The last few months have been interesting. I’ve been helping folks with their resumes for cheap and/or free, mentoring a bunch of randos – individuals and companies – also for free or cheap. And it’s taught me something: I don’t like it.

I want to like it. But I don’t. And it’s worth acknowledging that. I don’t need the money, so it’s not that. Well, it’s not *strictly* that. There’s a few things:

* It’s too slow. 1:1 mentoring is great, because you can get to really understand the person and help them specifically. But it’s a huge investment to transfer some experience/knowledge, and it feels extremely inefficient.

* Doing this for free devalues my experience. Not just to me, but to them as well. I think there’s some balance to be had with “pay me for my experience,” because then you’ll actually *act* on it, rather than getting it for free and maybe deciding to do some of what I’m suggesting.

In a way, money is sort of a guarantee that they’ll take you seriously. Charge $1,000/hr, and no one’s going to ignore your advice. And they won’t question your credentials, either, because theoretically they’ve validated that before paying you.

Devoting a week of time to help a small startup out, only to have them say, “Well, we trust our judgment so we’re going to do X,” when you know their current course of action is suicide is just frustrating. Particularly when “our judgment” consists of exactly zero relevant experience. It’s wild.

But this has happened a few times, now. I’ll invest an hour or two helping someone with their resume, then they come back with a revision having done *literally nothing* I told them to, and want feedback. The feedback is, “Yeah, the text is different, but all the problems are the same. My suggestions are the same. Glad to see you’ve found a direction that you’re happy with, but I can’t (and won’t) help you anymore.”

My time’s too valuable for this kind of shit. If you need help, I’m more than happy to help. But the caveat is that either you do what I suggest, or we *talk about* why you’re hesitant to do so, because sometimes circumstances can be subtle. But if you’re just rejecting my advice outright, then no, I’m not spending any more time with you, and I regret spending any with you at all.

So yeah – I dunno. This year, I’m hoping to find a way to have a “second phase” career either doing some mentoring or advising for $. If the rate is reasonable, and the people are good to work with and willing to take input, then that’d be super satisfying. Ideally, I’d like a one-to-many arrangement – something where I can impact more people at a time, because a lot of the advice I give is applicable to fairly broad ranges of folks. But the 1:1 stuff and the volunteer stuff? I’m winding that down in 2023, barring a few minor exceptions.

But, glad I gave it a go. It’s interesting to feel parts of it work, and parts of it grate, and realize what the problems are. This isn’t so much a failure as it is a refinement and discovery of what does and doesn’t work for me, and the kind of impact I want to have.

What a weird year. As cautious as we were, and as much as we hoped to avoid it, all of us but J got Covid at the end of the year. Mild symptoms, but pretty darned unpleasant regardless. Fortunately we’re all negative again, and it seems like we dodged the “long Covid” bullet (for now).

Overall, I think 2022 was a bit directionless for me. We did a lot of fun stuff – we did a week-long Legoland + Universal trip with Eric and P, which was awesome, and we spent three weeks in Hawaii, which was really memorable. It was really nice to be able to go there and actually do things leisurely. We did a lot of stuff – Diamond Head, snorkeling, a private historical tour of the island, but we weren’t in a rush, which was great. We spent most of the time with Hajeong, and it was nice to have someone else around. Ei-Nyung’s family met up with us the last week of the trip, and they had a really memorable experience running into Masaharu Morimoto at his restaurant.

The rest of the year I did some mentoring and consulting and teaching. I think overall, the thing I got the most enjoyment out of was teaching. Mentoring is fine, but it’s a huge time investment that doesn’t particuarly “scale”, and it’s super disruptive. Consulting was … frustrating. I think the problem is that my input is really only useful at the right time, and in one of the cases this year, the company had gone way too far down the wrong path before I was ever involved, and as a result, they can’t make the call to actually *act* on any of the things that they need to. Which is just frustrating, and led to more stress than satisfaction.

