On Labels and Burning Man Invitations

After I quit my job, I became an independent consultant to pay the bills while I was figuring out what I wanted to do longer-term. But I wasn’t prepared for what happened when I met people who still lived in a world where titles and labels mattered—and I no longer had them. 

In superficial social interactions, people tend to quickly label others as either “useful” or “waste of time”. I’m sure I was guilty of this at times, except I also had a “potential mentee” category—I’ve always loved sharing my experience with people (this blog is no accident, my friends). Since consultants are generally looked down upon in Silicon Valley’s “building” culture, I plunged straight into the “waste of time” bucket (yes, bad pun). As soon as people heard what I do for a living, they’d start looking over my shoulder for more prestigious prey. 

Although it seems obvious now, I never realized to what extent “you are what you do” for people in my milieu—myself included. I doubt many people who stock shelves at Walmart define themselves by their profession, but in the white collar world of ambition and success, we sadly do. When I didn’t know what I wanted to do and adopted a temporary occupation I didn’t fully identify with, I effectively lost my identity. Unsurprisingly, multiple people confessed to me that after money, the biggest concern preventing them from taking a break from work or changing careers is that “social situations may be awkward” or that they’ll be “forgotten” (is that you?).

My initial reaction to this issue was to start qualifying my responses with my “legitimate” past experience—“I was a VP at a startup but decided to quit and work for myself”, “I used to be a product manager at Facebook but…” and other descriptions meant to put myself back in the “right” bucket. Then one day, after apologizing yet again for what I did, I had an epiphany: This was my own ego response to the ego response of the person in front of me. Two egos talking to each other—exactly the culture I wanted to escape. If I was at peace with my choices, why did I have to excuse or justify them? To earn the esteem of people whose esteem mattered not at all?

Instead, I experimented with telling the truth: “I’m consulting and trying to figure out what I want to do”. This quickly weeded out many people who were only in the conversation for personal benefit—a major time saver. It also led to a few fascinating, meaningful conversations, the likes of which I’ve never experienced in large social events. I even got an invitation to join a camp at Burning Man 6 months out—the ultimate Silicon Valley stamp of approval. A clear case of quality over quantity.

So how do I describe myself now? It’s still not easy. I sometimes default to “I’m a tech consultant” in superficial situations I’m not particularly invested in, and talk about coaching executives and being an artist in deeper interactions. But whatever response I choose, I’ve done enough work to not be defined by the reaction of the person I’m speaking to.

I finally know it reflects their identity, not mine.

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