How a lifetime of not quite fitting in taught me to see the world differently.
I’ve spent much of my life being told no.
I was born in Belarus, a place my family eventually left because of antisemitism. My parents wanted a better life for us. A place where we could have opportunities, pursue our dreams, and build a future without being judged for who we were.
We came to America in search of that future. But finding where I belonged wasn’t easy. We didn’t speak English. And the kids at school were not accepting. I was the weird “Russian girl.”
I didn’t have many friends. I didn’t fit in and middle school was particularly rough.
By eighth grade, I was wearing a lot of black, listening to alternative music, and experimenting with art, fashion, and an impressive amount of eyeliner.
Looking back, I think it was my way of expressing things I didn’t quite know how to put into words.
Art became more than something I enjoyed. It became a way to express myself when I didn’t quite have the words.
I didn’t know it then, but that would become a recurring theme in my life.
Too Dark. Not Good Enough.
For my junior year I was accepted into an arts high school as a music major. But while I loved music, my heart was increasingly drawn to visual art. I wanted to switch majors, so I approached the head of the art department.
She looked at my portfolio and said no. My work was too dark. Too gory. Too disturbing.
Apparently, my artistic vision wasn’t quite what she had in mind. But I kept drawing.
In 2002, I was accepted to ArtCenter College of Design in Pasadena, California. I moved to Los Angeles and fell in love with everything about it—the ocean, the energy, the creative community, and the feeling that anything was possible.
But ArtCenter was a different world. I was studying illustration, surrounded by some of the most talented young artists from around the world. And for the first time, being good at something wasn’t nearly good enough.
I struggled. While other students were drawing figures and live models, I was being sent back to the basics, drawing lines and breaking down the human form into simple shapes.
My instructors made it clear that I wasn’t measuring up and I began questioning whether illustration was really where I belonged.
Somewhere along the way, I took a few graphic design classes. And I fell in love.
Typography. Color. Composition. Visual storytelling. A world where art and communication came together.
For the first time, I felt like I’d found something that brought together everything I loved. I had found my direction.
My Hollywood Years
College in Los Angeles wasn’t exactly glamorous.
I survived on $5 pizzas from Little Caesars, ramen noodles, and 99-cent tacos from Del Taco.
And to make ends meet, I worked as a background extra on television shows.
*The O.C., Las Vegas, Malcolm in the Middle, Law & Order, Veronica Mars,* and more.
The working conditions were absolutely terrible.
Movie stars. Gourmet lunches. Craft-service snacks mysteriously finding their way into my backpack.
Somehow, I survived.
But beyond the occasional celebrity sighting and free food, being on set gave me a fascinating look into the world of visual storytelling.
I watched how entire worlds were created through lighting, wardrobe, scenery, props, and the smallest visual decisions.
A room could tell you who lived there before a character ever spoke.
A costume could reveal someone’s personality without a single line of dialogue.
A color, a texture, a carefully chosen object—everything contributed to the story. Every detail helps tell the story.
I didn’t know it then, but that idea would stay with me throughout my career.
When Life Changed Again
For a while, life was moving forward.
I had a career I loved, a growing business, and a beautiful family.
And then, after the birth of my son, life took another unexpected turn.
I began experiencing health issues that would affect me for years to come.
Some days were harder than others. There were challenges I never imagined facing and moments when I wondered if I would ever feel like myself again.
But life didn’t stop.
There were children to raise, projects to finish, clients to serve, deadlines to meet, and a business to run.
So I kept showing up.
I continued working. Continued creating. Continued being a mother, a wife, a designer, and a business owner.
From the outside, life looked much the same.
But behind the scenes, I was dealing with challenges that very few people knew about.
And perhaps the hardest part was realizing that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t always control what was happening to me.
I had spent so much of my life believing that if I worked hard enough, I could find a way through almost anything.
When someone told me no, I found another direction.
When my portfolio wasn’t good enough, I rebuilt it.
When I couldn’t find the right opportunity, I created my own.
But this was different.
I couldn’t simply work harder, reinvent myself, or build a new portfolio to make everything better.
I had to learn to live with uncertainty.