We got more stuff in the backyard – the hot tub & work shed, and I think with that, the bulk of our backyard is “done”. Not just interim done, but legitimately “done”. As good as we want it, needs no upgrades. Maybe a retractable awning off the house to shade the deck at times, but that’d be icing on the cake. The funny thing is, we have a lot of cosmetic work in the house that’d make a huge difference, and it’ll be interesting to figure out if we can ever pull the trigger on it. Stuff like re-flooring the downstairs (I hate the bamboo flooring we originally got, and it was installed really badly) or trimming the upstairs rooms properly. Some drywall fixes are necessary – as the house has settled, the taping at the corners has become all warped, and it’s beyond my skill level to fix. But those are details. The vast majority of the house is in great shape, and it’s just cosmetic details. Still, if we were ever to hypothetically sell the house, these are the kinds of things you’d have to do before selling, but I wouldn’t want to not be the beneficiary of that work, either. So at some point, we’ll probably do it.

Health-wise… I didn’t get off my ass enough. I did some winging this year, but the algae bloom over the summer and relative lack of wind kept me off the water for a lot of the summer. I did manage to get on foil more regularly, which was great, and found a great learning place in Marina Bay, which meant I spent a lot more productive time that wasn’t just pure constant frustration. Feels like in 2023, I might benefit from a lesson, rather than trying to beat my head against this for another year without any instruction.

The kids continue to get older. J’s taller than Ei-Nyung, now. K’s significantly taller than J when J was K’s age. Both are creative and ridiculous. J’s made a “cover” of Battle Cats called Battle Birdy, which is incredible. K’s art just gets better and weirder all the time. I couldn’t be prouder of these two goons. J’s also started in Animation Club in school this year, which is neat – he’s working on a stop-motion animation on Friday afternoons.

Overall while 2022 was a bit directionless, it was also excellent. I genuinely can’t complain about anything – good friends, family in good health (though my dad’s mental faculties are noticeably declining), and everyone’s happy. I’ve spent a bit more time doing music-related stuff this year, and built a guitar from a kit, which was fun. Played a ton of boardgames (though pandemic still means this happens less frequently than I’d like). Gloomhaven with Max & Ei-Nyung continues to make slow but satisfying progress, and we’ve cracked open a lot of new, interesting stuff this year. Purchasing of boardgames has slowed way, way down, though. In part because we have more games than time, and in part because I feel like my collection of games now has something for every situation, and finding new games that are interesting and fit some new slice of the hobby is something that happens less and less frequently. If anything, I think my future in the hobby will be starting to whittle down the collection, and upgrading whatever things I like to their “best” versions. Which is, TBH, probably the theme of 2023. Less, but higher-quality everything. Except sleep and exercise. Those have got to go up. Time with kids. Experiences. Stuff that matters.

New Year’s resolutions, a little early:

• Under 210 lbs. for the *majority* of the year
• Frequent exercise – 3-5x/wk, either winging, rowing, cycling, swimming
• Play at least one boardgame in person with friends a month
• Make something from start to finish

Gonna throw something out there I’m quite ashamed of, because I’m curious if it’s just me. If it is, hoo-boy, I’m screwed.

You know when people you know get something you want? Often, when I feel like my first reaction should be, “Congratulations to them! I’m so happy for their success!” instead it’s, “Why not me?” I’ve done stuff like that. Why do they get public recognition and plaudits? Bah! This world is unfair. This is bullshit.

It’s not a huge, loud part of my brain that does this. But for many. many, MANY years, it was always there. A friend got a promotion? Why not me? A friend got a raise? Why not me? A friend won some award? Why not me?

And usually, it’s “Why not me?” with the attitude of “I’m just as qualified for it why not me!” instead of “What is it that they’ve done that I haven’t, that enabled them to get this thing that I want?”

Yeah, I don’t feel good about that. Most of the time I’d do the socially acceptable thing and feign happiness, but there was always that edge of jealousy there.

It’s only been in the last decade-ish that that’s changed. Where I could feel genuine happiness for my friends, and for people I know, who achieved this sort of thing and that jealous goblin in my mind was gone.

It’s taken a lot to realize that 1.) Their success does not diminish me. 2.) Whatever it is they achieved they achieved and I didn’t *for a reason*, and if it’s something that I wanted, being bitter about it doesn’t do anything, I need to turn the lens inward and examine why I haven’t done what was necessary to get what I wanted. 3.) I can be genuinely, wholly happy for other people *even if* they have beaten me to an exclusive goal.

The jealousy did two bad things: First, it made me feel bad. But second, and much, much worse, it was a way to believe that I didn’t need to *do* anything differently. That the world was unjust, and I deserved to be bitter. The thing that changed was a realization that I was jealous because they got something I wanted because they *did something I didn’t*.

