Linkedin – Why I Rewrote My Profile Summary

I rewrote my Linkedin profile summary today. Yes that’s right. I rewrote my Linkedin Profile. I’m living on the edge!… Honestly I can’t remember the last time I found a memorable Linkedin Profile. That’s partially why I did it. And because a professional Linkedin Profile Summary doesn’t achieve anything. I don’t think there’s a purpose to pretending to be professional on one website anymore when it’s the 21st century and everything and anything about a person can be found and read. Any incongruousness in how you portray yourself is just delaying the inevitable. So yes I wrote a kind of silly, and sarcastic and slightly over the top profile summary, all of which are still 100% true (the last line of the summary is debatable). This is me saying screw it to the carefully repetitive industry jargon. This is me saying screw it, I have a personality and it’s going to show. This is what it currently reads on my profile page:

Li is highly resourceful crafiter and hobby writer that engages in a slew of ordinary activities, of which those that end unfavourably are storified. After being a cashier for ten years, Li decided to pursue her dream of being a cardboard artist. She now works as Structural Packaging Designer for corrugated board. To support herself through college for cardboard artistry, Li sold free products to the public (brand ambassadorship) and retouched the awkwardness out of high school students on picture day.

Li is currently studying Improv performance (Level E at Second City) and is the founder of an improv troupe called Genetically Modified Five (GM5). GM5 combines musicals and video games (the two things everyone loves the most) into one: musical Nintendo improv. She also co-stars as a novice game player in a web show called “Let’s make a gamer out of Li”. In the show she is haunted by the Spirit of Gaming who forces her to learn the art of video gaming. A release date has yet to be announced.

For those who have never seen the Statue of Liberty riding a T-Rex holding a bouquet of cats in chartaceous form, Li commissions origami sculptures to suit such needs.

That’s the new summary. I’m positive that a) No one will notice because profile summaries aren’t that important b) I should be hired as a professional Linkedin Profile Summarizer.

August 15th 2014

I am tried of waiting for the right moment to make a choice. I’m tried of trying to connect with something that isn’t there. I’m tried of connecting with things that are only time wasters. I’m tried of this sick hungry feeling. I’m tried of being a coward. I’m tried of being stationary, and running the same old  routine. I’m tried of the discussions on problems that will never change and the answers that exhaust pointless energy. I’m tried of the how-to’s and fix-it’s. I’m tried of lethargy. I’m tried of Samsung. I’m tried of not letting myself be seen. I’m tried of getting bored so easily, I just want commit to something for the next one hundred years. I’m tried of the discomfort and the confusion and the unsureness. I’m tried of my slow, shity, squiggly, progress. I’m tried of my own aggressions. I’m tried of being in a man’s world. I’m tried of women judging women in the new world. I’m tried of being apologetic. I’m tired of being late all the time. I am really tried of the new found fear and emotional difficulty dreading me from improv class. I am tried of plants dying.

I Remember

I remember falling in love over words. I remember feeling like I was part of something bigger and more special than I ever was. I remember thinking I was better than addiction and better than my friend’s addiction and that writing about the red picket fences on her arm would solve it all because I was one of those people that thought love could solve all problems. She did read it. And it did mean something but it couldn’t change everything, as I had hoped.

I remember writing Cashier’s log and how for the first time I found a way to be authentically myself without needing someone or something else.

I remember sitting on the kitchen floor crying at 4 am and feeling more afraid than I ever have in my life.

I remember the first day of class and how the rush of it took away all the pain from going to my last school.

I remember wanting jobs and opportunities so badly I wouldn’t sleep for weeks designing an infographic resume, and a video game case resume, and a multi-media interactive cover letter, and whatever the hell the idea of the week was.

I remember friends. I remember love. I remember loss. I remember falling apart. I remember the family and loved ones that gave up first. I remember feeling like I was crazy.

I remember all of this.

Quote

“Through the following decades, I struggled to conform to the identity I thought the world wanted me to have. I became acceptably pretty, but then needed to work on being more outgoing. Once I became outgoing, I needed to work on being sexually adventurous. Once I became that, I needed to work at becoming a good housekeeper. And so on. Frankly, I’m exhausted. It turns out being pretty is just the beginning of a lifelong set of ridiculous expectations imposed on women.” – To je smůla

Low Confidence

Low confidence is bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit. Because at the end of the day if you really want to do something, you’ll do it. You won’t need someone’s confirmation, you won’t need the stars to align, you’ll just do it because that’s how bad you want it. You can’t help but do it.

“I have low confidence” – is a bullshit answer to life’s restraints. You just don’t want the result/change/circumstance bad enough. Low Confidence  is “I can’t”. Low confidence is nothing but bullshit and we need to stop feeding this crap to ourselves and everybody else.

The Game

I was playing a game inside my mind. Taking the games I play in class and using it real life. High status, low status, low status, high status. And for the a while the game went on and I played it right.

