You know that old cliche, "Failure is not an option?" Sometimes, it's true and in my case it was definitely true. You cannot quit your job without a fallback or life line, and I knew this, but that's just what I did. The two roommates I shared an apartment with had gotten married and I would soon be looking for a place to live. My parents had retired to Florida so I was certainly not moving back home again, that was for sure. I was on my own, in a major metropolitan city, trying to figure out my life with only my savings, my car and the charity of a few friends. All of which was slowly starting to run out; just like that window of opportunity.
Back then, I thought those next few months were rough and dark but little did I know, the coming few years did not look any brighter. I bunked in guest rooms, sub-lets, met psychotic roommates (seriously...unstable people) and again, got to the point, like it or not, that I had worn out my welcome in a city that I considered home. Time to call on more favors, but these would take moving across country again, and to a city that I did not consider home. I packed up my computer, some clothes, my hockey equipment in my not-so-new-any-more-car and placed all my worldly possessions in storage before I hit the road south. However, after landing there and fishing around for leads on anything for a few months, I helped a friend out who in turn, suggested a new path. I knew I wanted to stay in some kind of computer related field and that I was "somewhat" artistic so imagine my surprise when it was suggested that I go back to school for a career in video games. On that day everything changed.
The old way of thinking was you get an education, you get a job and you save for retirement. You get one shot in life, one path where you take it and stay the course; you don't get a reset button. You don't take chances or risks, especially on careers in fields that you know nothing about or how they will fare. People say life is hard and I used to think that too but now I look at it from a different perspective. I think the hardest thing in a person's life is just figuring out what they are going to do with it. Once you figure that out then the answers to all life's questions will present themselves. One way or another, but they will.
So, I enrolled in classes and got a part-time job. I got a room in a home with a friend who was recently divorced. All the basics of room and board, food, gas and any other extraneous needs were taken care of with a work-study job and savings, leaving me to focus on my new future. A future that was my choice now and something that I had been doing all my life which I was now vested in. I hit the books hard and most kids didn't stand a chance. I wish I could brag saying I was in my early thirties with a college degree and seven years professional experience up against eighteen year old's fresh out of high school who were probably still living with their parents....BUT I was in my early thirties with a college degree and seven years professional experience up against eighteen year old's fresh out of high school who were probably still living with their parents. Hoo. Ray. For. Me.
When you're paying the bills yourself and you've got no where else to turn, your whole approach to school takes on a different meaning. Granted, it was an "art" school but I was getting all A's that first year. Then the roommate got married again and guess who lost that battle? It was back to knocking on people's doors knowing that the situation was never ideal for either party and that door could be slammed shut anytime. From guest room, to basement to couch to backseat of my car, I managed to keep the ball rolling. The grades started to slip but I didn't care; I just needed to pass and get to the next semester. My future, my career, my dreams and most importantly, my bills were not going to wait patiently if I failed a class and had to retake any of them. People wonder why I'm so akin to pirates. Upstanding citizens are something to model yourself after but sometimes you have to lie, cheat or steal just to get to the end of the day, especially when you've got no one to rely on but yourself.
Needless to say, one last family member bailed me out of a tight mess a day when I was scrambling for a roof over my head. She herself, was being bailed out by another friend so you could say we found ourselves in dire straits together and hey, "any port in a storm." This last refuge came in the form of a basement apartment, literally under the stairs. There was no owl post waiting to tell me I'd been accepted to a better life; only a small dog the size of a rat with Parkinson's disease, shaking and pissing on the hardwoods above me. This last stop on my journey was made of concrete walls with sunlight reaching the very far corners of the space only for the briefest of minutes during the day. It was an extra burden carrying the load of everything else going on in my life while fighting the depression of the place. The irony struck me funny when I'd think back to how I'd opened myself up to all of these trials so many years ago when I let go of the safety line.
In the end, I graduated first overall and first from the program. It was a race to the finish line, make no mistake about that. There were some very talented people around me and all of us shooting for the same thing. A few more hiccups along the way, but that's life and at least I'd found the right path. This one led me out of the factory and since then, I've risen higher than I ever did in my last profession with just as much pride, if not more, in what I do. Sure, I still work for a big company but the difference is, I love what I do and that alone has made all the difference. From architecture to level design, it's not the easy answer as promised but it's all true. Everyone has to find their own path, good or bad; easy or full of challenge but I guarantee no one else out there will have the exact same story as you.
