Recently, a few younger designers reached out to me. And I had to reach out to my earlier 20s self for a frame of reference. For your frame of reference, I’m only 28 (but the years feel so big and terrifying).
Time is either too fast or too slow, and either way I spend most of it killing.
tôi bất lực trước thời gian
tồn tại chậm rãi lan man nhiều giờ
không thể tua nhanh bất ngờ
và không thể nhớ tôi chờ hay đi
Life during the last quarter of 27 hadn’t been exactly functional, let alone hopeful.
As I lay in bed one day, I kind of got how that club is a thing. I think, by 27, you would have done a fair bit of messing around, and might have just found out. It’s a monumental milestone if you get out of it alive.
My dad started working (at his more serious job, for lack of better expressions) at 27. His life started at 27. I was 27, and I thought my life was ending.
I’m about a few fountain pens and a few friends wiser now. This is to me—18, 27, in-between numbers, since the beginning of time, until the end of time, etc.:
Watch unimportant films, play uncanny games, read unserious books. Or important and serious ones, whatever sticks. Look at too much design, and you might only design for designers, or design about design. Do it anyway if you must, but remember that there’s design about life.