[18] What do you bring to the show-and-tell?
I've been at many show-and-tells throughout my school and professional career. And one's success at these events only has two rules.
First rule of Fight Club performance
The first rule about show-and-tell: bring the energy.
Why? Because no one knows your "thing" better than you do. Creating that environment where your passion for collecting Pokémon cards, hunting elk in the icy tundras of Scandinavia, or collecting bits of rubbish from local beaches to make protest art doesn't mark you out as a total weirdo. (garden variety still welcome, of course)
But what happens when you have the energy, and the Cool Thing, but all you see are dead eyes when you show it off and hear crickets when you talk about it?
It's rough.
But it doesn't have to be.
Which brings me to the second rule of show-and-tell: bring backup.
Your gals, your bois, your sympathetic friends who love you despite your niche interests. Your people. The plants in the audience who cheer you on, pay total attention (unless they have to klap some distracted oaf over the head as a reminder), and then proceed to clap the loudest. The ones who ask the questions you can answer in your sleep. Your unwavering-as-your-terrible-ID-photo friends.
Scary is good
Show-and-tell is a fantastic game to build connections between previously shy people. Or, in my case, among new colleagues.
Recently, my new boss tasked me with figuring out a social event for the team. Okay, easy; I know lots of games. But my social would have to be virtual, because the team wouldn't be in the same city as me. While they worked in the office, spending their lunch hour together every day, I worked from home (yes, I spent my lunch hour with my cat, obviously). It was going to be interesting, I thought, to find a way for this idea not to fail completely.
I had only just started working at this company and I didn't know anybody. I mean, granted, I learned how to spell all their names correctly in my first hour there because I am who I am (someone with an easily tough-to-remember name), but thanks to their generous spirit and helpful presence my first few weeks were actually pretty wholesome. But I still didn't want to embarrass myself, however far away I was from them.
Always bring the energy. Never forget the backup.
Now, landing a good job certainly takes some skill and confidence, but it also relies on a great deal of luck. Someone quite senior at my university, and a mentor by proximity, once said "it's not about who you know, it's about who they know."
And they were right.
To make sure you're at the right place at the right time is luck. But since all the world's a stage and all, luck can be manufactured with the proper scripts and consistent performance. This isn't to call one's boss-bitch-corporate-girly persona a farce, but rather a powerful understanding of a code, an ontology, an epistemology, a second-skin one can slip in and out of at will and as required.
It's a lot, but when you play the game, having this shorthand opens doors. It brings people closer to you and you to them in a controlled environment, where you all orbit each other and find new paths to tread. A performance where others can sense your energy, speak your name over others, and have their network ask you about what you know. And before you know it, someone's network adds to your net worth or something, just like the crypto bros love to hawk on LinkedIn.
And, most importantly, whatever else I've said, none of this is to say that one can tech-bro-vibe-code their way out of actual competence. Duh. Don't be a dingus. Know your shit.
Lessons from retrenchment
I don't think anyone takes job loss well. I didn't. Especially because I didn't mismanage the company and overhire when incoming work was low. I lost my job because someone thought that underquoting work and overworking staff was a sustainable business practice.
Anyway, I held up most of the day and in front of company, but I would break down while wiping down the kitchen counters after dinner, while making tea between job searches, while looking at my friends all gainfully employed. And all this while the weather turned so beautiful with new leaves and flower buds — I was miserable and couldn't even enjoy one of my favourite seasons. It sucked.
Confidence in my state was a touch-and-go feeling. I could have retreated, stayed silent and suffered both my feelings and my utter dearth of job interviews, but I decided to be open instead.
So I told my friends, my former employers, my family, my cousins, my journal, my Gods. I told the same story to all, and with each rendition I ended with hope. I was once asked what makes me stand out, and I remember stating with such conviction that it is my "indefatigable sense of optimism" that I surprised even myself.
Love letters always end with hope
I'm by no means in love with my career, but I do like my work. And since I got to write several love cover letters, I noticed how much I love speaking to new people, learning about them, keeping things organised, and helping others Get Things Done (the Correct Way, of course).
And so, I decided to invite my new colleagues, some of whom I call friends now, to play show-and-tell. I brought the energy, and this time I also had my people in the team. Turns out, when you're open, almost anyone has the potential to be your little army.
How lucky life is sometimes, that you only need two basic rules for Life's show-and-tell events ;)
Note
Actually written and published on 24 June 2026, 21:22.
I know it says 2025-08-28 16:32, but I had to stop writing that version because of a sudden retrenchment, a long period of reconciling with my source of self-worth, rebuilding my confidence, and finally landing a better job with better senior management.