“You’ll never earn enough money as a graphic designer to support a family.”
That was the advice my academic advisor gave me as a late-starting 21-year-old college student (I had been living out of the country for a couple years after high school), unsuspecting and still largely impressionable. I did not know her. I had only met her 10 minutes before, after waiting in a one-hour line to declare a major. And yet, I heeded her every word.
I can’t support a family as a graphic designer? I suddenly worried. This revelation was news I had never heard; yet, without questioning, I believed it. Like neurotic jolts of lightning, synapses in my re-shaping mind began to fire. Then…what was I supposed to do?
Within 15 minutes, the plan I thought I wanted when I entered college took an about-face and I suddenly, haphazardly, internalized and second-guessed everything about my college trajectory. In what now seems like a blink-of-an-uneducated-eye moment, I instantaneously determined I’d be a journalist instead (ironically, journalists don’t typically make any more than a designer, but this advisor did nothing to steer me away from newspaper writing and I was too green to know any better). I had always liked to write, so journalism, like design, seemed a sensible profession to me.
To be fair to the advisor and in being honest with myself, the truth is, I really didn’t know—at least with any real clarity—what I actually wanted to be when I grew up. Admittedly, I was nervous about selecting a career, I was desperately (blindly?) looking for advice, and I was willing to take it from whomever was willing to dish it out. On that day, it was a stranger, a university employee, that I naively assumed understood the world very, very well and that she knew what was best for me.
As a kid, I had dreamed of being an illustrator for Disney. As a teenager, my more practical self decided a job as a commercial artist (you know, designing cereal boxes and Nike ads) would be just as cool and more possible. But neither of these “dreams” were anything more than fleeting fantasies and curiosities. I wasn’t an expert cartoonist or designer and I had never put in the effort into really becoming great at either or to even learn about a profession in design.
With parents who held jobs as a first grade teacher and an electrical wholesale distributor, I wasn’t given much direction about what it meant to be a designer; my parents had always just been supportive: “Just do what you love,” they would compassionately advise. “And don’t end up doing what I did,” Dad would add, noting that he never wanted to sell electrical supplies, but really wished he had become a veterinarian.
And I guess that was part of the problem. I wasn’t totally sure what I loved and I didn’t know who to ask. I just knew I was always intrigued with design, that I liked writing and drawing, and that I wanted to do something with colors, shapes, and typography. I wanted to create. I wanted to communicate to the masses. Maybe write books or be a public speaker? But…how do you go about that?
More than anything else, at that time in my life, I just wanted to have a job that I generally enjoyed and that made enough money for me to comfortably support a family. For me, a profession was, well, a profession. And I can’t say I had any more clarity than that.
But life takes funny twists and turns. We’re often impacted by flash-pan moments, by forks in the road, by indecisiveness, by 30-year-old advisors who think they know more about us than we do.
The Four Types of People
With roughly 20 years of hindsight since that life-altering moment with my advisor, I’ve come to realize that, when it comes to professions and careers, there are essentially four types of people: known-from-birthers; exploratory navigators; curious trekkers; and aimless wanderers. Turns out, I’m the third type: a curious trekker.
Known-from-birthers are those folks who, sometime between birth and young adolescence, find their burning passion, have a true talent for it, and do everything in their power to achieve it, nothing wavering. They start their professional trajectory early and they rarely veer from it. While not necessarily uncommon, this group seems to be the rarest of the four types. It became clear to me the second that I hit college that I’m definitely not a known-from-birther.
Exploratory navigators are those who have general ideas about what they like and, as if navigating a map, steer their careers in the direction their industry requires, usually guided by mentors or clearly outlined career maps. Navigators often go to college or through a certification or licensure program, but sometimes they also just start a career young in a particular industry and decide to stick with it. They gradually, methodically, discover what they like, what they’re good at, and they build a career out of it by following the map. I believe a majority of people eventually fall into this category.
Curious trekkers are individuals who, like me, don’t ever really know what they want to be when they grow up. Their passions are scattered and diverse, but their ambition and work ethic isn’t in question. They may change their college major or career direction multiple times, but they do graduate, and they’re always learning and progressing. They may find a profession they love and stick with, but they find ways to integrate their many loves into their work, always curious and open to opportunities. They’re never fully comfortable with the idea of “this is what I am, this is what I do, and this is what I will always be.” To me, it seems like many—or even most—exploratory navigators initially start as curious trekkers, but eventually move into the navigator arena, comfortably following the trajectory that their career outlines for them. Some, though, never really find that “clear path” and remain curious trekkers for life. I think that’s where I fit. And, at 39 years old, I think I’m finally comfortable with that. Even excited by it.
Aimless wanderers are, as the name implies, those who never really put a clear plan in place, letting their environment almost entirely control where they end up. Some wanderers do complete college degrees or certification programs, but not all. Some get lucky early on and land a job that they get passionate about and move into an exploratory navigator. Many, however, end up in careers they don’t love and only minimally progress in. They may bounce from job to job or they may stay in one place, but they never really find something they enjoy and they never really progress professionally. Their ambition, drive, and curiosity are often limited and they often see work as nothing more than a paycheck.
My First Identity Crisis
Not knowing that I was a curious trekker at the time, after that 15-minute advising session, I went from feeling excited about my life to experiencing my first identity crisis. And, it didn’t really go away for many years. Within one semester of declaring as a journalism major, I knew I didn’t want to be a journalist, either (in part because I had finally taken the initiative to actually research the profession and their salaries, but also because I realized I didn’t love interviewing strangers). Curious and confused about my life goals—but still ambitious and eager to land a career—I somehow decided that, perhaps, I wanted to do medical school and become an eye doctor.
