A cyclist's response to a motorist

Dear motorist in the luxury sedan,

I guess I started it. I really wasn't expecting your large, silver beast to pull up right beside me, so close I could examine your children's faces as you so carelessly hurled insults out your car window. I was angry because I was hurt by your words and threatened by the fact that you seemed to hate me—me, a complete stranger—and for the first time ever, I knew what it was to fear for your life.

I write this to you, not out of anger, but as a way to process the hatred that was directed at me. I write on behalf of my friends, my boyfriend, colleagues and fellow Winnipeggers who cycle everyday. I write this on behalf of your children, who were witness to such atrocious behaviour from their father.

I am not a moron for choosing to ride a bicycle. Unlike you, I am unable to afford a vehicle right now and have to rely on walking, cycling or public transit to take me places. You were far too close to me, and contrary to your perspective, you had ample room after the traffic light to switch back into the lane that I was supposedly hogging.

I felt horrified by the calm, calculated way you judged me. Your words humiliated me, and I shook with fear the entire way home.

The altercation lasted less than a minute, but your actions spoke volumes. Your callous behaviour toward another human being who has neither harmed you, your family, or your value system, makes me wonder how you treat people close to you. You were encased in metal, holed up in a fortress luxurious leather and air conditioning. You had no right to endanger the life of someone else, simply because they got in your way.

Cyclists might not always do the right thing on the road, but neither do motorists. Do not throw stones when you live in a glass house.

Finally, and most importantly, I will strive to forgive you for threatening and insulting me. And I will keep cycling, not to spite you but because it's the way I choose to live my life.

Yours Sincerely,
A Winnipeg Cyclist

Big thoughts. Little time.

This post is being written from the great heights of the John Hancock Tower in Chicago. It's amazing what a change in scenery can do to a person. Getting above the chaos of downtown Chicago has allowed to us to take in the great beauty of the city, seeing how the lake, river and land connect. We can see beyond the great towers and architectural marvels, out to the massive expanse of suburbs and neighbourhoods. This view is being etched into our minds, so that we go back to ground level, we'll have that bigger picture in our heads, reminding us that there is more to this city than the crowded city blocks upon which we walk.

In some ways, the conference has been like our visit to the JHT. In the bustle of everyday life, the rush of deadlines and angst of committee and client buy-in, we opt for a sense of tunnel-vision and push through details to get to the end of the line. But away from it all, we gain a sense of perspective over our jobs; we look from the nitty gritty details and see the big picture. And when we step back and really take stock of our situation and the overall goals of the institution, clarity hits us like a tidal wave.

In the words of Sam Harrison, one of the speakers this weekend:
"If you want something but don't go out and get it, it's like sitting on a pig waiting for it turn into a ham sandwich."

We want the university to succeed, but if we merely sit around waiting for someone else to find the solution, we're going to be waiting a long time. From the perspective of the in-house designer's conference, we need to be on the ground level, researching and find creative solutions to our company/institutions' problems. Our job should not involve the last, aesthetic coat of paint upon a project, nor should our titles just be "graphic designers." We need to think outside the box, and gain the trust, responsibility and authority as creative problem-solvers in our respective workplaces.

This sounds like pie-in-the-design-sky kind of talk, doesn't it? But if we don't set a goal for ourselves, some challenge that we strive towards, then what is the point of our job? We may be descending from heights of design utopia back into the everyday world, but that doesn't mean we need to leave the lessons and advice on the 94th floor. No, we will etch these ideas into our brains so that when we are back in the fray we will remember there is more to this job than what we deal with daily.

We are not alone

On Saturday, Alyssa and I spent most of our day in a large boardroom (the size of two CMU Great Halls), listening to various experts within the in house design community. By the end of the day, our brains were full to overflowing and we had to hop aboard a boat and float around the Chicago shoreline to decompress.
More importantly, we had to take in the fact that we are not the only ones who deal with serious process/policy problems. The issues our department faces on a daily basis are what every other design department is facing. Every time I nodded my head in agreement to something I read/heard during the session, I saw a large number of people nodding too.
We are not alone.

In Search of a Connection

Second day in Chicago.
Alyssa and I checked into the lovely Hyatt Regency around 5 PM, and were pleasantly surprised to find they had upgraded our room to a junior suite. It pays to have a social media savvy colleague, one who follows the hotel on her Twitter feed. About half an hour after getting into the room, we were gifted with drinks and popcorn, as a thank you for being actively involved in the hotel's social media world.
Points for Hyatt Regency.

