Error Margins: Retouching Images, Recalibrating Life

While organizing an old hard drive, I rediscovered files from my first job, suddenly recalling my younger self entering the industry. Those nights clutching a mouse to retouch images until dawn, the computer's blue glow transforming 3 AM into abyssal depths. Back then, my concept of "earning money" felt painfully concrete - I simply wanted to purchase life choices with self-made income, yet when payday arrived, I couldn't bear to spend a penny.

I still remember my first project: three hundred out-of-focus product shots delivered from the photography studio. My supervisor's only instruction: "Remove all backgrounds by end of day." Nobody explained how wide apertures soften edges, just as nobody teaches rookies when to ask for help. When my supervisor erupted over the jagged outlines in my work, I didn't even realize I should clarify the root cause.

That night, I messaged my art school teacher. He replied: "This isn't entirely your fault." What good did that do? I spent hours manually tracing edges with the Pen Tool, fully aware of its inefficiency, yet stubbornly determined to prove my worth.

The following years became feral growth in a maze. Without design mentors, I wrestled with Google's search bar. Forced into undesirable projects, I treated them as stress resistance training.

Recently I calculated: assuming an 80-year lifespan, 20 years confined to classrooms, 20 more to aging's constraints, with half the remaining 40 sacrificed to sleep. Our truly awake and free time amounts to mere decades.

Now I realize - those all-nighters weren't just image edits. I was adjusting the error margins of my own life.