Not Sure What to Say

Without headlining with my career

Do you ever have that moment when you show up to an event and someone asks you to tell them about yourself? What about the icebreaker in a video call or webinar when they give you the prompt of telling the group an interesting fact? Are you ever at a loss for words in that moment? Do you default to something about your career? Do you even know who "you" are anymore? I know I don't.

I'm not sure when exactly it happened. It was around the start of my first job in tech, my first real career job. I dove into a world that I didn't know much about. As a consumer and tech enthusiast, I had only peered into the tech world, never understanding the workings of it. But when I dove into the metaphorical deep end, I had a lot of learning to do, just to tread water.

After about 3–6 months of faking it, I made it. I understood the terminology, I was working at the pace that was expected, and I felt that I belonged. But what I didn't realize was that over that time, I focused 100% on the job, starting the erosion of my personal self.

Jumping 11 years into the future, multiple roles up the ladder, and a half dozen adjacent to it—I have lost the answer to the questions they ask when showing up to these functions. I know I'm not alone in it either. After fumbling through the answer, a combination of work and some made-up facts—I hear the answers of others. Most of them answer with "I do ___." A few outliers provide answers that feel human and personal, but they might just have a nicely memorized script. When did we lose ourselves to our careers? Has this always been the way of the world? Or is this something new? Part of the modern ways of working—the always-on, ever-connected lives we live?

Without any formal research, it feels like it comes with the territory of tech careers. That we "tech workers" embody the roles we have, losing all semblance of self.

When I'm at a restaurant and I see servers talking, it isn't about work (except for a few complaints thrown around about that asshole at the table in the corner). They're talking about their hobbies, what they did last weekend, what they hope to do in six months after saving for that dream trip. I hear them talking about bands, movies, interests.

This shift feels noticeable to me, not just because I see it from the outside, but because I lived it. Before getting my first job in tech, I worked in retail. I worked for Apple Retail and AT&T Wireless. While working at both of those jobs, between guests and clients, we talked about real interests. Things that made us unique.

Before retail, I worked in hospitality. I was a server, busboy, cocktail waiter, bartender, and manager. Like the servers I see as a guest, we chatted about our lives when not at a table or prepping food on the line. Never about the latest hospitality trend or book to get my liquor pours more accurate.

For me and others that I know, the tech world bleeds into our downtime. My reading list is full of productivity articles and videos, my book list is 80% non-fiction, and all of my podcasts have something to do with product or design. Using the terminology of this industry, my persona shifted from being Thor: artist who likes to listen to punk, dance, and classical music when he is not hiking; to Thor: Operations Consultant who reads slow productivity books on his couch on the weekends.

While that second description is a bit exaggerated—I read sci-fi from my couch on the weekends—it was true before I noticed this happening. I started to realize that I would get anxious when going to these types of events because someone might ask one of my dreaded questions: "tell me about yourself" or "tell us two truths and a lie."

While realizing the problem is the start of coming up with a solution, it's hard to see a world in which I have a grasp on myself and work in this industry. In order to be successful in it, you have to go all in. You have to be the embodiment of the role on your LinkedIn profile. In order to keep up with the tides (AI, AI Agents, tools, automations, etc.), you need to be swimming with them 24/7. When I worked as a retail employee or a server, my job ended when clocking out.

You might be itching to say, "then leave, go back to your old work." While that does sound compelling some days, it's not reasonable. Unfortunately, retail employees and servers don't make much money. If they do, they're working overtime and double shifts. They also work nights and weekends. I appreciate the people who thrive in that environment, but I like predictability and my weekends.

Rather than swinging for the fences and going back to my old jobs, I plan on staying in this industry. But I plan on finding myself again. I am looking for the answer to "tell me about yourself" without the first few sentences being about my career. How will I accomplish this? By offloading the learning about my industry to working hours only. In the agile world, they have a term: 10% time. Some companies call it 20% or innovation time. In my head, it's simply career development time.

This means that all the non-fiction books about productivity, development, and AI—that line my Kindle's digital shelf—will be read only during the work week. Any system refactors or new automation will also be limited to this time. I plan on slowly shortening these days too, but that's a longer-tail goal.

Nights and weekends are going to be for finding me again. What my interests are, what art I want to make, what music I like to listen to. I need to be able to answer the questions: What is my favorite movie, album, book, song, food, drink? What do I like to do? I need to be able to go deep on them and feel like the answers are not forced or fake.

Ideally, we can work in a career that pays the bills and allows us to save, while not losing ourselves in the process. Over the last decade, I cannot say that has been my experience. But with a little focus and intention, I plan on being able to answer questions, headlining with facts about me, not my career.