Unfortunately, their internet connection has been anything but spectacular. Alyssa and I have tried numerous times to connect and the internet has loaded about as fast as Heinz ketchup coming out a bottle. Chalk it up to a large crowd of designers all converging on the hotel and swamping the free wi-fi. Instead of sitting in the comfort of our plush hotel room beds updating our blogs/twitter feeds, we opted for the speed and convenience of the nearest Starbucks.

Hopefully this explains the lack of activity in the last 24 hours. In that time, Alyssa and I have:
- gone through the Art Institute of Chicago (hello Gustave! You beautiful, beautiful artist!)
- visited the State Street Macy's, originally the flagship store for Marshall Fields & co.
- walked up and down Magnificent Mile, stopping for a banana split at Ghiradellis.
- walked through Millenium Park.
All of this in 24 hours!

But now down to business: we have just come from the opening keynote speech which was anything but design and interesting. Two women standing up on stage telling a room full of cynical, introverted graphic designers to "breathe in the second circle." The speech was about being creative in the moment but as I sat there half listening to the speakers, half watching the fierce twitter feed from designers in the room, I realized that I have developed ways of "being creative in the moment." Yes, of course there are times of great stress as a designer but I have figured out ways to balance out my life by doing Pilates, baking bread, reading books and being part of the "Crossword Crew" at work. Thank you HOW Design for telling me stuff I already know. Now, let us get down to the nitty gritty of in-house design issues. I am still optimistic that you can turn this conference around. I mean, come on—Andy Epstein is speaking tomorrow! I want to leave knowing something more than how to "breathe onto the person behind me."

Procrastination

Why do we procrastinate? Why do we put off what must be done until it is absolutely necessary to complete the task? Have we trained ourselves to operate in this ludicrous manner simply because we enjoy sitting around twiddling our thumbs? No, I think it is more likely we fear making decisions; we are scared to push forward and make mistakes we'll only fret over later. We procrastinate because we are paralyzed by the fear that we will not be able to produce the elaborate schemes we have concocted in our heads.

But isn't that failure in its own way?

In house design: the fine art of tightrope walking

"There are no bad clients, only clients turned into bad clients by bad designers."

A shocking sentence for any designer to read, the above quote is taken from Adrian Shaughnessy's latest book called How to be a graphic designer without losing your soul. I bought this book in early January, and was eagerly reading through the chapters until I came upon the above line. The very idea that I could be responsible for bad clients stopped me dead in my tracks. Have I been a bad designer? Have I helped to foster bad behaviour in the people who come to me for help?

This question has been plaguing over the last couple weeks, evading any simple explanation that would make it easier to digest. I could write off the declaration, arguing that Shaughnessy was talking to designers running their own businesses. But what about in house designers? What about those teams of people that make up a department within an organization or corporation? Does this statement pertain them as well?

The more I think about it, working as an in house designer is quite similar to walking a tightrope. It's a delicate balancing act—get it right, and you're a sensation. Everyone loves you. Get it wrong, and you're plummeting to your death while people gaze on in horror. In house designers face the daily battle of working to make sure the client's needs are met whilst holding true to the standards of the brand. I am constantly faced with strange demands and requests, things that do not fit within the identity of the organization, and I struggle to find a visual solution that suits both parties. More often than not, this balancing act produces mediocre work that appeals to no one in particular and the client is left with a vague sense that I am not doing my job effectively.

From a safe distance, far away from the boardrooms and meetings and my overflowing email inbox, I can calmly view this problem, knowing that the answer lies in getting to the root of what the client needs, and then marrying those needs with the brand. It seems simple, doesn't it? But what if the client really wants a purple spotted cow, whilst the organization's key visual is a green striped sheep? Do you find the common link between the two and present the green striped sheep with an explanation as to why this visual is better? What if the client still wants a purple spotted cow? Do you give in at that point, let it slide and pick up the battle some other time? Or do you hold true to what the organization is trying to say, breeding frustration in the client?

As I said before, it's a death-defying balancing act. Let's hope I make it to the other side unscathed.

Must. Finish. This. Paper.

Dear paper,

You are due tomorrow. The research has been completed, the books referenced, the thoughts laid out in well-structured sentences. And yet, even in the final hours of writing, you taunt me. I feel the need to read you a thousand times, combing for errors, searching for a slip in judgement or formatting. And each time I read you, I become more convinced of you being returned to me with "FAILURE" stamped across your front page. I beg of you, be complete and passable. I have invested weeks of my life into your existence and the thought you being less than satisfactory is driving me to distraction.

Yours sincerely,
The frustrated paper writer