No one can read my handwriting.

Maybe because it’s an illegible mess of print and cursive, something that has transformed into my own variety of shorthand that even I can’t decode without taking a few moments to question whatever the hell I was trying to get across, which isn’t ideal when a good portion of your job entails taking notes (gosh bless Otter, the ultimate writer buddy). Somehow, that has also spilled over into my texting habits, which are chockful of misspellings and autocorrects.

I remember the distinct pain of learning to write in cursive and never quite grasping how to make an uppercase Q, no matter how much I slowed myself down. Mostly, I recall lots of red ink and a handful of impatient elementary school teachers. It’s no wonder that later on, I was immediately skeptical or suspicious of anyone who called themselves a typography nerd or was teaching themself calligraphy. Of course, when you start writing about design, you quickly get over that hangup.