And that then leads to two paths: Either I need to understand that I need to change to get the thing I want – growth – or I need to realize that I *won’t do* what they did to get this thing, and therefore, I don’t need to be jealous about it. Some people will work 80 hour weeks and never see their kids. They’ll have a lovely vacation house. I won’t make that trade, and so I can’t be jealous about it.

Now, when I see friends who are successful by any definition, I don’t feel that twang of jealousy. I can be genuinely, wholly happy for them. They can post their awesome vacation photos and I don’t wish I was there instead of them – I wish I was there *with* them. 😀 Or I can think, “What is it that I need to do to achieve what they have?” and not have it be about tearing them down, but about re-examining what I need to build myself up.

Like I said – I’m not proud of that part of me. But it existed. Maybe it exists in you, too.

I know artists are feeling the pain of AI intruding on their jobs. And it’s easy for non-artists to say, “Welp, too late, you’ll have to do something else.” There is some part of that that is true – the genie is out of the bottle, and there’s no putting it back in again. To some degree, it’s a tool, and artists who learn to wield the tool will have a future, and the ones who don’t will have to do something else.

But if you’re looking at AI art and thinking, “Well, *my* job is secure, no AI is going to have the judgment I do”… think back to this moment and whether you extended empathy to the folks who see their jobs at risk or not, because that is where you’ll be at some point.

Engineers, game designers, producers, CEOs, COOs, CPOs, whatever. AI’s coming for all of our jobs. There will be huge portions of our work that can be outsourced to data-hungry pattern-matching tools, because much of the work of *every* job is pattern-matching. There’s a good case to be made that for most judgment calls, AI will be *better* at it than any individual human.

And honestly, for those things, I’d rather have the robots take it over IF AND ONLY IF what it means is that we decouple “living” from “work”.

I’m fine with robots taking over the tasks of most jobs, but what we need to do then is not mandate that every human has to carve out a *job* while competing with AI to “earn a living”. At this point, if AI can do it faster (maybe even better), then that’s awesome. But then we can’t expect people to compete. We can’t expect people to have to “earn a living” as though they need to justify their lives and existence through commercial enterprise.

If we understand that for a lot of jobs – maybe even the majority of jobs – and lots of shitty, repetitive, bullshit jobs – are going AI’s way, then it behooves us to think about our lives not in the context of our work and how it “earns us a living”. We can think of our work as how we help others, how we interact with society, and how we make the world a better place for each other.

Yeah, it’s idealistic bullshit. But the alternative is a nightmare dystopia. Our professional lives are so enmeshed in this weird Protestant work-ethic capitalism that it’s sometimes hard to even think in a different mindset where work isn’t the driving force of your worth or morals or life. But take a sec and give it a shot. What do *you* see?

Just ask.

I got an e-mail from a friend today, and he’d mentioned someone we both know. Happens to be my old co-founder, who I … don’t have the fondest memories of.

Hearing his name is a pretty severe trigger. Particularly when mentioned casually, more particularly affably. It brings back nearly five years of abject misery – without question, the worst period in my life.

I have friends in common with him, still, and so his name periodically comes up. When it doesn’t, I’m fine. Good, even! Generally moved on with my life, blah blah blah. When it does? It’s still sort of a red mist experience.

But because most of these folks don’t know that this makes me incredibly, deeply, fundamentally angry, I try to keep those feelings tamped down, and just get on with things.

But I’d been talking to my therapist about this, and his advice seemed sensible. Just ask them to not mention him around you.

It’s not like it’s a huge ask. But it always felt like, “I don’t want to bring people in to my trauma, or make them feel like they need to walk on eggshells around me.” Or even, “I don’t want people to realize that I’m still deeply traumatized by something that happened a *decade* ago.” It feels like I’m being petty, or broken in some way.

Which may be true! But it’s advice I’m trying to take to heart. Because it’s not a big deal to ask. If someone thinks I’m weak or silly or whatever, that’s fine. They’re telling me something important about them. Everyone else? They’ll understand and be kind.

So yeah. Just ask. It won’t be easy. It might feel dumb. But if you get what you want, it’ll make your life better. Give it a shot.

Welp. Another one of those, “How did this realization take this long to come to?” moments.

