I Retired From Impressing People

When I was, let’s say, “very young,” I cared far too much about how I looked, what I wore, how I spoke, how people saw me, and what they might say about me.

Then I got a good job in a big company with the possibility of building a nice career, and my personal appearance became extremely important to me. I mean really important. Almost mental. I was polishing my image like it was going to be audited by God and HR on the same morning.

I wanted to be everywhere with everyone so nobody would ever have the opportunity to say anything nasty about me. It was exhausting. After about a year, I was emotionally dead, professionally smiling, and socially overcooked. Then something flipped in my brain.

At age 25, I simply gave up trying to be everywhere with everyone. Of course, I still occasionally worried about what people might say, but reminding myself that I live my life for me, not for random people with opinions and suspicious haircuts, brought me peace.

Corporate Ego and Motivational Printer Hell

Yes, I had a nice career. And yes, seeing my name pretty high on the company hierarchy chart, surrounded by only a few important people, made me puff up every time I looked at it. Yep. I checked the hierarchy chart every week. My ego had an orgasm in business casual. I enjoyed having some power. I am not going to pretend I was sitting there like a Buddhist monk with a corporate email account.

But then I started questioning the company culture.

It had the shiny smell of “we are building something big,” but I no longer wanted to be part of corporate crap talk like, “The problem of the individual is the problem of the entire company,” or “We live for success, not failure.”

Very inspirational. Very deep. Very suitable for a motivational poster placed above a printer that never works.

Maybe it was a quarter-life crisis. Maybe it was a mental breakdown with better lighting. Whatever it was, I quit.

Starting Again Without the Image Department

I liked the idea of starting again in a different company from scratch. This time without handling my personal appearance with gloves, foam padding, and a crisis management team. I no longer cared so much about what people thought of me. Instead, I discovered the beauty of caring what I think about other people. Surprisingly, I found that much closer to adult behavior.

Eventually, I figured out that corporate life was not for me, so I became a freelancer.

These days, I am not completely sure that was a good idea. Yes, I am a clever guy in many ways and across different topics. The problem is, I do not have business talent. I do not have that beautiful, shiny talent to sell what I do without feeling like I should apologize for existing.

I am not trying to look perfect, sound perfect, behave perfectly, or win random people’s approval anymore.

I retired from performing for other people.

The Problem With Fake Niceness

Perhaps my approach is not good for business or income. Perhaps I should appear on social media every day, post selfies, write fake wisdom, comment on people’s posts, and tell everyone how amazing they look and how they are always right.

The issue is that I am not able to do that.

The Haunted Optician Commercial

Some posts are awful. Some pictures should not have a Like button. They should have a Report Visual Violence button.

Not long ago, one of my Facebook friends posted a photo of her five-year-old daughter. I am sorry, but that child looked like a rejected character from a haunted optician commercial. A really fat little kid with thick glasses that looked like two massive glass ashtrays strapped to her face, and each eye apparently working for a different department. One eye was checking the weather. The other was investigating a cookie.

I know. It is awful that I wrote that. But unfortunately, it is also the holy truth, and sometimes the truth arrives without manners, wearing dirty shoes, and sits on your clean sofa.

Retiring from impressing other people has obviously increased my honesty. Thankfully, I still have some self-control and self-censorship, so I closed Facebook and did not log in for two weeks, just to make sure the post would be deeply buried and my brain would not accidentally become a public-service disaster.

Peace, Neighbors, and the Annoying Voice of Business

Overall, it is very pleasant not to care too much about what other people think of me.

Most neighbors are fine. Some strangers occasionally say hello to me, even though we do not know each other, which I take as evidence that I do not look like something that escaped from the forest.

Still, somewhere in my brain, there is a tiny annoying thought saying, “Build an image. It is good for business.” Hmm. It sucks.