I used to doodle incessantly when I was a child. I can still remember trying to sell my juvenile artwork to my parents for extra chocolate bar money during my pre-kleptomania (read: hustlin’) days. I also remember this habit/passion/pastime trying to be exorcised out of me during my school years.
I was always something of a daydreamer. My eyes would be locked on a swaying tree outside, my mind would have me be living as Superman, and my teacher would be shouting my name across the classroom.
“So nice of you to join us, Mr Kirton,” she’d say sarcastically.
“I could kill you with one punch,” I replied telepathically, my crooked smile and rhythmic nodding putting her at noticeable unrest.
She’d return to her chalkboard of authority and I’d return to doing some actual good. The world needed me!
I find it funny that I am now employed in a profession where the ability to daydream is part of the gig. As much as “creatives” embrace the whole oddball persona, being a little bit “out there” is necessary to deliver great conceptual work. I just love that my colleagues don’t find it weird when I spend Monday morning traffic meetings invested in my notepad, exploring worlds far beyond the reach of the real. #perksofthejob
Or maybe they do notice, but don’t feel comfortable enough to test my Cheshire grin and psychopathic nod. Can’t say I blame them.