I then learned that, strangely, the university had a scholarship specifically for men who wanted to join the food science program (at the time, the major was dominated by women). Learning it was considered a good pre-med degree, and shocked that there was actually a half-tuition scholarship out there for which I might legitimately qualify, I applied. And I was accepted.
For a year, I entrenched myself in courses on anatomy, biology, chemistry, and nutrition. And…I hated it. Once the scholarship expired, I didn’t re-apply. I knew then that I was never going to do medical school and I knew for sure that I much preferred eating food over studying the science of it.
Then, the second identity crisis hit.
I met with a different university advisor who asked me to regurgitate what I was good at. I couldn’t think of much. I told her I liked to write and design, but I didn’t know what I’d ever do with that. Then I told her I wanted to make a good living. Reflectively, she asked me if I’d ever thought about going into business. No, I thought. The term “business” always seemed so generic. Outside of specific professions like an accountant or financial adviser—which sounded even worse for me than interviewing strangers or studying nutritional meal plans—I didn’t really know what a business degree would be for. Managing a clothing store?
She went on to tell me that business was the most versatile degree, that I could work in marketing or management or even design, but that it looked good on a résumé and it provided many practical life skills, like investing and leadership. She also, somewhat offhandedly, suggested I take an “Introduction to English” course, a 1-credit seminar where I could learn what to do with a degree in English. Her logic made a tremendous amount of sense to my soul-in-crisis, so I declared as a business major and I enrolled in the English course.
Soon I found myself simultaneously loathing my Business Accounting and Economics classes while, in the English class, being intrigued about a profession I had never heard of: technical writer. The professor of the course told us that, in that profession, you get to write, you get to make and design professional documents, and that you’ll make a decent living. And there it was—I soon declared my fourth new major: English, Technical and Professional Writing, with a minor in business.
At that point, I determined there was no going back. I was already two years into my college degree and I had just gotten married. Love it or hate it, I was graduating in English and I was going to be a technical writer.
But then, Identity Crisis #3 happened.
My final year in college, I landed a part-time job as a technical writer at a health and fitness equipment firm. My job? To help translate user’s manuals for treadmills into European languages. That job isn’t real indicative of what technical writers normally do, but I suffered an alarming realization nonetheless: I was only 25. Could I write manuals and reports for the next 40 years of my life? Shoot, could I do any one thing for the next 40 years?
As an unknowing curious trekker, that’s when I realized that my professional journey—that my own, idiosyncratic trailblazing—would always be a lifelong pursuit. That I may never really know what I am best at or what I love the most. All I knew was that I had to keep pursuing. Keep learning. Keep finding what I love and keep getting better at what I did.
In a few months, I turn 40. Fifteen years removed from graduating with my bachelor’s degree and suffering that third identity crisis, I marvel somewhat at where my personal and professional life have gone.
Turns out, it can be okay to not know what you want to be, so long as you’re ambitious and determined.
After completing a master’s degree in professional communication, I soon earned a multidisciplinary PhD in rhetorics, communication, and information design. I lucked out and landed a job as a college professor, later chairing a graduate program in strategic communication. I have taught courses ranging from brand strategy to editing to public speaking to information design. I have designed scores of educational infographics that that been sold and distributed to thousands of educators and organizations around the globe. I built a website that sees over 3 million pageviews per year. I have published several articles in peer-reviewed academic journals and as well as trade publications. I have traveled to 22 countries on five continents and I have taken students to work with international non-profit organizations on film, marketing, and branding projects from South Africa to Cambodia. I’m a freelance graphic designer for small businesses and a consultant, public speaker, and corporate trainer for several multinational companies.
In other words, professionally, I’m all over the place. And I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up. But I’ve realized for me, now a more conscious curious trekker, that’s kind of the way I hope it will always be. As a college professor, I will probably always stay somewhat grounded as a navigator, since that’s a profession I never thought I’d claim, but that I have truly grown to love.
In every single one of these pursuits, I have felt the pangs of persistent—sometimes unrelenting—fears of failure. Imposter syndrome is an incessantly infiltrating demon that wants to push me towards a clearer “navigator” path or, when it’s most ruthless, towards an aimless wanderer.
I say all that, though, not to disparage any who feels they may be an exploratory navigator, known-from-birther, or aimless wanderer. In fact, many of us curious trekkers are often jealous of these other types: jealous of known-from-birthers, for their of the deep-rooted talent they possess in a focused discipline; jealous of the exploratory navigators for their increasingly clear trajectory in life; and jealous of the aimless wanderer for their ability to worry less about how much money their job actually makes.
What does this all mean?
There is no right or wrong path to professional and career development, so long as it inspires you to be the best version of you. Having worked with thousands of college students and corporate professionals, I’ve just come to realize that so many people worry about not knowing what their main “thing” is, or what they truly want to be when they grow up. To them, I say, “Don’t worry.” Embrace the curious trekker in you. Attempt and try things that grab your attention. Be malleable and look for opportunities. If you let ambition and curiosity drive you, you’ll end up in destinations you never actually dreamed were possible. It’s okay to not know which peak you’re climbing towards. Just keep diverting towards the waterfalls and canyons that seem most appealing and the journey will be more than worth it. “
For modern trekkers, the journey can be easier and faster
The internet has put a wealth of valuable resources right in your pocket. At one end of the scale, you can learn all kinds of skills from free resources such as blogs and social media posts. At the other end of the scale, you can earn serious qualifications like a public health degree online. There are all kinds of grades, shades, and presentation methods in between.
No matter what type of person you are, commit to using these resources for your personal and professional development. Even if you’re totally happy where you are, you can always get better at it. You can also prepare yourself for changes that may force you to change your life and livelihood, if only temporarily.