Five years or so ago (pandemic warped time, but I think that’s still right), my neighbor passed away. Or rather, I think of the woman that passed as “my neighbors’ mother,” but it was her house. I just knew her kids (who are all significantly older than me) better than I knew her. They invited me to her funeral.

I appreciated the invite, but wasn’t sure I should go. I didn’t know her particularly well. And I felt like … maybe it wasn’t going to be a place I should be. They were black. The mom had been part of the diaspora from the south, and was a pillar of the black community in Oakland for decades. This was going to be a celebration of her life, and I wasn’t sure I’d fit in or necessarily be welcome, even though the family had invited me.

I went. It was amazing. I learned so much about this neighbor I barely knew. And about her family, which I thought I did. I was indeed welcomed, and was so glad to be able to have been a part of it, and show up for the family.

But that hesitance.

I knew most of the folks there wouldn’t look like me. Most folks didn’t share my mannerisms or history. The way I carried myself would be different. The way I talked would be different. The way I’d shake peoples’ hands, or greet them would be different. I wouldn’t know the customs. For the vast majority of folks there, I wouldn’t know how to approach them, and 100% vice versa. I didn’t know anyone else there (except a few other neighbors, who were also not black).

The thing that just hit me, and *holy cow* I feel dumb that it’s taken this long… I bet this is what every black person going to work at a company totally dominated by white people and Asians. Which is every single place I worked at in my career.

And more, while I was welcomed by the community at her funeral, and I left feeling like my fears were unfounded, that’s absolutely *not* how it turns out for a lot of black folks I know at work.

I try to be conscious of these things. I try to read and learn, and where possible, put those things into action. But making a really, really obvious connection like this took what, five years to finally realize?

So yeah. Probably a lot for me to unpack in my own mind. But I think the thing that stood out to me was that at the absolute bare minimum, you can be welcoming and excited to bring someone unlike you into your community. That went a long way for me, and I’m sure it’d go a long way for anyone in that situation. It’s not all of what you need to do, but it’s a good start.

What’s been going on? Built a kit guitar recently – a Les Paul-style kit from stewmac.com. It was a fun, slow, exercise in patience. That is, to where I am now, which is a finished-but-not-yet-polished body. It needs between a week and a month for the clearcoat to cure before I can final sand it.

Other than that, been mentoring some folks and a few companies, which has been fun & rewarding. I feel like this is something I could make a career out of, though it’d take a while to build. No worries, though, we’re still doing just fine.

Kids are good – J&K are 12 and 9, respectively, and chugging along re: school. They seem to be happy & well-adjusted. They’re both super creative but in slightly different ways. K’s got a huge aptitude and passion for making art. J’s starting into his school’s Animation Club this week, so hopefully that’ll be a nice creative outlet for him (and get him spending a bit more time with some of his classmates). I couldn’t be prouder of the pair of ’em.

I post infrequently about my thoughts on work, right? But it’s now been about 2.5 years since my last job. And I’ve always hated when people muse about work culture when they’re not *doing the work*. The cadre of TEDx speakers who talk about culture culture culture without actually doing the work of managing a team and creating a culture and striving to maintain it.

So I find that I have less and less to say. Which is fine.

But maybe to cap things off – one of the things I’m most proud of in my career is that turnover on my teams was incredibly low. And I like to think (though it’s not my place to say, because I didn’t *experience* what I tried to put into action) that it’s because the work was meaningful, people had opportunities to learn and grow, that they felt listened to (even if holy crap, I was far, far, far from perfect), and that even if something wasn’t right, that it was clear we were constantly striving to improve the team culture.

And the thing that’s baffling to me is that in both jobs I got ousted from, the teams immediately started to churn. And it wasn’t that *I* was suddenly gone. (I’m not *that* egotistical!) It’s that the culture changed. People didn’t feel listened to. They didn’t feel like they had opportunies to grow. I’ve talked to dozens of people who’ve left teams I previously led, and it’s always some variation of the same theme.

And it’s always because the folks who took over the team had the same goal – I heard it directly from them in some form or another, that it was time for the “people with big boy pants” to come in and take over and do things “right”. That my approach was too chaotic or unpredictable. But the thing is, when you’re working in a world where you’re trying to get to product-market fit, things are chaotic and unpredictable. You can’t form long-term schedules. You can’t predict growth or revenue. You can’t be deterministic. And if you’re trying to make things predictable, you’re lying. To you, to your team.

