The 10% Rule

Early in my design career I was contacted by the principal of a prestigious San Francisco design firm to come in and discuss working there. I had immense respect for the firm’s work and knew this was a rare opportunity I had been afforded. During the interview the principal charmed me with promises of design autonomy and concluded with an offer to work on any of the many open projects posted on the wall opposite his desk. I was thrilled.

I had also noticed — since this firm was across the street from where I had previously been working at the time — that the staff designers stayed late almost every night. Their cars were always in the parking lot when my co-workers and I finally headed for home from the frequent dinner-and-a-beer (or two) at a pub nearby. I was always a hard worker and willing to put in extra time whenever needed, but I had also begun to carve out a freelance schedule that left Fridays open to work on my diminutive art practice. More importantly, I was invested in a new-ish romance that I wanted to sustain for the long term. As I carefully considered the firm’s offer, I realized that no matter how great the opportunity, I was simply not willing to give up my Fridays or jeopardize my relationship.

So I turned the job down.

I’ll never know how differently my design career might have turned out if I had accepted that offer, but I can confidently say my creative journey has exceeded my expectations—and that relationship I mentioned is going on twelve happy years of marriage. I credit this luck to my “10% Rule.”

The 10% Rule is really simple: no matter how much you love design, no matter how outsized the ambitions for your design career, always put aside 10% of your life for something else that isn’t design-related. I was a solid A-/B+ student in design school — I loved my courses, burned the midnight oil, and did some good work. But I never missed a Thursday night dancing with friends to DJ Andrew Jervis at Nickie’s BBQ in the Lower Haight. I often skimped on iterations for my Typography 2 course to go see films at the Castro and the Roxie. I would even blow off one or two classes a semester to take trips that promised more enrichment than school ever could. (Sorry, former instructors.)

I try to remember this rule every time my design life begins to overwhelm everything else, no matter how much reward or ego-stroking it might bring. The ReadyMade book, one of Volume’s first big successes in terms of recognition and accolades, was almost completely undone by trying to take on too much all at once. I’m proud of the book’s design and the hard work it took to make it happen, but my life and health suffered immensely. Too many evenings and weekends were being consumed by the project. Soon after its completion, fraying my ends on another demanding job, I went to the emergency room in a panic, complaining of chest pains and a racing heart.

Fortunately, the cause was simply too much coffee — I hadn’t drank the caffeinated stuff for over 15 years before consuming it copiously during the project — but the overall message was clear: it was time to pull back and recalibrate a slightly better balance between life and work. (And do as I say, not always as I continue to do. The last time I ignored my own advice, I needed a full 7-month break from work and teaching to adequately reset.)

The rule also works on a small scale. I try to carve out one hour of every work day to read, write, listen to music, or just sit back and let the day wash away, free of technology and deadlines. The added byproduct of this ritual is my mind relaxes enough to enable more “eureka” moments that often yield the best design ideas that rarely emerge in front of a LCD monitor.

I would never urge anyone to put the brakes on his or her ambition as a designer. To do great work requires monumental effort, and completing a unique, special project gives one a personal sense of accomplishment rarely found elsewhere. I’m also reminded, though, of the late designer and rabble-rouser Tibor Kalman’s observation that design is just a language, not an end in itself. What we choose to express—and enable—with it is what really matters. If you don’t make time for the experiences, the relationships, and the fun that have nothing to do with design, your work will be empty of the meaningful and rich material that comes from that other 10% that has nothing to do with typography, Illustrator, and Pinterest boards.

Remember kids, 90% is still an A- grade. Time for a little recess.