What Would Be

Over the last few years, I have come to realize how deeply I struggle with impermanence. It’s not that I am unwilling to accept that human experience is transient — how else are we to feel motivated to appreciate each fleeting moment that comprises this little life? Still, young adulthood is such a strange time. People and experiences come and go, and too frequently, I find myself yearning for some sense of consistency to it all. “Change is never easy. You fight to hold on. You fight to let go. Things in life can get lost without any certainty of finding them again.”

Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t be easier to avoid getting too attached in the first place. Returns on emotional investments are often erratic: people change and fail. And yet, I find that some of the most authentic moments I’ve lived over the past twenty-two years have been those spent in the company of friends who have challenged me to be forthright, passionate, and humble.

Though our time is short and separation seems inevitable, I am finding that what makes life worth living is the sense of shared experience we build with those people around us. Particularly at Pentagram, I feel that I am learning not merely how to think like a designer, but also how to live like one.

Strange, beautiful clouds after a torrential thunderstorm

This last week was the busiest yet. Most of our time was spent preparing a comprehensive presentation for our rum bottle client, which basically meant making what seemed like endless rounds of comps and presentation books. For each of the 40 or so bottles, we needed to create and apply custom labels, caps, and vacuum seals. Each cap and seal needed to be painted the color of the label, which represented something of a difficulty because no vendor in New York City sells acrylic paint in the bright fluorescent colors we needed.

While we were ultimately able to custom mix some of the colors at Home Depot, we couldn’t find this one hot pink paint to match one of the label designs. Drea had the idea to try using nail polish, and I ended up walking down Broadway armed with Pantone color chips in search of PMS 806U. I’ve never noticed this before, but Duane Reade carries literally hundreds of variations on pink nail polish.

Needless to say, I was quite clueless as I rummaged through the “Sinful Colors” display to find a few that I thought would work. I ended up asking this kind-looking African-American woman if I was anywhere close. She gave me a slight raise of the eyebrow and said, “No hun, that’s WAY too pearl essence.” Apparently, women have a different word for “glossy.” She pointed me to a Korean nail salon, where I finally managed to get a close-enough color after explaining to the befuddled owner why I was looking for hot pink though it clearly wasn’t my color. I guess there really is a first time for everything. And I have a completely new appreciation for alcohol packaging.

The immense nail polish counter at Duane Reade

The most interesting part of comping these designs is seeing the amount of perfectionistic attention that goes into every tiny detail. Pentagram is widely known for the conceptual strength of its work, but I can safely say that that standard of excellence is maintained by dedicated designers and interns who work obsessively to make sure that every comp is as perfect as possible. As Dan and I worked late into the evening on the bottles, Jeshurun and Rachel, interns on Michael Bierut’s team, slaved over custom-sized branding books for one of their high-profile Italian clients. It always fascinating to me how a sense of camaraderie can arise from shared challenges and mutual exhaustion.

We had a company-wide rooftop party on Monday, and I had the opportunity to get to know some of my team members a bit better. Lisa came to the United States from Germany knowing nothing about inches and little more than conversational English, learning everything on the job. Drea interned for Paula while completing her senior year of college at SVA, sleeping 3 hours a night to get all the work done. Ben works freelance in addition to his responsibilities at Pentagram in order to make ends meet.

It’s often intimidating being around these incredible people. That said, hearing Lisa talk about the mistakes she made early on that left her sleepless for nights made me understand how very human everybody is. Excellence and self-belief are not birthrights: they are learned.

Lunch at Pentagram, with wonderful food prepared freshly three times a week

When you’re a designer, your work is your life. The key to success is to love every moment, even the miserable ones spent re-comping the same thing over and over again until it’s perfect. One of the luxuries of youth, I think, is that we still have the energy and idealism to approach life with an indifference to jadedness and cynicism. And though there’s not a day that I don’t feel small and insignificant in comparison to the people around me, I like to think that my work now is part of an incremental process that will one day pay off.

In a brief conversation with Michael Bierut, he told me that he has learned nothing new about form since he left school in 1980′s. Technical skills are important to design, but they can only get you so far. His education since then has been about meanings, culture, and the way people communicate.

Design is a humanist profession, one that relies in large part on finding ways to connect people to unexpected worldviews. Michael’s explanation gives me a lot of heart in the path I’m taking. What I am ultimately learning, I think, is a means of facilitating conversations that would otherwise never happen — a way to give voice to those who cannot speak for themselves.

Angela and Diana putting on some sunscreen

Yesterday, my friend Angela took me and some friends to the Jersey Shore. I hadn’t been on a beach since I was in middle school. I had forgotten how beautiful it is just to hang out with friends without having to worry about reading assignments or thesis deadlines. After a week of very serious work, it was nice to have a chance to unwind and relax on the warm summer sand without a care in the world.

Though it was the perfect day, and I had a lot more fun than I expected, part of me ached for my certain someone to be there next to me — for us to be looking out together over the dunes of sand and gentle tide. He loves beaches. It’s been a difficult couple of weeks, getting used to the idea that he’s thousands of miles away in Paris. I’ve immersed myself in work to distract myself from his absence, but thoughts of him never stray far from my mind.

Practicing some yoga at the beach

In September, he will return to Princeton, and I will head off to London. I’m not sure what I will do without him. The only reason I worked up the courage to email Paula in the first place was that he told me he believed in me. In times of despair, he has kept me sane. In moments of triumph, he has kept me humble. He is my best friend, and more than anyone else in my life, he has taught me the value of love. And while I recognize that the future is powerfully uncertain, I know that he will always hold a permanent place in my heart.

I never cared much for the Wonder Years when I was younger, but Kevin’s closing words seem the perfect way to end this post: “Growing up is never easy. You hold on to things that were. You wonder what’s to come. But I think we knew it was time to let go of what had been, and look ahead to what would be. Other days. New days. Days to come. The thing is, we didn’t have to hate each other for getting older. We just had to forgive ourselves…for growing up.”