The “big boy pants” folks always wanted things to be deterministic. To be understandable. To tell their bosses that they had plans, and that those plans would work. And they’d be just as wrong as I would have been if I’d actually *tried* to make predictions, and they were much worse off because they’d try to stick with their plans long after it was clear they weren’t working.

The right way to work when building something new is to minimize inertia. To change whenever change needs to happen. As Bruce Lee says, to “be like water”. It’s a whole skill that you have to learn that has nothing to do with planning and predictability, and the best way to do it is by empowering as many people as possible to understand the thing you’ve trying to build, and to give them authority to make decisions and pull the team in different directions.

I feel like that was my career superpower – that I could recruit everyone on a team to *think* like a product leader, and to have a team where everyone could yank the team in a new direction – but with enough structure that it wasn’t total chaos – it was a managed kind of swirl of chaotic energy, directed toward a unified goal.

I could get a team of people together, we could not know where we were going, but we could share a vision of where we wanted to go. Each individual would have a machete, and we’d all be hacking through the jungle, and it was ordered enough that we were all moving in the same direction, but flexible enough that every single person could make progress toward that goal and *own* something in the process.

My job as the team lead wasn’t to be 1st in line with the machete and have everyone fall in behind me. It was to keep everyone’s knives sharp, and to make sure that even when someone saw something interesting, to remember where we were trying to go so that we all kept pointed in the right direction. To give credit to those who hacked through the jungle and made progress. To celebrate everyone’s achievements and elevate them. To try to evolve how the team worked as it grew (this was often the hardest and most difficult part of my job) without destroying that sense of ownership and exploration.

I feel like I learned a lot of tools. Creative sprints where we’d change up the teams and focus on a single task for a short time. Highly iterative “continuous deployment” development. Summarizing your goals in a single sentence. They’re things that sound easy but are incredibly difficult to do well, and in some cases, are almost completely counterintuitive to what people think of as “good” development.

But I think my track record speaks to that – over 20 years, the teams I worked with forged a lot of new territory, both in mobile games (where we were 1st (or very, very early) in cross-platform development on iOS, HTML5 development, continuous deployment, location-aware stuff, performance marketing and more), VR, healthcare, and even developing some really effective prototyping practices for traditional console development.

Some of those became massively successful. Some of those things were really interesting very early explorations into things that didn’t work out, but later because hugely successful for others. Some of them were total duds. 😀

But I can look back on my career with a lot of pride, knowing that we built a lot of new stuff. And again – it’s not because *I* was smart. It’s because I developed ways to make the teams effective. To wield everyone’s full potential to exploring something new.

I think that’s why there was relatively little turnover. Because we were all in it together. We all had a role to play. We were all part of the creative firepower of the team.

I think that’s the thing I’m most proud of.

…and no, there’s not really a point to this. It’s just a bit of reflection. As much as “team culture” can sometimes feel organic, it’s not. It’s something that is crafted from the top. It has to be, because culture is how a team spends time and money, and that’s something that unfortunately doesn’t happen bottom-up.

It took years to figure out what I was doing in the working world. What unique perspective I brought to things. I hope that over the course of your career (whoever you are) you find that thing that you do better than anyone else you know. The thing that makes *you* special (at work).

For me, as a generalist, I often struggled with that. I was never going to be as great at anything as any of my specialized friends. So it turned out that my superpower was essentially process management. I thought of it as “game design” for a long time, but it was more about knowing enough about enough stuff that I could see how the pieces all fit together and wield *all* of it more effectively then a specialist could.

It’s funny, because in the end, it feels ephemeral. It feels like nothing, because there’s almost nothing to point to other than “this works”. And maybe that’s why I take some pride in low churn – and that that changed when I left – because it’s a practical outcome of that ephemeral process.

What do I bring to a team? Sometimes it feels like there’s nothing tangible. But being able to look back on things and realize that no, the teams I led were really, really good at building new things. Forging new territory into unknown spaces, and we did it while keeping the team happy and engaged – and were effective at it *because* the team was happy and engaged.

I feel good about that. (Of course I would – I’m looking back on my own thoughts about work and constructing a narrative I feel good about!) But more, if that’s the narrative I have about looking back on my career, I’m happy. And content.

I hope over the next handful of years, I can pass on some of that mentoring others, so that other people can build teams and processes like that, and embrace their own version of the chaos of discovering new things.