What am I worth? Where am I going?

Periodically I'll find myself, not so much at a cross roads, but rather on open asphalt that stretches to the horizon in every direction. In short, I've lost my way. Growing up I knew what I wanted out of life. Since I was twelve years old I had my occupation selected, my future predestined. But now, five plus months after losing my job to a layoff, that was actually a very polite firing, I've had to ask some hard questions about myself, my abilities, about who I am. Who am I? I'm not a game designer, I know that so let's start there.

I wanted to be a game designer since I was twelve. I sat down with a friend and he was excited to show me Doom for the first time. It was amazing, possessing a depth that escaped everything I'd ever seen on a console. I was in love. Then we quit out of the game and a bunch of names appeared on the screen.

"Who are they?" I asked.

"Probably the people who made the game." came the response.

The realization was immediate and expanding. You could make games. Build them, create them, fashion them from the raw stuff of your dreams. They didn't just spring from whole cloth into the store, and if people were making them somewhere, that meant there was a job associated with it. I could get that job.

Fast forward to my mental breakdown six months ago. I had been assigned a project and the stress had become so much that I simply shut down. I didn't know what to do to avoid the looming disaster so I did nothing. I would arrive at work, I would push my mouse around on the desk, I would type at my keyboard, but honestly I was not there, or the parts of me that were were screaming at me to get out, to run, to hide, anything other then remaining where I was. I wanted my problems to go away. I wished them away.

Then the genie that was my boss granted my wish. With no lead in, no build up and certainly no indication of concern or offer of help for my situation, I was told that I was being let go. That the project was in such straights that he didn't know if it was salvageable, and that it was his, my boss's, supreme regret that he had been forced to move me up into management before I was ready. That they had lost two projects recently and had no where to bump me over to where I could receive more training. In the end it didn't matter. The lamp had been rubbed, the wishes made, and much like the proper djinn of old, I wasn't terribly happy with how my wishes had turned out.

All of that is half a year behind me now. I'm not sure I still blame my old boss for putting me into the position I was in. In truth I put myself into it for being too willing to please, to eager to advance when I knew I was never meant for leadership. But even beyond that, beyond the recriminations and blame was the subtle sense that I simply didn't do my job. Not well, and at the end, not at all. And then came the questions. What if. What if. What if. What if. What if. Plenty of alternate scenarios, a parade of possibilities, in all of which I show more backbone, grit and determination then I have ever had in my life. It was and still can be a debilitating marry-go-round of depression and self doubt.

That lasted the majority of my unemployment and of course by using that word 'majority' it implies that I'm no longer in such a state of joblessness. That is true. I'm employed again, NOW. At a fine and somewhat morbid position in the happily-ever-after business. Graves that is. Headstones to be specific. The job is a relaxing, undemanding, stressless cruise where I do exactly what I'm good at for eight hours a day, and then I go home. No late nights, no weekends, and no sleeping at the job site, as if that ever did anyone ANY good. I do my job, I do it well, and then I get paid. Not as much as I was in the game-biz mind you, but then, the nature of the job and it's benefits to my mental well being almost negate that loss. But even in this blissful state I find myself asking still asking those questions.

When I described the job to friends, trying to capture how wonderful it is, I find myself using the following, 'For the first time in seven years I don't feel like I'm lying to everyone about how I know what I'm doing.' The truth is, when I was making games, I was flying blind. I could come up with good and fun ideas, but implementing them, especially in a way that was of any quality, was beyond me. I had no idea how to manage that portion of the project, let alone encourage anyone else to do the same. I was lying, to myself, others, everyone.

That realization has forced me to question many things about myself. If I was lying about my abilities as a game designer, what else? What have I honestly created? My writing? My drawing? My aspirations in comic books? IN ANYTHING? I've accomplished so little. Built so little of my life. I'm filled with visions, fantastic vistas play on the back of my eyelids. I yearn to let others experience the same wonder that I feel, but for the limitations of my body, my personality, my soul, I am incapable of completing anything I set myself to. My projects languish like old soviet building, half assembled and left to rot in a radioactive entropy. I'm the saddest form of creator. The idea man. Always with one on the tongue, but with no way to see it to fruition.

What am I worth? At the moment I'm worth morbid clip art that people decay under, or about fifteen fifty an hour. Where am I going? Now that's a more interesting question but not one I have an answer to at the moment.

Ignoring the rest of the article, I find myself asking, 'What do I want.' I find the response as weary as ever, 'Recognition'.

Maybe I'll explore that next time.