I won the game and thought I was a winner. Then I saw the rulebook and realized.

The winners are never the game players. The winners are the ones who write the game. The fate holders of players pitched against each other in the spirit of an unattainable prize.

A player already in the arena spoke this as I entered:

Fight for control of the pen writing the story of your life. And when you have it. You need to use it.

On Shame

There is nothing quite like a childhood lived in shame. Parents who never understood and never will understand that their hopes were disappointments, their guidance – lessons in shame, and their love a guilty weight. I have lived being ashamed of who I am throughout my life, and it is within only the last few years that I have began to see my own filter. My progress in shame has given me expertise, and I sense it like a sonar ripple from those around me. I have used it to gain access to the heart, and as a way to command obedience. It is easy to inflict shame when you know it so well. And so I have a number of relationship built around shame except one. I have let those relationships define my life.

The world makes it clear that women are shameful, and as a girl I was often imprinted so. My father was ashamed I wasn’t a boy, and I spent most of my life trying to make up for it. My mother was ashamed I wasn’t a porcelain doll. I spent my entire life fighting her over it. My friends were ashamed of the way I dressed (baggy), and my best friend told me to feel shame for it because they all did. To this day I still have one friend who insist that I wear a push up bra, put on makeup, straighten my posture and get with the program. I look at her and I am no better, shaming her for being such a blind conformist. Women have embraced the culture of shame, shaming each other until self destruction. We live to antagonize each other. We have become so good at it, it is not a conscious part of our behaviour. When will I be able to share the same space with my friend and we are able to mutually accept our differences and not bombard the other to change?

I can’t tell you much about why people shame each other but I just know they do. A long time ago I tried to escape from my life and my family but I ended up 60,000 miles from home with so much sadness and shame that I was dizzy from crying for 5 hours. My body felt like a towel wringing itself tight and hard. It was trying to squeeze out shame like a cancerous virus, forcing every last drop out the sockets of my eyes. At 7am I decided that I could keep going or I could forgive myself. The act of forgiveness is such a conscious choice it took every effort in my spongy brain to choose to see life with forgiveness rather than not. Forgiveness does not just happen. It doesn’t come to you, you go to it.

We’re all ashamed of something, but vary in the different amounts we carry. I live with a specimen that compared to me has no real gauge of shame. I have to spell shame out like simple words forgotten from disuse. And though his positively and lack of shame can split us from seeing eye to eye, most of the time I couldn’t be more appreciative that I do not have to feel ashamed of myself around him. He gives himself permission to execute goals despite fears and shame and inexperience. Though I judged his unwavering optimism, he does not take on shame and only advances where most hesitates because of it. He has given me permission to live without shame of who I am. I have only been crossing off wants and accomplishing lifelong regrets since then. It has made me become more optimistic, a gift that is resilient. He is both my opponent and my hero in shame. He is a bridge across the present letting me cross to the future with more ease.

He is not ashamed of me. I am ready to be too.

Art is a Second Road

A single offer. A clap, an “mmm” with the lips. Letting the offer go. Seeing it be caught, or thrown (towards another), or dismissed as a whole. A lean. A slight look, a subtle touch on the elbow. Taking hints of what’s unsaid. Never knowing how to make the agreement unfold. Microcosmic gestures dancing infinitely. Flirting together for a single purpose. A group becomes a whole. An individual a piece of a running clock. Uniformity, diversity, humanity, and beautiful spontaneity. So much laughter grows from spirits at work. This is play without any reason but play. We are play. We become we from playing. How would I have predicted it could be like this. One method is never the end all be all. I have failed before but this has taught me I always win when I fail. Except for the time I gave two answers that definitely weren’t alligators and canoe. But hey, so far so good.

Art is Failure

I grew up and learned that today I could no longer paint in broad strokes and messy outlines and still get away with it. The meticulousness needed for great art is suddenly outside of my parameters and I stood in averages and failures all around. She wouldn’t read me his notes. I played it off like I understood but I really didn’t. I wish she could have told me just how bad it was.

Where do I begin to find the details, when I’ve never bothered looking before? How do I expand when every step seems to be a faulty collapse? I’m lost in my own abyss, yet unaware what part of me is upholding it.

Act natural in an unnatural circumstance. Relax. Breathe. Don’t be afraid of the giant monsters. Walking over cliffs and waterfalls on tight ropes while I’m told I should be as at ease as a gliding swan. I’ve got cortisol practice.

I’m exhausted from wanting 50 different things in 50 seconds, learning 30 things in 30 minutes, and hearing my neighbor take every opportunity to preach on a soapbox about how things should be . He doesn’t understand that when the others joked they didn’t miss him during his vacation, they meant it.

This preparatory type of art requires clarity, peace and meticulous execution. Why can’t I stop trying to embody it.