Passion is for the Birds

The term “passion” is one of those trendy words that’s been rubbing me the wrong way lately. It’s now practically expected that we feel passion for our work. Really? So I’m supposed to feel ashamed if I don’t leap out of bed each morning before the sun like some twisted Disney character who sings of brochures and annual reports while woodland creatures help me dress and start up the computer? Really? Books tell me I should find my passion and do that for a living, which begs the question: How do I get paid to sit on the couch and eat ice cream sandwiches?

In my opinion the field of graphic design has virtually nothing to do with passion—unless one’s passion involves agonizing over the space between two letters and whether a sans serif typeface can appropriately carry the weight of the subject matter— in which case we have a much larger issue at hand. To say I have a passion for graphic design is like saying I have a passion for breathing or for my heart beating. I won’t go so far as to say it’s necessary for my survival, but it’s become a nearly involuntary action. I simply can’t help myself.

I cannot drive down the street without being assaulted by design just waiting to be critiqued and improved. Unless I were to vacation on a log in the middle of the ocean, I wouldn’t be able to escape it, and even then I imagine I’d eventually see a plastic grocery bag float by with some sorry-ass logo just begging to be redesigned. I can’t even open a pack of M&Ms without making a groovy design that in turn influences the order in which I eat them. This is not a passion. This is a sickness.

If you have a passion for something, good grief, don’t do it for a living. I’m not saying you shouldn’t enjoy or even love what you do for your livelihood, but  save your passion for the baseball diamond, family vacations or an ice cream sandwich. Believe me, you do not want squirrels and birds in charge of starting up your computer. They cannot be trusted.