop. I won’t stop.