Saturday, October 14, 2017
"The Boy Who Lived...out of his car." Part II
In all my years of Level Design, I've learned one constant fact: No two paths into the field are ever the exact same. People find their way in whether they take shortcuts, the long way around, the job drops in their lap, they toil away for years flipping burgers during the day and taking classes at night...but none are ever identical. One thing they all do have in common is that they love what they do. That...and the facts that they are building something that lasts, has their name on it and they want to be there.
So where did I go off the rails? I was doing alright for myself by having a good job and steady income; I was self-supporting then. I had lived and worked in several major US cities up and down the east coast. But the years started to go by faster now. Funny, how when you're a kid, everything takes forever because you're sitting around waiting for someone else to tell you what to do, what to eat, when to go to bed, when to wake for school. No one tells you when you're an adult, life starts to go by faster and you never have enough time to do everything you want to do. I think it has something to do with "responsibilities" getting in the way but I could be wrong. Anyways, I started looking at the clock and the calendar on the wall and I started thinking about the future. Things were good...but they were not great.
You see, people seem to think, "Oh, you were an architect. You must have made good money." I did, but only enough to get by, pay my bills and live comfortably...just not enough to get ahead. Believe me, I saved and cut corners like there was no tomorrow. Architecture, for all it's glamour and prestige, is just like any other business: unless you own the company or you're the boss, you become just another worker bee milling away, paycheck to paycheck, helping someone else achieve their dream.
As the years go by, around five to be exact, I started to think about the future and that old itch I couldn't scratch returned. I rose far enough, from Intern to Project Coordinator to Project Captain, in that time, but I saw the glass ceiling approaching. I honestly could not see myself doing the same thing, for someone else, just for a paycheck. That's when it hit me and it was a shock and a depressive feeling all at the same time. When, after all your family has done for you, all your hard work up until now, all the struggles you thought meant or counted for something, you finally get to a point in life where you're working in a nice office, wearing a shirt and tie, with heating and air-conditioning and a soft, comfortable chair...and you realize you ended up in the factory after all. The walls may look different but make no mistake, it's the same thing. If you're working somewhere with no future, for people you don't like, just for the paycheck, then you're in your own factory. And you need to get out.
I felt not only was I falling far short of my mark and true potential but that I was also not living up to my parents sacrifices. They didn't put their own dreams on hold just so I could "settle." That, and let's just be honest here - I wasn't happy, plain and simple. I called up my father who, to his credit, was ever supportive and said, "If you're not happy, then change. You can do it...but remember, that window is slowly closing." Well, that got the ball rolling. I decided right there and then that I would never be good enough for any job or anyone else if I wasn't happy with myself in life.
I left that job and moved back home setting up shop again one last time with a final architecture firm, still knowing that this career was coming to an end. I should have gotten out sooner but I stuck around two years longer, hoping to prolong the inevitable until I could figure out the next step that would get me on the right path. Life sometimes has a way of forcing your hand, ready or not, and I had reached my breaking point. Emotionally on empty, I walked into my bosses office one day and without a backup plan or safety net, I just quit. He asked me where I was leaving for or what my plan was and I replied, "I have none." I didn't know what I was going to do...I just finally knew that this wasn't it and I was not going to do it one more day.
...Concluded in "The Boy Who Lived...out of his car." Part III
So where did I go off the rails? I was doing alright for myself by having a good job and steady income; I was self-supporting then. I had lived and worked in several major US cities up and down the east coast. But the years started to go by faster now. Funny, how when you're a kid, everything takes forever because you're sitting around waiting for someone else to tell you what to do, what to eat, when to go to bed, when to wake for school. No one tells you when you're an adult, life starts to go by faster and you never have enough time to do everything you want to do. I think it has something to do with "responsibilities" getting in the way but I could be wrong. Anyways, I started looking at the clock and the calendar on the wall and I started thinking about the future. Things were good...but they were not great.
You see, people seem to think, "Oh, you were an architect. You must have made good money." I did, but only enough to get by, pay my bills and live comfortably...just not enough to get ahead. Believe me, I saved and cut corners like there was no tomorrow. Architecture, for all it's glamour and prestige, is just like any other business: unless you own the company or you're the boss, you become just another worker bee milling away, paycheck to paycheck, helping someone else achieve their dream.
As the years go by, around five to be exact, I started to think about the future and that old itch I couldn't scratch returned. I rose far enough, from Intern to Project Coordinator to Project Captain, in that time, but I saw the glass ceiling approaching. I honestly could not see myself doing the same thing, for someone else, just for a paycheck. That's when it hit me and it was a shock and a depressive feeling all at the same time. When, after all your family has done for you, all your hard work up until now, all the struggles you thought meant or counted for something, you finally get to a point in life where you're working in a nice office, wearing a shirt and tie, with heating and air-conditioning and a soft, comfortable chair...and you realize you ended up in the factory after all. The walls may look different but make no mistake, it's the same thing. If you're working somewhere with no future, for people you don't like, just for the paycheck, then you're in your own factory. And you need to get out.
