I was 19 years old and in my first year of college when I had learned how a contemporary of mine from Lexington, Kentucky who had created a computer game when he was still in high school, had gotten his game published. I recognized that I myself had written a computer game, staying long hours after class with special access granted to the computer room by Mr. Siler, our math-turned-computer-science-teacher. Keep in mind that I was in my senior year in 1981 when microcomputers had just been introduced into the classroom, and we students actually knew much more than the computer science teacher knew himself, so it makes sense that Mr. Siler was impressed with what we were doing at the time.
I’d heard about a student I’d met previously from another high school who had success publishing his own computer game. It was in a new field that was just starting to take form with the advent of the Apple II and Commodore 64 computers of the early 1980s; the Brave New World of computer game design. I thought, “well, I have a computer game, maybe I can publish mine as well?” Sure enough, I submitted my game to five different computer game companies. Two of them contacted me back and said they wanted to publish my game!
I picked a company called Epyx, based in Sunnyvale, California. They had offered me a $2,000 advance on royalties; an amount which seemed like a lot of money to me at the time. I left at the end of my first year of college at the University of Tennessee (where I was attending at the time) and moved off to Palo Alto, California and I began working directly at Epyx on a translation of my game.
For context, I will tell you that my game, “Sword of Fargoal” for the Commodore 64 computer, actually did garner a fan-following which has lasted over 38 years as of this writing. However, at the time I distinctly remember feeling as though I was by no means qualified to be an official “computer game designer” or programmer, let alone deserving of publishing a computer game that would be distributed to hundreds-of-thousands of people. In retrospect, I felt entirely as though I was an ‘impostor,’ which of course I now know has an actual syndrome attached to it. I certainly did struggle: The Commodore 64 computer, quite-literally, only had 64K of available RAM. I had to shoehorn a dynamic, graphically-intense, completely “randomly-generated” game into a minuscule amount of available memory, fitting the entire game into 14K of RAM. I had delivery dates. I had deadlines. There were play-testing requirements, manufacturing specs I had to comply with, and a fast-paced software company whose corporate culture I had to fit into. Faced with these challenges, I quickly learned that my ambitious design didn’t have the performance level that is needed for an actual worldwide game release. In fact, since I had been entirely self-taught using BASIC (a computer language), it became evident that didn’t actually know the machine language-level coding needed to speed up certain code routines that would ultimately be required for the impending game release.
In that circumstance I felt as though I was holding secret information about myself; that my own abilities (or inabilities) to complete the game were, in effect, pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes. In retrospect, I now know that at that young age I wasn’t emotionally equipped to admit my shortcomings and reach out for help. At first, I simply internalized my concerns, trying (and failing) to take personal responsibility for the technical and knowledge-based challenges I was facing in order to get the game done. I began missing deadlines. At one point I had an emotional breakdown in front of the lead producer at Epyx as I was grilled about how and when the game programming issues could be solved. I certainly didn’t know how (or whether) to admit that I felt stuck beyond my ability level, or to somehow ask for direct help. During that early era in computer game history, there were no programming teams or outside contractors you could hire. Indeed, I felt that I was going to let down a bunch of people in my commitment to producing this ambitious game.
Skipping ahead, yes, I was able to get targeted help from a friend who taught himself just enough machine-language coding to get by. Between my original BASIC code that served as the model, and Scott’s crash course in assembly language coding, we were able to speed up some key routines within the game which made it fast enough to function satisfactorily for the international release of the game. But I’ve still felt like an ‘impostor’ then, and for a long time afterward. “Sword of Fargoal” went on to become a cult favorite; a so-called “Roguelike” game, which is written about in Wikipedia and has even enjoyed a rebirth as an award-winning game now on the iOS platform (iPhone and iPad). “Sword of Fargoal” is still active and is being enjoyed by many thousands of people to this very day!
My feeling of being an ‘impostor’ has continued to haunt me in many aspects of my career and in other areas of my life. I have been a graphic artist, a digital design teacher, a “house mover,” a creative-minded developer, a Photoshop illustrator, a computer conference speaker, a board game designer, an Executive Director in the non-profit world, and an FAA-licensed drone pilot and videographer. Each time, I have secretly felt that I wasn’t technically ‘qualified’ for any of the positions I’ve taken on. For most of my life, and without being able to put a name to it, I have intuitively learned to push through this feeling of being an ‘impostor’ in each-and-every case. In fact, I have managed to combat this feeling and actually embrace this self-perception. Ironically, putting forth a confident face has, in most circumstances, helped me to take on new tasks and develop new skills at every turn.
That said, at 57 I certainly now recognize how much I bring to each of the career choices I have pursued. By being able to ‘fake my way through’ so many things in life, I have somehow become a “skilled generalist,” as well as an actual expert in certain key areas of my work. I now know that being an ‘impostor’ is largely a self-imposed title. I would even assert that a bit of self-doubt can be a check to one’s ego, encouraging you to push harder to learn new things and perform under pressure. As a result of seeing how far I’ve made it in life and career with an impostor’s mentality, I have grown increasingly comfortable in accepting that odd aspect of myself.
I can now easily say that there is almost nothing I feel I couldn’t do if I set my mind to it. Yet, I expect a healthy dose of being an ‘impostor’ will always remain within me.
For related material, please feel free to watch the following excellent TED talks on the subject of “Impostor Syndrome.”
“How can you use Impostor Syndrome to your benefit,” by Mike Cannon-Brookes, CEO of Atlassian
“How students of color combat impostor syndrome,” by Dena Simmons, Educator
“What is impostor syndrome and how can you combat it?” by Elizabeth Cox, Educator