I found my old self in the drafts folder

I opened the drafts folder tonight. Not by accident — by ritual. An ever-growing black hole of a mausoleum I dust off once a year.

Inside, I find ghosts with my old face. Design mockups named Final_v3. Cover letters dripping forced enthusiasm for jobs that lacked excitement. A folder called New Portfolio that’s been new since 2018.

Whispers from my past self. I read them like a drunk reads love letters. I watch a video, play a demo track, poke through dusty Illustrator files. The atmosphere feels like a post-apocalyptic dump. The remains — artifacts of a distant creative consciousness, ideas whose time came and went.

Some files make me cringe. Some excite me with their audacity.

I read somewhere mathematicians peak at twenty. Can something like that be true of designers? I worry my edge dulls a little more each year I spend as a corporate pusher.

I check the time and shut the hole.

On my way to the kitchen, I peer into the small pool of coffee deep inside the mug. A vagrant idea rushes in. Feeble concepts resurrect. I sense a familiar me reaching out with seeds that might just grow new life.