The End of an Era: Goodbye, BAYC #4664
This past weekend, after more than fifteen months, I sold my final Bored Ape, #4664. It’s been my profile picture on Twitter and elsewhere for most of that time, and it’s how most web3 people have gotten to know me.
Since then, I’ve been thinking a lot about identity. Who am I, and who do I want to be? Ultimately, who you are matters to the extent that it helps to answer the bigger underlying question: why am I here? What purpose does it serve that a random collection of atoms came together to create me?
Whether or not you believe in divinity or a higher power, there’s a natural human desire for a sense of purpose. It’s the same reason why retiring early is also associated with dying sooner. We need a reason to get up in the morning. That reason can come from work, or family responsibilities, or creativity, but it needs to come from somewhere. Of course, the source of that sense of purpose tends to be critical to how we identify ourselves: I’m a dad, I’m a financial professional, I love basketball and playing music. And for over a year, I was also a Bored Ape.
Being an Ape holder has granted me access, opened doors, and said something about me to people I’d never met before. At the same time, I’ve been feeling like it could be a good time to sell. Expectations are high on the team to keep delivering, the macro environment is uncertain, and the thought of diversifying my NFT ownership is appealing. I had wrestled with the pros and cons of selling as I watched the floor slowly rise over the last few weeks, until finally, this weekend, as my listed price got closer to the floor, it was sold. My friends and family asked if I was celebrating, and I told them, honestly, that it was bittersweet. It was a great sale financially, but it came with some sadness too, because I’d grown attached.
So why did it matter so much to me? I’m not particularly concerned with outward identifiers; I rarely wear branded clothing, I don’t feel the need to drive an expensive car, and I’m perfectly satisfied with the size of my house without feeling a push to move into a bigger one. Yet I was torn when it came to the prospect of selling my Ape, and losing what I saw as my “digital identity.” It’s made me think a lot about who I am, and how I see myself.
I was fortunate to have a fairly privileged life growing up. I had plenty of opportunities, both personal and professional. I was able to use connections to get one of my first jobs, and I spent a summer backpacking Europe. By any measure, I was given a great head start. I’ve also struggled with depression for most of my adult life. I have a naturally negative affect, and I tend to worry, and see potential disaster even when it may not be likely to occur. While I’m sure these are at least partly caused by biology, I also believe that circumstance has played a role. Perhaps partly due to the head start I had, I’ve felt for much of my adult life like I had fallen short of expectations. I bounced between careers, and did not find my “fit.” Like many people, much of my sense of self worth is tied to professional accomplishment, and I did not have much to speak of.
Finally, a few years ago, my career hit a dead end. Over the course of a few months, though, I became more proactive about my professional life, and long story short, slowly carved a new path for myself. I started to see light at the end of the tunnel, and to discover fulfilment at work for the first time. It was far from ideal, but it was a start.
Then last February, I discovered NFT’s, and everything changed. Over the last year and a half, I built my own online identity out of nothing: I connected with some great people that I never would have otherwise met, generated a voice that (I think) has become respected in the space, developed a passion and expertise, and have gained a Master’s degree’s worth of knowledge about new technology. It has been, by any possible measure, an enormous success, and for the first time, it was my own. My Ape became a symbol of, and biggest example of, that success. Any time I’ve looked at it, it’s been a reminder: you did it. You found this thing, you took a leap, you held strong, and now you hold one of the most valuable assets in this class.
But it’s time to let go of that need now.
Earlier this year, I started a new job. It’s a huge step forward in my career, and I plan to be there for a long time. I’m letting go of those needs for validation. The messages pouring in following my Ape sale reminded me that the people I’ve met don’t just interact with me because of my Ape; it may have given me a certain credibility, but the relationships that I’ve built haven’t changed since last week. I thought I needed it to act as my online identity, but I much prefer my online identity to just be me.
I started watching the Amazon series The Boys recently. In fact, I binged the first two seasons over the course of last week. It’s gritty and violent and funny, and generally entertaining. But then, just as quickly as I started, I decided that I was done with it. That’s not an indictment of the quality of the show, but instead, a reflection of my reaction to it. It is capital D Dark. The entire conceit of the show requires a level of cynicism that, frankly, puts me in a bad place. I recognized that, and made the active choice to do something else with my time. For years, I thought of myself as a “person with depression.” But we aren’t a thing just because we label ourselves that way. Every choice you make and every action you take determines who you are.
It took almost 40 years, but I understand what it means to take control of your life. And that’s part of the reason why I’m okay with selling my last Bored Ape. I don’t need a picture reminding me who I am.
It’s been a great ride, but it was time to let go.