And although I wouldn’t wish those experiences on anyone, they fundamentally changed the way I see the world.
**I began to understand just how precious an ordinary day really is.**
How quickly life can change. How much we take for granted when we’re feeling well. And how important it is to appreciate the moments we have rather than always waiting for some perfect future.
Learning to See Life Differently
I’ve always been a dreamer.
Always looking ahead to the next project, the next opportunity, the next adventure.
But my experiences taught me something I hadn’t fully understood before.
I don’t want to spend my life waiting for someday.
I want to travel now.
See art. Create art. Experience the world. Have adventures.
I want to explore new places, discover new cultures, and stand in front of beautiful things that make me feel something.
I want to cuddle with my children, watch family movies, laugh until my stomach hurts, draw, design, and create things that leave a mark on the world.
I want to appreciate the life I have while I’m here to experience it.
Because I’ve learned how precious an ordinary day really is.
How fragile life can feel.
How joy and darkness can exist together.
How nothing is guaranteed.
And somewhere along the way, I began paying attention differently.
To the blue of my son’s eyes.
The dimples in my daughter’s cheeks.
The lines on my mother’s face.
The softness of a flower petal.
The texture of a fresh orange.
The grain of wood.
The intricate pattern on a building.
The sound of the ocean.
The feeling of sand beneath my feet.
And, of course, to the things I’ve always loved as an artist.
The shape of a serif.
The graceful curve of a script letter.
The beauty of an unexpected color combination.
The texture of paper.
The smallest design decision that changes how something makes us feel.
Things that might seem insignificant to someone else have become some of the things I treasure most.
Because I’ve come to understand that life isn’t just made up of the big moments.
It’s made up of thousands of little ones.
And if we’re always rushing toward the next big thing, we risk missing the beauty that’s right in front of us.
Choosing Beauty
In 2020, my family and I made the decision to move to Sarasota, Florida.
We had fallen in love with the area.
I wanted to live somewhere I could be outside year-round. Somewhere close to the ocean, surrounded by greenery, architecture, art, and sunshine.
A place where nature was part of everyday life.
Where I could walk outside and find inspiration in the smallest things.
A flower. A palm tree. A beautiful building. The changing colors of the sky.
Where I could visit museums, explore galleries, experience new things, and surround myself with creativity.
I wanted to be somewhere that reminded me, every single day, how beautiful life can be.
And I wanted to create beauty of my own.
Not because beauty erases pain or makes life’s difficulties disappear.
But because beauty gives us something to hold on to.
Something to notice.
Something to appreciate.
Something to remember.
Still Standing. Still Dreaming.
Looking back, I can see how many times my life has taken a direction I never planned.
Leaving Belarus.
Growing up feeling like an outsider.
Finding my voice through art and music.
Being told my work was too dark.
Being told I wasn’t good enough.
Being told my portfolio was too Jewish.
Rebuilding my work.
Reinventing my career.
Starting my own business.
And facing personal challenges that changed the way I experience the world.
For much of my life, I thought success meant reaching the next milestone.
Getting accepted. Getting the job. Building the business. Achieving the dream.
And those things still matter to me.
I still have big dreams.
I still want to grow as an artist, create meaningful work, explore the world, and build something that leaves a mark.
But I know something now that I didn’t understand when I was younger.
Life isn’t just about the big milestones, the achievements, or the moments when everything finally falls into place.
It’s about everything in between.
The beautiful things.
The imperfect things.
The joyful things.
Even the painful things.
It’s the music that takes you back to another time.
The photograph that makes you smile.
The artwork that stops you in your tracks.
The curve of a letter.
The colors of a sunset.
The sound of your children laughing in the next room.
The smallest moments that somehow become the biggest memories.
**These aren’t just little things.**
**These are the things that make up a life.**
And perhaps that’s why I’ve devoted my career to creating things that make people stop, look closer, and feel something.
Because long before I understood the importance of details in design, I was a little girl using art to express the things I couldn’t put into words.
The details are the story.
I believe the smallest details often leave the biggest impressions. If you love appreciating the small details in life please subscribe to my Details blog, and follow along and social to see all the amazing details that make up life!
