You came! I am deeply grateful, thank you so much. Alright here we go: My name is Christina and I'm here to be your next Copywriter. I'm also here to make a case for why you should hire someone who just learned how to read and write...to be that Copywriter. To do so, I'm going to share a story I'm not supposed to. But it’s about doing things we’re not supposed to, and about what getting paid means to me. Square gave me the guts to tell it, as did you Mr. Z Brock.
I always sucked at being small. I'm six feet tall. And my skin's one of those red-flagged shades of brown. I stand up, I stand out. I'm loud even before the New York leaps out of my mouth.
So I was always scared of being small. Three years ago, I got a 92% chance of living in a nursing home. 8% chance of ever living on my own again, maybe holding a menial job. 100% guarantee of getting stuffed inside a tiny, little life.
Doc explained my IQ had dropped four standard deviations. This meant I'd lost the ability to read, write, do laundry, man a stove, take the subway.
We knew my IQ because being smart was who I was. So what it really meant was there wasn't much of me left. Break a sharp brain and it'll cut you up and down. It'll mess you up. But nothing makes us greater than the stuff that messed us up.
It's a wonder what you can do when you can't think. You can act. Like when you were smaller. Like when you were a kid.
When that first doctor's appointment was over, the nurse gave me grippy hospital socks. They were bright yellow and very smart. With feet in my footies, I carried my head to the bookshelf. And slowly, but without hesitation, I started sounding out Dr. Seuss.
The next morning I woke up at four and did it again. Every morning, I woke up at four and did it again. Because I couldn't do much, but I could show up. So like a soldier, I showed up.
Six months in I was scarfing down the Self-Help aisle at a ferocious twelve minutes a page. Two years in, NYU took a chance on me. I got into grad school. I had to drop three classes just to keep up. But I kept up. Six minutes a page round then.
Eventually I started freelancing. And by that I mean making money I'm not supposed to make, doing work I'm not supposed to be able to do -- work I love.
That's what getting paid means to me.
Today it takes me three minutes to read a page. My goal is two. I still start every day with Seuss.
A few weeks ago, I saw a grizzly man giggle. He said, “Whoops, can I touch it?” to the delivery guy. He’d already touched it. By then, he was kissing his impulsive index finger with his head cocked to the right, and searching the air for a pigtail to twirl with the other one. The delivery guy giggled.
Grizzly was not the first giddy grown-up to inspect his gadget. I giggled -- because of all of the above.
Yesterday, I caught myself stalking Square again. It’s been happening a lot since the delighter delivery, and Creep-A-Leep here just figured out why. You see I haven’t felt this feeling in a long time so I didn’t recognize it at first.
You made me feel big. Powerful. Like I can do this, because I can. But you made me feel small, too. And that’s when things got weird.
I’ve spent three years fighting so I’d never feel small again. But I just realized it was small I was fighting to feel all along.
Feeling small can give us the guts to be a part of something bigger than ourselves, to create something bigger than ourselves.
I’m here because I believe in the little big things. Like syllables of Dr. Seuss. Or white rounded squares, the businesses they help people build, or getting paid to do what you love.
I’m here to be your next Copywriter because writing a new story is what I do best. It’s how I got here after science said I wasn’t supposed to.
I want to help you write the future. Tell me about you, your team, and how I can help -- (914) 420-3837. Thank you for reading and for doing what you do.