When I was in elementary and middle school I was always “the smart kid”. I hated that label. While never very athletic, I certainly wanted people to think I was. (Although in my prime I could set a mean PACER Test record.) I wanted people to think I was funny, but I was always too quiet and too afraid of punishment to do more than dream of a class clown label. I wanted to be anything but “the smart kid”. I didn’t want to be the Steve Urkel of the TGIF lineup, I wanted to be Uncle Jesse.
Unsurprisingly, I’ve never looked or sounded as cool as John Stamos and I certainly did not do so in my youth. “The Smart Kid” label was there because school presents endless opportunities for that label to be applied. As I dove into things like Science Olympiad, Science Bowl, and AP classes, those opportunities multiplied. I hated that label, and yet as school went on I found that label becoming more and more commonplace. I was always an adept student, a good test-taker, and a know it all. I deserved that label, but I detested it even more so because of that fact.
Become Another Person
I spent so much of my middle school, high school, and even college years trying to dodge that label amongst my peers. I wanted to be anyone but the nerd, but there’s always inauthenticity when we hope to be someone who we aren’t. One of the most pivotal conversations of my teenage years came from a Spanish teacher who noticed me trying to shirk the label and become someone else in the 8th grade.
Still, I spent a long time trying to dodge that label. Now that I’m nearly a decade removed from high school (a fact that makes me nauseous), I find myself missing it. As much as I loathed the box it put me in, there was a comfort to those four walls and the solid floor beneath them.
It’s no secret that my Disney career has not turned into the triumphant ascent I’d hoped it would be. After so many years being the smart kid in school, being the only person who knew how computers worked at Arts Partners, and living comfortably attached to that label; I feel naked without it.
Halo Reference
After so many years of being supported by this feeling of identity, I find myself feeling like nothing more than a grunt. (pictured above)
Since my grandmother and mother read this blog and have no idea the lore of Halo, I’ll explain the grunts a little before I make my point. The grunts are tiny little aliens who are technically enemies. I say technically because they carry the plasma pistol (the weakest weapon in the game) and usually just scream and run until either they blow themselves up or you effortlessly dispatch them. And no matter how many grunts whose heads you turn into confetti, there are always a dozen more around the corner.
I work a job that requires no pre-existing skills, that demands no talents, and that offers little genuine upward mobility. If I were to quit tomorrow, there’d be another grunt to take my place before I’d even handed in my ID. In other words, I exist professionally in a world where I am void of a label. I am just another random alien destined to either blow myself to smithereens or take two to the chest and one in the head from the Master Chief.
I’m not done with Halo yet
Now to capitalize further on the grunt metaphor.
Within the Covenant Army, grunts are seen (typically) with either red or yellow armor. The yellow armored grunts are the Minors and the red armored grunts the Majors. There’s technically a rank here, but they are both still grunts. They both make the same stupid screams and they both meet the same inevitable fate.
At work, I have red armor. I have privileges and roles that make me feel special in the moment. They make certain days and shifts easier than others, but at the end of those days I am still just a grunt destined for extinction in one form or another. Red armor? Yellow armor? I’m a pawn on the chessboard either way. And even if I eventually finesse my way across the board and get Queened, I’m still not even playing the same game as my real superiors.
Alright, Halo metaphors are done
If you’re still reading, this blog probably sounds very complain-y, and it is, but I promise there is at least the nugget of a thought on the other side. At the very least, you’re safe from having to learn anymore about a 23-year old video game.
That said, I do not want this post to come off as something derogatory of the people I work with or anyone working in a similar role. Unskilled labor is not unvalued labor. Nor is it ever truly unskilled. I work with many amazing people who are fantastic at what they do and many of them do it without thanks or without any desired or expected upward mobility. They do it because they love it, and I think that is one of the most admirable things a person can do; to love the job that they have. I am envious of them, because they don’t clock in every day with the same underlying expectations that I do. They clock in because they are where they want to be, and I can think of few worthier causes than that.
The Label Returns
A few weeks ago I was playing Trivia Murder Party with some friends. It was the second trivia game of the night. Like the annoying person I am, I won both trivia games. For a brief moment in time, I was “The Smart Kid” again. I wasn’t a grunt, I wasn’t a button pusher, I was a guy sitting in a room full of friends and being seen as an absolute nerd. And I loved it.
I spent so long dodging the label, spraying it with non-stick spray, and trying to place more obnoxious labels on top of it that I never realized how validating it had always been. It’s a part of my identity that just doesn’t feel like it’s had room to exist lately. To see it suddenly brought back to life, even in something as trivial as a Jackbox game, was a real wake-up for me.
DTU
Last month I had the opportunity to be a part of the production crew and editing team for the Dance Team Union Nationals. It was only a three day gig but it had about the same effect on me as a Four Loko has on a nineteen year old with a Fake ID. My heart was pounding and I felt electric in a way that didn’t seem possible. I wasn’t just a grunt on the team, I was a member who had something to contribute and who’d earned their right to be there.
More than that, I talked to my “boss” more in those three days than I’ve ever spoken with my proprietor at my actual job. Not only that, but this man who has no continuing obligation to me has been accessible and communicative since then. In a year and a half, I’ve never even met my proprietor at my actual job; to them I am nothing but a grunt in an irrelevantly colored costume. So to feel like something defined and independently valued within an organization sparked something that I hadn’t realized was missing; validation.
Validation
I’ve spent so much of my time in Orlando feeling invalid. Professionally there have been a lot of no’s. Personally, there’s been a lot of dismissal and outright rejection. And then I go and spend forty hours a week in an environment that doesn’t value me for who I am or what I can do but because I’m a warm body with a pulse.
Ditto
I said I was done referencing a 23 year old game, so now its time to reference a 27 year old game…
The Pokémon pictured above, Ditto, is an amorphous blob. His real ability is that he can mimic one of your Pokémon, stealing some of its stats and moves to use against you. I think I have a tendency to be like Ditto in tense environments. The more I feel chipped away at by external stimuli, the less individuality I carry around with me. Eventually I either look like the shapeless blob or I take up too many of the attributes of the environment around me.
So to have something like the DTU gig come along and to have that moment of realization during Trivia Murder Party, I was confronted with the actual substance of myself and particularly with the value I have that I’ve lost touch with in wider circles. I was confronted with the fact that I’m not an amorphous Ditto, I’m a freakin’ Blastoise.
Blastoise
The past two years in Orlando have been challenging to say the least, but looking back on them I think that I needed to lose a bit of the window dressing of myself in order to really understand who I am. The more that’s been chipped away both personally and professionally, the stronger my understanding of who I am and what I want has become. The Dance Team gig was like a shot of adrenaline or swift kick to the posterior that gave me the perspective shift I needed.
Labels
Labels can be frustrating. I don’t think that there is anything particularly wrong with wanting to be seen as more than what we think others think we are, but it is commensurately important that we own what we are too. We have earned those labels. Whether we enjoy them or not, they are a part of us and they are significantly better than being an un-labeled, amorphous blob. If we are ever going to be anything beyond what we already are, we have to own it. By understanding our labels we can better understand ourselves, we can focus, and we can better reach for what lies in front of us.
So here’s to being the smart kid and here’s to being me.
Collin Willis 