Making It (My) Work
Knowing who you are on the inside isn’t always what we share on the outside
How you define your personal identity versus your social identity is an intricate dance between what is known (about you) versus shown (by you).
And then there’s your digital identity.
I’ve never paused before now to consciously compare my personal and social identity, let alone my digital one.
In thinking about the question:
What experiences as both a consumer and creator have shaped your online identity?
I realize that the creator side of who I am is a big part of how I see myself — analog or digital, offline or on.
Which brings me to ask instead:
What experiences as both a consumer and creator have shaped my personal identity? And how has that shaped my online identity?
How do you define who you are through the things you create? Or not create? What do you reveal or not reveal through what you choose to make and share?
Am I being true to my creator identity offline and online?
My early creator identity emerged back in the days of analog, circa 1978…
Like part of the room’s anatomy, the tall wooden HiFi stereo cabinet inhabited an entire wall in my childhood home. Its built-in speakers were covered with a woven fabric that blended in with the woodgrain; balanced by upper shelves holding books and objects, the lower cabinet doors hid the stereo tuner, a turntable, and a dual cassette deck. My parents frequently played their records, an eclectic mix of classical, show tunes, popular artists like Barbra Streisand, Maria Muldaur, and Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass; I have fond memories of dancing to certain albums when my parents would throw their occasional yet memorable parties complete with retro hors d’oeuvres and lots of cocktails.
Sometime in my tween phase, I discovered some empty cassette tapes and a corded microphone stashed away in that HiFi cabinet, and decided to record my own audio version of “Eyewitness News with Chris Marrou,” roping my little brother into being the sportscaster, weatherman, and other assorted voices, like my own aural Ed McMahon. I of course was the anchor, and in between news stories, I wrote and recorded commercials, jingles and songs to complete each broadcast. Inspired by miscellaneous records within the collection, the genre focus of our scripted recordings morphed from news into radio mystery hour, featuring some cursed archeologist in Egypt or gumshoe in a grimy city.
During high school, my media creator self hit pause as I shifted into consumer mode with the advent of cable TV’s newest creation: MTV. I vividly remember watching the first few music videos premiered on the channel on repeat — Madonna’s “Lucky Star,” Duran Duran’s “Rio,” and ironically, The Buggles’ “Video Killed the Radio Star.” Fast forward to college, when during a winter break, my extended family encouraged me to write a new mystery radio hour script for us to record together as a fun family activity, which started “The Claverleigh Curse” episodic versions over the next few decades.
Those formative experiences as a media creator and consumer seem vivid yet distant from the kinds of media consumption and creation I do now.
Based on a simple Google search, if someone were to try and “read” my current online identity, it’s definitely more professional than personal, and that is intentional and accidental, conscious and subconscious.
When I think of the word “online,” I think of what people can see or find easily through the internet and its portals; when I think of “digital,” that’s more indicative of intention — what digital artifacts have I made available for people to find or uncover?
In Googling myself, the first page lists only three relevant result links: my Twitter account, LinkedIn profile, and Instagram account. Instagram is the only personal version of those three social media accounts, and honestly I don’t use it that often, except for the occasional scroll. What doesn’t appear without a more specific keyword search is my campus library website, personal Facebook page, or my personal blog. My digital portfolio is also conspicuously missing, and that’s intentional; I’ve checked the settings box to request that public search engines not display my site. The reason? What I have to share about my digital identity through my body of digital work is still pretty personal in a way, and I don’t want that work to be misunderstood out of context or co-opted by others without consent or attribution.
My professional persona is the more public side of who I am that I share; my personal digital self is more private, but not because I want to keep it that way, but more so because I am actually a shy person. Over time I’ve become comfortable in the role of observer over actor, but still love to create, even if what I’m creating isn’t of my own choosing.
The Other I
I’ve always been more at ease in the realm of ideas versus identity.
If I have a choice, I’d much rather think about and express ideas rather than share things about myself. Even in composing this reflective essay, there are so many possible paths to take, so many plausible ideas to explore and follow, that the recursive process of writing, especially for a public, online audience, adds yet another layer of ideas that it’s sometimes too inviting to get lost in the weight of them.
Identity has a lot to do with voice. Whose voice are you channeling? Whose voice is speaking? Whose voice are you hearing? Where is my voice in the media I have created? What do I want to say, if anything, in the media I have yet to create for myself? Do I even want to create for myself, or just simply create?
In thinking of Identity in this way, I confess that I’m more of an Eye than an I, channeling the observer facet of my creator self. I prefer to speak through the medium itself rather than use my own voice overtly. Or is my voice, or message, in actuality the medium itself? Or am I just failing to really see my own “I” with my own eyes? To be an artist/creator/producer, do you have to have an inflated sense of “I”? Can it be more subtle? And is it there regardless of whether the creator or consumer acknowledges it?
This tendency towards introspection (read: overthinking) is an idiosyncratic, private, innate quality of my nature and process. Even now at this writing, I’m wavering between how much to reveal and what to keep hidden, unwritten. This is both a conscious and subconscious choice of my own digital author self. It’s not me, it’s “me”…it’s not about me, or is it? And why does it matter?
There’s a distinct vulnerability in being a creator, and maybe that’s at the core of this dilemma for me.
I’ve always seen myself as a creative person. I do feel like I am hardwired to create, and seek outlets for creative expression through my work, whether it’s designing a collaborative activity with a fellow teacher, or coming up with project ideas for the multimedia club I sponsor. But those expressions of creativity are using the medium of “the work” — what is assigned, needs to be addressed, must be produced. I tend to seek out external creative constraints, versus generating them from my own wellspring of ideas.
It’s become comfortable, almost too much so, to fall into this pattern of relying on “the work” to be my work, instead of making “my own work” from my own work. It’s not as much as the what, but the why…the what is more, What does that reveal or share…about me?
If I were to create media truly for myself now, I’m struggling a bit to think of what that might be…digital or otherwise. I have ideas for podcasts, YouTube playlists, book pitches and even online courses, but that pesky self-doubt creeps in like a little devil on my shoulder, trying to drown out the more soft-spoken creative risk-taking angel poised on the other.
What scares me the most about becoming a digital author in my own right? Maybe it’s really the fear of not being understood, or having my ideas seem derivative versus iteratively original, or worth sharing at all.
I know letting go of the fear is part of the creative process. In What to Do When It’s Your Turn, Seth Godin plainly states that “If we don’t dare try, it’s our own fault.” Reading his words is like having a hardcore personal trainer and straight-shooting therapist wrapped up in the body of a no-nonsense bald mentor barking, “Enough, already!”
So what am I waiting for? Enough already! It’s time to dare to create my own faults with my own work.
