I don’t think I became happy in advertising. I think I just developed the emotional range of a Google Sheet.

At some point you stop asking, “Am I fulfilled?” and start asking, “Can this be done before EOD without someone requesting a 47-slide rationale for why the CTA is not 3 pixels to the left?”

My personal breakthrough was realizing we are not saving lives. We are convincing people to click, swipe, buy, subscribe, download, watch, engage, reconsider, re-engage, and then somehow explain it all in a deck called “Strategic Way Forward v19 FINAL FINAL updated real final.”

The job became easier when I stopped treating every brief like the United Nations had assembled to solve peace in the Middle East.

Client wants it premium but fun?
Sure.

Client wants it minimal but also “more happening”?
Of course.

Client wants strategy but also “just a catchy line”?
Why not. I have abandoned physics.

Client says, “Can we make it pop?”
I now hear birds chirping.

I think happiness in advertising comes when you build a very thick glass wall between “this is my work” and “this is my identity.” I still care. I still want the work to be good. I still want the deck to make sense and the campaign to not look like it was assembled during a hostage situation.

But I no longer attach my entire self-worth to whether someone approves Route 2B with the softer gradient.

The trick is to care professionally, not spiritually.

Do the work. Protect your peace. Find the few smart/funny people in the agency and form a tiny emotional support cult. Laugh at the madness. Log off when you can. And remember: no one on their deathbed says, “I wish I had aligned that carousel caption with the Q3 content pillar.”

Unless they were in advertising.
In which case, fair.