I work in advertising—not the dramatic world of Mad Men, but in actual advertising. My specialty at the moment is deadlines. I’m not the one setting them. I am the one racing toward them. I take massive print and digital projects and whittle them down into the understandable and achievable. I manage art directors, layout designers, and copywriters in the dog eat dog world of retail advertising. It’s fun to be in the grit of the creative process, but, for me, it’s even more fun to see the work completed and out the door. I’ve always felt that way.

If I weren’t juggling multiple projects and didn’t need to rush headlong into the next one, I’m sure I’d be wrapped up in the anticipation of the launch. The break of a campaign is a delight, but the next big thing on the list is there to distract me. As it is now, I wake up one morning and WHAM! There it is.

When I was younger, the strangest moment was seeing someone I didn’t even know walking around with my work. It lit the oddest emotions. A flittering of shock in which it took a second to realize, yes, I did create that. I didn’t dawn on me what the reach of my occupation truly was until one vacation I took in upstate New York. I walked into a tiny boutique, and when I checked out, on the counter next to where I set my purse stood a holder filled with a brochure I had built for a basketball team. The sales clerk picked one up and held it out for me. She suggested I go to a game, “All the info on the team is right here.” A long, drawn out “wow” echoed in my head.

Over the span of years I have been in advertising, my work has appeared in all 50 states and several other countries. It’s a strange thought for me, even now. Someone in another country, let alone just another state, has seen something I created. Granted, it’s not a Picasso, but it is the work that pays me.

If you’ve opened a newspaper, had a USPS address, or signed up for emails from several corporations over the last several years (I won’t say how long), you’ve touched something I either created myself or helped through the creative process to get to you. You may not like me for that. You may be ranting I’m just a cog in a giant machine, but here’s the truth: I know almost every American between the ages of twenty-four and sixty-four have seen something I’ve done. That’s a pretty powerful thought.