Here’s the thing: I didn’t set out to be a Creative Director. I just wanted to design cool stuff, drink cherry foam cold brews, and have people think my portfolio was “clean.” That was the dream.

There is an irrational fear that persists within graphic designers. One that tells us that our work is never complete enough to send to the client. "I should probably give them one more option. Maybe I should show them what it would look like in a few different colorways."

The first time I realized I wasn’t actually original, I had a minor creative meltdown. I had been so sure my work was unique, that I was creating from the purest part of my soul, untouched by outside influence.

I was a pretty terrible student in grade school. Not in a "burned down the chemistry lab" kind of way, but in a "I’d rather stare out the window and watch hop from branch to branch than do my long division" kind of way. From an early age, I struggled to focus.

My childhood was not what you’d call "artistically enriched." I grew up in rural northeast Ohio, where the main cultural attractions were cow pastures and the occasional county fair demolition derby. We didn’t have galleries or modern art museums. We had barns. And yet, somehow, amidst the mooing and the corn husks, a tiny designer brain was developing.

In the fall of 2014. I arrived at a small private college in Florida with a suitcase full of optimism and absolutely no idea what I was doing. I also brought a second suitcase of ill-fitting jeans. Hey, it was 2014.

One of the most important things I learned in college wasn’t in a classroom—it came from a mentor, who told me, "Let the best idea win. Always."

Typography sets the tone of your brand. If your brand were a presentation, then think of typography as the outfit you’re wearing as you present. Imagine trying to deliver a TED Talk while wearing clown shoes, suspenders and a bowtie.

Let me tell you a deep, dark secret: I don’t fixate on design trends. In fact, my design philosophy is the antithesis of trendy. It’s fueled by... logic. Pragmatism.

The truth is, I regularly feel like a raccoon in the creative profession. In part because of the bags under my eyes and my poor posture, but also in part due to the nature of my role and the imposter syndrome that comes with it.