I am new to the world of design. 

In September I will officially be a senior at Boston University’s Questrom School of Business where I am majoring in marketing. I have gained countless skills from the business school and had the privilege of being taught by distinguished and inspiring individuals. Most of all,  I am grateful to Questrom for guiding me to realize the value in connecting with people. However, I came to understand that I need to take a different route to do so. In particular, I discovered that my strengths and passions lie in the artistic side of marketing, in strategically reaching people through a blend of written and visual communication. 

BU is comprised of various colleges, each with its own character, and Questrom is known as a joke among students for being the school of snakes. This is in reference to the coldhearted competition among the aspiring professionals. Most people are shocked when I tell them I’m a business major because I would probably be the doe-eyed kind of creature that would get eaten by a snake. While the vibe at the business school is Type A, stern and cutthroat, I on the other hand am a whimsical, daydreamy, romantic who collages in her spare time, watercolors, and writes short stories. 

Over the years, two professors I bonded with for sharing a love of writing asked me what I was doing in the business school when it was clear that I favored unbounded artistic projects. My answer was always that I liked the thrill of a fast-paced environment, collaborative problem solving, and healthy competition. That is all true in regards to the kind of student and worker I am. However, the real reason I chose Questrom and stuck with it was that I did not want to see myself as the animal that gets eaten by the snake. 

In truth, I wanted to prove to myself that I could handle the rigor and be someone worth taking seriously.  I thought I had to stifle my true, creative self in order to fit into the mold of a “successful business woman,” in order to be respected by my peers. I said I wanted the security of a job post-graduation, but what I really wanted was a more fundamental kind of security: I wanted business to validate my sense of self-worth. 

Deeper into my career at Questrom, as the pressure increased, I felt drained of color and motivation. Feelings of inspiration were replaced with boredom and dread: I felt trapped in the mold I had built for myself. But the interesting thing was, the stiffness that had become unbearable pushed me back into the arms of art. My saving grace became stream-of-consciousness writing, doodling, and intention-setting, and every few months I would go through a new journal. I started collaging again too. I realized that creating layouts, communicating meaning through the use of text, lines, images and color engrossed me more than the work to which I was supposed to be devoting the majority of my time. 

And that was when it hit me: I am meant to be a graphic designer.  I want to help people forge and communicate their brand identities. I want to scout out problems and solve them creatively. I want a job that is dynamic and allows me to live colorfully, because I am of value to society when my creativity is unleashed. I had been afraid to think bigger because I couldn’t initially see the shape of what would take place. Now, even though I am changing direction late in my college career, and even though I do not know where it will take me, my passion is ignited again, and I have never felt more secure.