I was wandering down Acre Lane watching an interesting scene unfold before me. A man in his forties was walking at a quick pace dragging his one-year-old child behind him. The man released the kid’s arm before beginning to storm off, the child tried to keep up by implementing that strange alien waddle that only toddlers are capable of. The man turned and spat, ‘WILL YOU HURRY UP,’ to which the little alien put his Michelin man legs into action and walked in such a way that it looked as if he was constantly falling. ‘Jesus,’ I thought, ‘why the hell does this man get irritated by the fact that his child can’t keep up with him? For each one of his steps is about eight little alien steps.’ I don’t know much about children, but I didn’t think their feet were even meant to touch the ground for the first five years, the ones I see are also being pushed, cradled, or on some form of leash. But as I continued watching this man grow in frustration at the fact a baby can’t run, I began to reflect on my own psyche. 

I’ve never really cared about being the best, never found my true strength. That was until joining SCA, since being here I always want my work to be the best, or at least something I am immensely proud of. I get home and I’m exhausted I either fall straight to sleep or work through the night, I rise at six and work for two hours before school. I ask for help from friends and family to aid me in whatever new brief I may be working on. But whatever the outcome, whatever the feedback, I know that the work could have been better, used a different type, made the animation more fluid, made the idea clearer, allowed more time, and spoke to more mentors.

This week marks my tenth week at SCA. Everything I am learning is brand new, with constant briefs pouring in, masterclasses, one on ones, new partners, and new agencies; all of which were alien to me not ten weeks ago. I am learning new tools, new strategies, and what salience means (I’m still unsure). But no matter how pleased I am with the final product it is never enough; I avoid conversation about the brief when I return home. A feeling of shame creeps over me, why didn’t I do things differently? Marc has repeatedly told us, ‘Next time,’ and taught us to learn from our mistakes and do better next time. He is right, of course, I’ve only had ten weeks in ad land, so why do I expect myself to succeed from the off? Why do I expect a baby to run? 

Honestly, I don’t know. I know the moral of this story is meant to be, ‘you can’t expect a baby to run, they need to grow, and they need to learn. You need to give yourself some time before you can succeed.’ But alas no, my mind is only thinking that this baby better start training, because it has a marathon ahead of it, one that I want to win. 

@OSHKcreates.