I felt not only was I falling far short of my mark and true potential but that I was also not living up to my parents sacrifices. They didn't put their own dreams on hold just so I could "settle." That, and let's just be honest here - I wasn't happy, plain and simple. I called up my father who, to his credit, was ever supportive and said, "If you're not happy, then change. You can do it...but remember, that window is slowly closing." Well, that got the ball rolling. I decided right there and then that I would never be good enough for any job or anyone else if I wasn't happy with myself in life.
I left that job and moved back home setting up shop again one last time with a final architecture firm, still knowing that this career was coming to an end. I should have gotten out sooner but I stuck around two years longer, hoping to prolong the inevitable until I could figure out the next step that would get me on the right path. Life sometimes has a way of forcing your hand, ready or not, and I had reached my breaking point. Emotionally on empty, I walked into my bosses office one day and without a backup plan or safety net, I just quit. He asked me where I was leaving for or what my plan was and I replied, "I have none." I didn't know what I was going to do...I just finally knew that this wasn't it and I was not going to do it one more day.
...Concluded in "The Boy Who Lived...out of his car." Part III
"The Boy Who Lived...out of his car." Part I
People ask me sometimes, "How did you go from architecture to level design?" The easy answer being the two share a lot of similar themes and the jump wasn't that far a stretch to begin with. You might even think, "Well sure, architect's draw layouts and schematics so level designers basically do the same thing." You wouldn't be too far off in that assumption but to get to the heart of my decision, you need to set the time machine way back to the late sixties or early seventies.
This part of the story is a little paraphrased but bear with me. My father graduated from high school, and with maybe a few college classes, managed to land a job working for the city - shirt and tie, business cards...respectable. Remember, back in those days, you could land a decent job with just a high school education at best. Things were good until an election and regime change later, he found himself on the outside looking in with a wife and family to support. Things were tight for a while until he landed a job in a technology company but don't start cheering just yet.
It wasn't a "tech" job like we think of today and remember: "high school diploma" only. No, what I mean by technology is that this company was one of many that created products like elevators, engines, rockets and anything remotely aerospace related. You're familiar with a helicopter right? The correct answer is: well, duh. And you're aware that they have a secondary blade attached to the tail for stability, right? Again, your answer should be the same as before. Well, my father was the guy that sharpened the blade: 365 days a year, give or take a holiday when they so graciously deemed him, and the other grunts, worthy of one. He would be gone in the morning before the rest of the family awoke for school, to make the hour commute through traffic. Work in the factory, through the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter, all the while standing, one blade after another. Then make the trip home with his lunch box and sweaty work clothes to find us playing in the yard or doing homework in the house. Some family time, dinner, then usually early to bed so he could repeat the same routine the next day. He did this for 29 years. Not because he wanted to, not because he enjoyed it but because he had a family that he loved and wanted a better life or future for. Think about that the next time someone asks if you're "dedicated" to anything in your life.
Now, with that being said, let's fast forward to the late eighties. My whole life, my father worked along with my mother eventually joining him in the work force once me, my sister and brother were old enough to look after ourselves. We weren't rich by any means but we always had clean clothes to wear, food on the table and it was always stressed in our house that school came before anything else. My father's biggest fear was to see us fail in life because we short-changed ourselves out of the best education available; he and my mother wanted us to do better than them. So, when it came time to look into college, one of the few skills I had ever really shown any aptitude toward was drawing. "What are you good at and how can you make a living at it," is what I was asked. Me, being young and super naive, had always had my heart set on being a Disney Animator or later on, a comic book illustrator. I had played video games since they were made available for home entertainment but it was the late eighties and that route wasn't even on the horizon or an option yet. "You'll go to school for architecture," and that was how my immediate future was decided, simple as that.
There are three professions that are considered fairly "safe:" Law, Medicine and Architecture. I do not mean this in a condescending way because people tend to look upon careers in these fields as somewhat respectable and they are. One can make a fairly good living in any of these fields and they carry a bit of prestige along with them, even though, none are completely safe from layoffs or other career maladies. But, people are going to run into trouble now and then, people are going to get sick and people are always going to need places to live and work - so with that in mind, any of these are a "safe" career bet usually.
