Recently, I had some out-patient surgery. All is good, but when the hospital gave me my discharge papers, they read, ​“Do not make any major decisions for the next two weeks.” I waited, and on day fifteen, I decided to do something I have been putting off for almost a decade: purge my professional archives. I am not suggesting that anyone else do this, but for me, it meant re-identifying myself. As a creative director, editor and strategist, I kept copies of print ads, CDs of commercials, issues of magazines, decks of presentations, drafts of speeches, prototypes of packaging, on and on. They filled the back of an enormous walk-in closet and were organized in dozens of clear bins, all neatly labelled. Looking at it, I realized that I had started and restarted my career many times, and every time, there were so much compelling data, so many cultural references and actionable ideas reassembled, each informing the other and serving as a passport to the next enterprise. This work impacted businesses and people. A big part of business is about being with people, and I was in need of keeping the connections by keeping the stuff. All that work I’d done held great significance for me, and it was hard to let go. It all mattered then, but this was now.

Was my sudden desire to purge the past a response to my wake-up call after being under anesthesia? Maybe it was about making room for new things in an overstuffed closet? Rummaging through clearly labelled box number one, New York Magazine, became the test. Would this be a Maria Kondo sparking joy moment or leave me regretting what I had started? There was my first paste-up of a theater review, ​“Orlando Furioso.” It was done with rubber cement (do you remember the scent?), and the lines on the page were out of whack. I could have been fired, but instead, I was taken care of and encouraged. A teaching lesson I hope I passed on. And so it went, I parted ways with jeans commercials, strategies for online businesses, logo designs and beauty advertisements. Taking a number of days, as recycling bins and trash bags filled the street, I took pride in what I had worked on with many talented people and friends. Almost finished, I had a quiet celebration when my friend Joyce (pictured here) came and picked up bins to reorganize her collections. My mother used to say, ​“You come into this life with nothing, and you leave with nothing.” But in the meantime, there is now space for new ideas and growth. I am more me. Carpe diem.