Being authentic rules, actually
I've spent a lot of time in professional spaces feeling like a facsimile of myself, trying to figure out which watered-down version of me would be most palatable to the film and game industries. Sometimes I wonder: if you added up all the time I've spent trying to figure out how exactly to word a post so as to not give any potential future employers any doubts about me, how many hours would that be? Or the time spent deciding which tracks to feature on my Bandcamp to have the best chance of someone hearing my music and thinking I might be a good fit for their projects? Or commuting to meetups that don't particularly appeal to me, but I must go, because Networking? What percentage of my life would that add up to?
At some point, it all becomes exhausting. Turns out that curating your own image so carefully takes a lot of time and energy!
So lately I've been trying to unlearn the practice of letting anxiety dictate how I present myself to the world.
Some of the ways I've been doing this have been small. Sharing music WIPs that I personally like and want to share with the world, rather than what I think would be most likely to get me work. Skipping networking events that I have a feeling might be miserably unfun. Posting about things other than work on this blog. Talking openly about how much I love tarot even though some Facts and Logic™ type people roll their eyes at the hobby.
Honestly, I think there's some sexism in the way certain people dismiss tarot or anything else deemed "witchy," but that's a whole other post.
Earlier this year, I gave a talk at GDC with my friends Jamie Lee and David Su. In it, we talked about bad advice we'd received throughout our careers. One example I used was "don't be political. Keep your presence on social media and at professional events as non-controversial as possible." This is a piece of advice that I've basically never taken to heart. Because politics and morals are the same, really. And I'm never going to be quiet about trying to help people or trying to make the world a better place. That just wouldn't feel right.
And because of that (not in spite of that, BECAUSE of that), my music has been a part of some truly remarkable things, including: a documentary about the fight for abortion rights. A documentary about sex work activism. A compilation album raising funds for Palestinian aid. A documentary about prairie restoration. Multiple queer stories.
How cool is it that my name is on all of these? If nothing else, I can look back on my involvement in these projects and be proud. No matter what happens in the future, even if someday the work completely dries up and I need to change careers, I will always have that.
And recently I realized, if not being afraid to hide my political views has actually been good for me overall, then why am I so vigilantly curating how I present myself otherwise?
In the past few years, I've started being more open about having ADHD. Although I do sometimes wonder if it might make some people a bit wary of hiring me, that they might (wrongly) think I'm unreliable or a bad worker, overall it's been a positive experience. So many people have reached out saying my openness has resonated with them or helped them. And I've even collaborated on projects with a few people who know about my ADHD, and who have ADHD themselves, and we've adjusted our workflows, schedules, and communication styles to fit better with our weird brains.
It's been great, honestly! I like not having to hide my ADHD or make excuses for it. I feel a lot lighter and freer. And the way it's allowed me to connect with people has been really lovely.
And continuing on the theme of openness, a few weeks ago I did one of the scariest things I've ever done: I came forward about my experience being sexually assaulted by someone in game audio who I considered a friend.
I wasn't sure what to expect. I imagined so many potential outcomes: people thinking I was being overdramatic, the post being mostly ignored, people pitying me and treating me with kid gloves going forward. Instead what happened was a huge outpouring of support. Both publicly and privately. I was expecting some support from friends, but so many colleagues who I barely know reached out.
It was amazing. I felt such a strong sense of solidarity. The catharsis of putting my story out there combined with the knowledge that so many people cared and were on my side turned out to be an absolutely crucial part of the healing process, and I've been in such a better place emotionally since I posted it.
I'm still mindful about what I put out there. Being authentic doesn't mean baring all. I try to be as mindful as I can about what I share, both in how it will affect me and how it will affect the people who read or hear it. The world doesn't need to know about every single one of my opinions or struggles.
And authenticity also doesn't mean only sharing the negative or heavy stuff. This post is sprinkled with photos I've posted on social media. Things I've seen people use as reasons that social media is shallow or fake: food and drink pics, selfies, vacation photos. To those people, I'd just like to ask: why is sharing small moments of joy vapid? What's wrong with taking a moment to celebrate enjoying a good meal or even just feeling cute? Life is hard enough as it is, and personally, I love seeing people's little happy memories.
I've focused mostly on career and social media related authenticity in this post. But I've also been trying to be more open and vulnerable and less anxiety-led in other areas of my life. I've been texting my friends more often just to say hi or share some little thought I had without worrying that, for some weird reason, they might secretly not want to hear from me. I'm trying to be better about openly telling the people I care about how much they mean to me, even if it feels a little corny or overly sincere. I'm being more honest with people close to me about when I'm struggling or need a bit of extra support.
I don't know. It's all just really nice. I'm not saying I no longer care what people think about me. I still do. So much. But I feel lighter, freer, happier, and more connected with the world, other people, and my real self when I'm able to let go of fussing so much over what kind of image I'm presenting.
I'm so much less tired.
It's good. It's really good.