In the early nineties, halfway through school, I found myself pulling an all-nighter to prepare for a design presentation the next morning. Drawing after drawing, plans, elevations, sections and finally perspective drawings to show usage, interaction and scale. The funny thing is, I discovered I found more enjoyment at around 3am, exhausted, drawing in the people for my scene than I had the whole time I spent working on the schematics I had created for my future chosen career field. That was a sign but I stayed to finish my degree. After graduation, I lingered in the restaurant and bar scene scrambling to pay off school loans. With time starting to run out and needing health insurance which was covered under my parents, I decided I should give the architecture career one last good try.
I was lucky enough to find an architect who hired me with little to no experience. It was fun for a while and I was making good money; enough to pay my loans and cover health insurance. I bought a brand new car and began my hour commute to the new career until I started staying with an aunt during the week which cut my drive down to twenty minutes a day. That should have been a sign of things to come. I learned a lot in those first six months - more than I felt I ever did in five years at college. This would not be my last time feeling this way regarding life and the lessons it teaches you through experience only.
...Continued in "The Boy Who Lived...out of his car." Part II
This part of the story is a little paraphrased but bear with me. My father graduated from high school, and with maybe a few college classes, managed to land a job working for the city - shirt and tie, business cards...respectable. Remember, back in those days, you could land a decent job with just a high school education at best. Things were good until an election and regime change later, he found himself on the outside looking in with a wife and family to support. Things were tight for a while until he landed a job in a technology company but don't start cheering just yet.
It wasn't a "tech" job like we think of today and remember: "high school diploma" only. No, what I mean by technology is that this company was one of many that created products like elevators, engines, rockets and anything remotely aerospace related. You're familiar with a helicopter right? The correct answer is: well, duh. And you're aware that they have a secondary blade attached to the tail for stability, right? Again, your answer should be the same as before. Well, my father was the guy that sharpened the blade: 365 days a year, give or take a holiday when they so graciously deemed him, and the other grunts, worthy of one. He would be gone in the morning before the rest of the family awoke for school, to make the hour commute through traffic. Work in the factory, through the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter, all the while standing, one blade after another. Then make the trip home with his lunch box and sweaty work clothes to find us playing in the yard or doing homework in the house. Some family time, dinner, then usually early to bed so he could repeat the same routine the next day. He did this for 29 years. Not because he wanted to, not because he enjoyed it but because he had a family that he loved and wanted a better life or future for. Think about that the next time someone asks if you're "dedicated" to anything in your life.
Now, with that being said, let's fast forward to the late eighties. My whole life, my father worked along with my mother eventually joining him in the work force once me, my sister and brother were old enough to look after ourselves. We weren't rich by any means but we always had clean clothes to wear, food on the table and it was always stressed in our house that school came before anything else. My father's biggest fear was to see us fail in life because we short-changed ourselves out of the best education available; he and my mother wanted us to do better than them. So, when it came time to look into college, one of the few skills I had ever really shown any aptitude toward was drawing. "What are you good at and how can you make a living at it," is what I was asked. Me, being young and super naive, had always had my heart set on being a Disney Animator or later on, a comic book illustrator. I had played video games since they were made available for home entertainment but it was the late eighties and that route wasn't even on the horizon or an option yet. "You'll go to school for architecture," and that was how my immediate future was decided, simple as that.
There are three professions that are considered fairly "safe:" Law, Medicine and Architecture. I do not mean this in a condescending way because people tend to look upon careers in these fields as somewhat respectable and they are. One can make a fairly good living in any of these fields and they carry a bit of prestige along with them, even though, none are completely safe from layoffs or other career maladies. But, people are going to run into trouble now and then, people are going to get sick and people are always going to need places to live and work - so with that in mind, any of these are a "safe" career bet usually.
In the early nineties, halfway through school, I found myself pulling an all-nighter to prepare for a design presentation the next morning. Drawing after drawing, plans, elevations, sections and finally perspective drawings to show usage, interaction and scale. The funny thing is, I discovered I found more enjoyment at around 3am, exhausted, drawing in the people for my scene than I had the whole time I spent working on the schematics I had created for my future chosen career field. That was a sign but I stayed to finish my degree. After graduation, I lingered in the restaurant and bar scene scrambling to pay off school loans. With time starting to run out and needing health insurance which was covered under my parents, I decided I should give the architecture career one last good try.
I was lucky enough to find an architect who hired me with little to no experience. It was fun for a while and I was making good money; enough to pay my loans and cover health insurance. I bought a brand new car and began my hour commute to the new career until I started staying with an aunt during the week which cut my drive down to twenty minutes a day. That should have been a sign of things to come. I learned a lot in those first six months - more than I felt I ever did in five years at college. This would not be my last time feeling this way regarding life and the lessons it teaches you through experience only.
...Continued in "The Boy Who Lived...out of his car." Part II
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