When I was a child it was popular to tell kids they could grow up to be anything. I think it was, anyway, I vaguely recall that being a thing that was said, but I might be thinking of something I saw on television. Regardless, I hope it’s gone out of vogue by now – it’s really a cruel thing to tell a child, even if it’s technically true. You can become anything, in the same way an unknown seed could grow to be anything, but what that thing will be has likely already become set by circumstance and inclination. Or, perhaps, more in the way that rolled die could show any face, but choosing which is outside of anyone’s control – except for inveterate cheaters, who I think would represent inherited wealth in this metaphor.
Regardless of how prominent this message was, I don’t think I ever wanted to be anything. I think I always wanted to be everything. Failing that, the next best option as I saw it was to be some sort of artist, someone who makes worlds – if not to actually be everything, then to contain some version of everything, to control it, portray it, master it. Even that wasn’t enough everything, apparently, because of all the forms of artist to be I decided I wanted to make games, since they require me to do a little bit of everything (a lot of everything, actually). And then I wanted to make them alone, because I wasn’t willing to give up even a tiny bit of everything.
I’m coming to gradually recognize the greed that has shaped me. I am never content. I am never enough for myself because I am never everything, but I also rarely want to give any of myself up. People don’t notice this greed usually, I think, because it doesn’t look like what we think greed looks like. I don’t want many things beyond the things I need to work towards my goals, which mostly boil down food, shelter, and a functional computer with a few specialized peripherals. I don’t mind being mostly broke, except when it means I get distracted by things outside of my control, such as needing to scrape together for food, shelter, or a functional computer with a few specialized peripherals. I’ve learned how to mostly do the things I need to do to take care of myself, but I don’t reach out beyond myself often. I am my own planet in my own solar system. Family, a few friends, no other social contact – greedy like gravity, I hold this much in my orbit forever, steady in the trajectory set by my past.
In trying to be everything I frequently lose track of who I am. I’m not sure what my personality is outside of the things I create. When I’m not making things or distracting myself I have a poor sense of what my personality is. I don’t know if this is abnormal. Many people feel unmoored from themselves when they’re away from their work, I suppose. At least I don’t have to rely on anyone else in order to feel like myself, at least I can’t get fired from being an artist – though I can certainly not get paid for it. I’ve definitely proven myself capable of that.
What am I? A shape that leaves an imprint, a tiny fingerprint on the mind of each person I meet. I hope that by making things I can spread around more imprints, make more of a mark, but that mark I am making is only a tiny part of me. Some people exist so intimately in each others’ lives that their imprints go deep and numerous, that even when they are absent each other they can still feel their shapes in the marks they left behind. I can’t leave any marks like that. I hold too much of myself back. All pictures of me are incomplete, and the true shape remains unknown. It could be anything.