The Oligarchy and Me: or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Embrace Carpentry
Thoughts from a Junior UX Designer (who loves to draw)
Hello Newsletter Family,
Are you getting used to me showing up in your inbox yet? 👹
It still feels a bit audacious. The world is at our fingertips, competing for every spare shred of attention, so the fact that you willingly subscribe and spend time with my thoughts is not lost on me—I truly appreciate it. 🫶
For this newsletter, I wanted to do two things:
1: Share a little progress report on my self-taught drawing journey.
2: Provide a brief recap of where I’m at professionally + some thoughts on doing what you love vs. what you think someone else will love vs. what is loving.
If you’re only interested in the first, just check out the pictures ;)
Otherwise, I hope you find something here useful, inspiring, or empathetic.
In 2024, I spent ten months in an intensive UX/UI Bootcamp through Springboard, all while working as an online tutor for PAPER, an EdTech company that’s been in deep turmoil since 2021. Springboard promised that eligible students—those with a Bachelor’s degree and a few other qualifications—would land a job within six months of graduation or receive a tuition refund. Historically, this job guarantee was a low-risk gamble for them, as only 40% of students graduate on time, and back-end data showed that only 2% of students ever received a refund, likely because they either got hired or didn’t make it through the program.
That calculation has changed. The tech job market for Junior Designers and Developers has tanked to the point that Springboard has now eliminated its job guarantee for future students and doubled the time frame and job search requirements for those still eligible, out from under them—citing “a natural disaster or other occurrence.”
As part of my own agreement, I apply to at least 10 jobs per week, reach out to 10 new contacts, complete 4 informational interviews per month, and document 2 provable skill development activities, all while meeting bi-weekly with a Springboard-contracted career coach (who, thankfully, is great). These requirements continue for a full year without pause. Failing to meet them for any reason results in a strike, and three strikes means losing my chance at a tuition refund. Needless to say, Springboard is doubtlessly aware of the position we are both in.
At 154 applications in and not a single interview so far, I can honestly say I’m not feeling confident about landing a UX job anytime soon. When industry professionals you interview as part of your program’s requirements suggest removing the fact that you’re a bootcamp graduate from your resumé, you know things aren’t looking great. In uncertain financial times, companies just don’t want to take a gamble on hiring juniors when there are plenty of seasoned designers to choose from in what is currently an employer’s market. I get it. That said, I knew this would be challenging, and I’m no stranger to competitive fields. In the meantime, I’m doing all I can to become the best designer possible while treating the job search as a long game—after all, if I succeed, I know it will be because of my own efforts, not necessarily the school I attended. Can we say “gumption?” All together now. G-U-M-P-T-I-O-N!! 👏🍤
That said, I’m not one to sit around and wait for a job to land in my lap. With the future uncertain and having already invested in something “practical,” I’ve decided to use a portion of my time in job hunt purgatory to lean into skills that I’m naturally passionate about. As I’ve said before, in 2025 I’m attempting to take my drawing skills to the next level. Illustration is design-adjacent, sure, but it’s also something I truly enjoy—something that gives me a sense of creative autonomy. And I’m documenting that journey here (which also hopefully boosts my marketable writing skills ).
I wanted to share my honest personal experience, because I know many of you are trying to find a way to stay afloat in our economy as well. It might look like every other person on Instagram is somehow wildly successful as a creative, but most of us making art are not making a living from art. The illustration field is arguably in decline, graphic designers are jumping ship, the term “fine artist” is functionally synonymous for “art teacher” or “content creator”, and concept artists are losing their jobs to AI. And let me just circle back around to teachers here, who make an average of $17.79 per hour in the state of Georgia where I live, not far off the national poverty line, depending on household. This is not to mention associated gun violence, which puts schoolteachers (and part time artists who once could teach on the side for a reliable income) at risk on a daily basis for a paycheck. Earned while shepherding our children. Selah.
We are living in the ruins of a dead American dream. Billionaires rule the government now, and big tech companies rule the seas of free capital. The rest of us are down here doing our best, but we aren’t without fault, either. Our addictions, largesse, and constant appetite for entertainment and distraction are a perfect feedback loop for the companies that want to provide those things to us at a profit.
So I’ve been thinking once again about falling into the trap of molding your skills, work, and even persona, into what you think someone might want, rather than doing what you know you would be best at. When you feel like you’ve been doing everything life tells you you should do, and that doesn’t work out– what then?
The obvious answer, at least by today’s standards, is to follow your dream. Jim Carrey famously said, “You can fail at what you don’t want, so you might as well take a chance on doing what you love.” It’s an appealing idea. If the corporate world doesn’t pan out, why not pour everything into art, music, writing—whatever lights the fire in your bones? Why not reject the rat race and build a career out of the thing you love most?
But that’s not necessarily the answer either. The hard reality is that, in a society where wealth disparity is so unbalanced, dreams are not always financially viable. That doesn’t mean they aren’t worthwhile. But the idea that your deepest passion must also be your means of survival is a modern, Western construct, and one that can leave people disillusioned when their creative work fails to sustain them. Some dreams make great jobs. Others don’t. And that’s okay. Not everything we love has to be monetized to have value.
But here’s the thing, the kicker. There’s a third way.
The other morning, I came across a familiar reference to Christ as a carpenter’s son in Matthew 13. I’ve always known this generally, and pictured it as something kind of cool– like teen Jesus creating hardy yet elegant Galilean furniture, beads of sweat flung from his tanned olive forehead while chiseling and planing through beams of cedar with divine precision. But I GPT’ed the Greek word for “carpenter”(tekton) and found that its meaning isn’t limited to woodworking. In fact, wood was pretty scarce in the geographic region where Jesus would have worked. Upon cross-checking this, I saw that the word could also have meant a builder, stonemason, or general laborer - so basically the same thing as a modern-day construction worker. It struck me that the Son of God, who could have been anything, really spent most of His adult life as a blue-collar worker.
It made me realize how often I’m asking the wrong questions when it comes to careers and ambitions. We get caught between two competing ideas: should we do what we love, or should we do what we think others will love (and therefore pay for)? The Jim Carrey quote suggests the former. The world often pressures us toward the latter. But what if the most important thing isn’t doing what we love or even what others love, but doing what is loving?
The truth is that human machinations will always eventually fail. And I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but America is one of them. When powered only by our own strength, the hustle often just leads to burn out or even despair. Even when we succeed, if our work is only about ourselves—our survival, our ambitions, our sense of identity—it eventually feels hollow. But work that is grounded in love—love for others, love for God, love for truth, love for beauty and purity—is never wasted.
So maybe the question isn’t whether I land a UX job first or a more art-related one. Maybe the real question is: How can I make my work an act of love? How can I create something that serves? How can I invest my time in something that builds up rather than just builds wealth?
Thanks for reading. - K