There’s a Ben Folds lyric that goes:
Sometimes
Everything you’ve ever wanted
Floats above
He’s sticking out his tongue and laughing
While everything
Anyone can ever need
Is down below
Waiting for you
To know this
There’s never gonna be a moment of truth for you
While the world is watching
All you need is the thing you’ve forgotten
And that’s to learn to live with what you are
I feel like at intermittent moments in my life I have been far from who I am, but for the most part, I’ve been pretty well rooted for who it is that I am since as far back as I can remember. I didn’t grow up in a place where people allowed me to have illusions, and if you take away the times I’ve been too far above myself and the times I’ve been down in a hole, the mean difference is that I’m just… real.
I know that my being me– and often not being willing to pretend I’m not– makes me a frustrating person for some people. I don’t wear dress clothes because from the neck to the feet being locked into things that don’t flow makes me INSANELY hot and uncomfortable, to the point that I sweat until my clothes are wet and I’m so uncomfortable that I’m distracted. I won’t wear dress shoes because I have bad tendons in my feet and ankles (and a mostly destroyed knee, the one reminder that I was vaguely athletic once), and the doctor told me I need the support of a specific sort of shoe that doesn’t come in wingtip or Oxford. I am bad at lying, not because I can’t be deceptive (play a game with me and see :P) but rather because I don’t like the feeling of it, knowing I was dishonest. I don’t see the point. I’m not a spy and gave up on being a lawyer– why lie? I don’t pretend to be happy when I’m not, but I’m also generally light-hearted and will crack a joke at a time most people think isn’t appropriate. My mind moves a mile-a-minute, which sometimes leads to me saying things that people think I put more thought into than I actually did. Social situations drain me, but I love the company of a few– small groups– people who I truly enjoy. I love to converse, and I can spend an eight hour drive talking about a book or a movie or politics.
I offer a few pieces of advice to people about how to manage their identities when they ask me, as academics. I’m going to preface this with a line from a John Mulaney joke: the advice I have didn’t not work. I can’t promise it will work for you, because if we’re being abstract about it, I suffered pretty hardcore at times and I got lucky in that I finally found a place where my skills and philosophy fit.
But here are my five pieces of unsolicited advice:
- People are going to tell you to craft an identity as a scholar/professional. Do that, but don’t take 90% of the advice people will give. Sure, you need to wear nice clothes when you campus visit, but don’t put on a suit and tie to Skype with people. Don’t curate away your friends and hobbies on social media. Don’t be afraid to walk into an interview in a pair of Rick and Morty socks if that’s who you are. Don’t tell people what they want to hear. Build the best you, but don’t build someone you aren’t. For one thing any one worth their salt will see through it (unless you’re sociopathic about it) and more importantly, the second thing, is that if you do fool people, that’s who you have to be at work, or at conferences, or when you write, for the REST OF YOUR CAREER.
- If you aren’t white and the people giving you advice are white, you need to figure out a whiteness filter to use on their advice. I had a good one from growing up poor around diverse people, but if you didn’t, find yourself a friend who isn’t white and use them to stress-test any advice that seems weird. I am guessing this is doubly true for women, but I have no experience being female, so I’m not going to be one of those guys who assumes. I have, however, recommended to every single female I’ve given advice to that they check that with a woman for sanity’s sake.
- You are probably ashamed of yourself on some level, particularly if you’ve risen to the point that you’re trying to build a scholarly career. Some people call it “impostor syndrome,” but I know enough people with it that I don’t think “impostor” is accurate anymore. But that thing- that thing where you think you’re not as good as everyone else, that you’re a fraud– you just have to get over it. I know that sounds harsh, but trust me. If you embrace it, and you try to figure out if it’s true, try to figure out if you are an impostor, one of three things will happen (all three happened to me, in this order): you won’t be able to find evidence of either thing, so you’ll build evidence that you must be inferior and people all know it and are treating you weird because of it (this is ten times worse if people ARE treating you weird, but you’ll think they are in this stage even if they aren’t) and then finally you’ll find a mentor you trust and watch them handle the same feelings and realize “oh, right, this is just what happens when you end up in a position like this– the expectation of talent is so far above what a person can have that if you don’t just embrace who you are, every day something will bring you down.”
- There’s a quote from the Tao Te Ching that I feel like I should tattoo on my hand. Everyone should read it aloud at least once a week: “He who feels punctured/Must once have been a bubble.” Remember that. If you think someone’s bringing you down, it’s only because you built yourself up. If someone comes at you– a hater, let’s say– it shouldn’t sting to hear the truth.
- And this is the last one, the one that inspired the post in the first place. I always tell people across the board I have one piece of advice for living: you need to be able to answer yourself– in your head– when you lay down at night and close your eyes. Your internal censor, your moral code, whatever you want to call it, that thing will guide you. You just have to let it, and you have to be honest with it.
The last point here was reiterated and echoed through my mind during the season finale of Mr. Robot (spoilers coming). Elliot tells Mr. Robot that he has to undo the 5/9 hack. Mr. Robot tells him it won’t change anything, it won’t fix anything. So he asks him why he has to do it. On the verge of tears, Elliot says “for me. I have to do it for me. I can’t live with what I did anymore.”
Because in the end, that’s what you have to answer to… you.
And if you use that as a recursive loop, it’ll take you back to item 1 on my list of advice and cascade down to helping you figure out a plan to survive in the business of education.