I Think We Introduce Ourselves Wrong

I was standing at the bar at this journalism conference in DC, pretending to study the drink options because everywhere I turned, somebody was saying some version of:

“I’m the Editor-in-Chief of such-and-such.”

“Oh my gosh, no way, wait, I’m the Editor-in-Chief of thing-and-thing.”

And then somewhere behind me, someone chimed in:

“I’m the Editor-in-Chief of blah.”

Over and over and over again. And I remember standing there thinking two things simultaneously.

First:

Wow, everybody here seems EXTREMELY accomplished.

And second:

Oh my gosh, I think my English teacher accidentally sent me to the wrong conference. Because I was very much NOT the Editor-in-Chief of my publication.

Which sounds unbelievably dramatic now, but at seventeen it genuinely felt enormous. Like everybody else had arrived with this clean, polished explanation for why they belonged there, and I was standing there trying to calculate whether “Managing Editor” sounded embarrassing enough that maybe I should keep standing by the bar, aggressively chugging water.

The weird part is, I don’t even think I was jealous exactly. I think I was confused.

Because I remember standing there thinking:

Wait. I thought we were all just newspaper kids.

And honestly, I think I’ve been trying to solve that feeling ever since. Because after that conference, I became WEIRDLY obsessed with trying to learn how to introduce myself correctly. Or maybe just how to exist correctly in rooms where everybody else seemed to understand themselves so much more clearly than I did.

Which is where the hoop-jumper part of my personality entered the chat.

Because once I realized there were apparently RULES to all of this, I immediately started studying them like standardized tests. My dad would send me TED Talks constantly about networking and positioning and communicating your value, and I remember sitting there taking mental notes like okay.

• Clear ask.

• Confidence.

• Specific ambition.

• Concise positioning.

Got it.

I will simply ace human interaction.

I remember one woman literally breaking introductions into formulas like:

“I help X achieve Y.”

“I help X achieve Y without Z.”

Like, there were apparently scientifically optimized Mad Libs versions of human identity floating around the internet, and I was EXACTLY the kind of person vulnerable to believing that if I just studied them hard enough, maybe I would finally stop feeling so panicked every time somebody asked me what I did.

So naturally, I took this energy directly into conversations with executives. I remember sitting outside the Founder and CEO of my internship’s office with my little lunch, trying to mentally rehearse everything one last time because we had fifteen minutes on the clock and I was determined to absolutely nail this conversation. I had my questions ready. My research ready. My goals were ready. I had essentially prepared for this interaction as if it was the ACT.

Like okay. You trained for this. Go perform.

So the second I walked in, I launched into this whole hyper-prepared monologue about how much I admired him and how I wanted to become a Founder/CEO one day too, and whether he had any advice for me, and he was SO gracious. Truly. Because I mean, looking back now, I was a nineteen-year-old with no idea.

But I remember leaving the meeting with this horrible sinking feeling that I had somehow completely missed the point of being a human being for 15 consecutive minutes. Because why had I optimized it so hard??? Why did I walk into the conversation acting like I was pitching myself for acceptance into adulthood instead of just talking to him like a person?

So then I completely swung in the opposite direction. I had another call with a woman in entertainment whose career I deeply admired, and this time I was like okay. No weird optimization. No performance. I’m just going to be curious and normal.

I was SO excited for this call. Like texting my friends beforehand:“Oh my gosh, I get to talk to HER.”

And in the days leading up to it, I covered Post-it notes with questions. How did she come up with that idea? Where did that scene come from? What made her want this life in the first place?

I set myself up in this cozy little campus study nook before the Zoom with Post-it notes all over my laptop because, honestly, I wasn’t trying to “network.” I was trying to understand how somebody even becomes a person like that at all.

And then a few minutes into the conversation, she stopped me and very directly said:

“So, what do you want? You need to have a clear ask.”

And I swear I could physically feel my heart sink into my stomach because all I could think was:

Oh my gosh.

I did this wrong AGAIN.

Too optimized before. Too curious now. Still wrong.

And honestly, after enough moments like that, I think I just gave up trying to figure out the formula altogether.

So, I guess it’s fitting that one of the most important relationships in my life started because I crashed somebody’s Uber, leaving a convention center. I wanted a free ride back to the hotel and genuinely did not even know who I was in the car with tbh.

And because I didn’t think this conversation “counted” in any way, I completely stopped performing. I started rambling about animation and storytelling and why animated movies can emotionally destroy you in ways live action sometimes can’t, and how there’s something about stylization that lets people lower their guard emotionally.

And then at some point, she suddenly goes: “You should meet my friend Alex in animation.”

And I was like: That’d be awesome.

Because honestly, in my head, I thought this was just gonna be some dude in animation. Then later she intro’d us over email, and I looked him up and immediately thought:

F. Not again.

Alex is ACTUALLY important.

Founder.

CEO.

Exec.

Animation.

Not again.

And suddenly my brain went right back into: okay wait, what is this interaction supposed to BE.

I remember prepping for THAT call too. Post-it notes again. Research again. Spiraling again. Because every single time I talked to somebody impressive, I somehow managed to either:

• overdo it

• underdo it

• ask too much

• not ask enough

• sound robotic

• sound lost

Like every conversation somehow felt slightly off no matter how hard I prepared for it.

And I remember sitting there beforehand thinking: I genuinely do not know what I’m supposed to want from this call.

But then the call actually happened and somehow all of that disappeared almost immediately because we just started talking about storytelling and animation and movies and creative work, and suddenly I felt like a kid again.

Like genuinely. A kid again. I was just excited. Just talking about something I loved.

And honestly, I think that conversation changed me a little. It was one of the first conversations in a long time that didn’t feel like I was trying to pass something.

But even after THAT, I still get scared in rooms like these.

I still hide. I still panic.

I was at this Hollywood dinner party at an executive’s house, standing there with a cocktail in my hand, looking around the room, realizing almost everybody there had done something I considered deeply impressive. Produced films. Built companies. Written books. Directed things I had actually seen. And I could physically feel myself starting to spiral all over again.

Because suddenly all I could think was:

Why would any of these people want to talk to ME???

So naturally, I retreated into the bathroom and called my friend; it was Alex.

I was literally whispering into the phone:“I don’t know how to talk to these people. They’ve done REAL things. Like big things. And I’m just… me. I haven’t done anything yet.”

And Alex just goes:

“They’re all just human like you.”

And I remember walking back out of the bathroom, still holding the phone to my ear and standing off near the corner of the room staring out at everybody talking and laughing and thinking, okay.

Right. These are just people.

At some point that night, somebody asked me to introduce myself, and instead of trying to sound impressive, I just laughed and said: “Honestly, I just called my friend from the bathroom because I was too nervous to talk to everyone here.”

And suddenly the conversation felt normal again.

We were just people talking.