Starting from the Bottom
“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what was it like when you were fed up with your old job? I’m finding myself in the same place these days,” she wrote. This question tugged at me because I hear it often, and I remember this gnawing frustration vividly. I speak about the growing pains of starting a career regularly, always from the lighthearted, self effacing position of a creative wishing her hands would catch up to her mind. Dedicated to anyone who’s ever asked, here’s a no-frills account of my pre-career struggles.
Have you ever cried on a Saturday because it was almost Sunday, the beginning of the work week? I was always exhausted and my conversations were consumed with the unfairness of the job. I was so mad that I’d fallen into the trap of a 9-to-5 that didn’t respect me (again). It was then that I realized, wait, *I* put myself in this position (again). I kept flocking to jobs that were easy to attain and therefore not encouraging the pursuit of my greatest potential. I was scared to be vulnerable, do better work because I felt I wasn’t offering enough. Looking back, the work was unsophisticated and poor, but admitting this to myself would have set me on a long term path to mall retail; I wasn’t ready to surrender.
So with the encouragement of my ex, I quit without a fallback. It’s the only time in my life I’ve done this. And it was hard. Really, really hard. Mostly I was hard on myself. The anxiety made me stressed and sick, so much so that I completely blanked from exhaustion during a basic temp interview and had to start over from the top. “Sorry, let me try that again. Hi, Danielle Evans here. I’d like to design workout equipment web ads because …”
For three months I shopped my portfolio to various agencies, juggled multiple temp bids, in some cases walked a couple miles to $25/hr gigs in the snow and rain because my household owned exactly one dying car. The cost benefit of these endeavors was imbalanced, but it was all I could manage. During this time, I learned how to bake my own bread and every which way to gourmet-up my mac n cheese, anything to stretch a buck. When I’d had enough, I attempted to freelance for six months and struggled to find good contracts. I began to read the literature that claimed jobs were scarce (this was partially true, it was the housing crisis), but I began to echo sentiments like “there’s no money in the arts,” and “nobody will pay for decent work.” Armed with destructive rhetoric, I spiraled into pity. My largest client, a $500 logo, ran off without paying right before Christmas, so there was no Christmas.
Definitive moments come in strange packages. Mine was wrapped in a porcelain bathtub, covered in oatmeal. My ex sat on the floor sprinkling Aveno on my head as I sobbed; the stress had physically manifested as a full-body rash, creeping up my neck to my face. My only solace was standing in the polar vortex or slathered in lotion. THE POLAR VORTEX WAS RELAXING.
“When will things be okay?” I wept, tears mixing with murky bath water.
“Eventually,” he mustered.
“I can’t do this anymore. I hate my life, and I feel capable of more, but I don’t know how to be anything but a failure.”
I was a disaster, but I’d had enough and finally gave myself permission to do something I loved, which was lettering. I didn’t think my voice mattered, that everything had been done, but this clearly wasn’t true.
Pursuing one’s deepest desires is risky but no riskier than putting up with less. Settling is fine until looking retrospectively at a timeline of sacrificing “best” for “good enough.” I stumbled into my current line of work and haven’t looked back. It wasn’t a seamless transition — I still temp’d for insurance companies, had to meekly ask for time off to go film commercials in NYC, and had killer legs from pedaling three speed rentable bikes uphill to work — but I persevered and it stuck.
I learned the likeliest path is the one you set yourself upon. The smallest belief that your best work lies ahead is enough to counter the forces that deem otherwise. But let’s be honest — everyone starts from a murky place, otherwise Ira Glass’s monologue on the disconnect between taste and talent wouldn’t resonate so profoundly. I had to believe I was worthy of success before I willingly give chase.
If this sounds like your story, I’m here to encourage: you are capable of so much more than you believe. The path to a fulfilling life is before you, laid at your feet if you are brave enough to venture. Despising your current job, worrying your school wasn’t “right enough,” hating being broke and envying those living their best internet lives is valid, but these frustrations aren’t your final fate. Give yourself permission to desire more, and reach for better. One day you’ll share your journey with someone else and can confidentially share how you flipped your life upside down, “started from the bottom, now we here.”
