“Build the workers first! ARGH!” a voice yelled through the TV as I accidentally built the warriors in Fat Princess—a game about teamplay and attacking the opposing team’s castle.

Then about 3 minutes later, I hit the circle button and picked up a bomb. I absentmindly walked over to help my teammates destroy the ladder. Realizing what I had in my hands, I immediately pressed the circle button again to put down the bomb. Then someone yelled out, “Bomb! Get that away!” I saw another character immediately pick up my mistake and drop it in the water.

Embarrassed, I tried to do the best as I could, fighting and healing. It was hard…I rarely played games like this. The jumping, the multiple actions assigned to a button. I liked the idea of playing a class of character that fixed doors and chopped wood. I also liked playing the priest—healing teammates and draining life power from the opposing team. But in practice, I often got caught in corners, not knowing how to navigate well with jumps. Or not being able to learn about the secret passageways.

The connection dropped and I was relieved of my duty. I had been only playing for 30 minutes, but all my energy was drained.

I have always loved the effect that games had on people—something that actually made someone still for hours with only their fingers moving. Or the fake anger, the fake happiness…of something so trivial, but so…powerful in some ways. The way that some people could relieve…their internal desires on a game. They could be more powerful, more skillful than they could be in real life. They could be terrorizing neighborhoods or carjacking limos without any consequence. Death has some impact, but your blood is still cursing through your veins while sitting on the couch with a controller in hand.

They are transformative. But I wish I only knew how to press the buttons in the right order.

“I have decided to become a full-time improv player,” a friend announced at our bimonthly book club.

We all clapped in glee, happy for her. She wasn’t quitting her full-time job just yet. But then another announced that doing photography as a profession could be a possibility. And another casually chimed in about being a full-time organic gardener. And then another joked about being a math tutor alluding to her recent volunteering at a classroom. I even mentioned my desire of being a writer.

And yet, we are all user experience designers. Some a little closer to a strategist. Some more product manager like. And others still…like myself doing wireframes and prototyping.

When people ask me about what I do at social events, I describe it…”making things easier to use” or “understanding what people need and creating a product that fits that need”. The accountants, the hardware engineer, the teachers, the students…all peer at me with curiosity. That is so interesting, they would say with widened eyes. Perhaps they leave the event wanting to learn more…or about telling their significant other in bed later that night…that they met someone who does really cool stuff about designing, creating interesting products, and making the world seemingly a better place.

So it’s rather interesting that at our book club, we…were in some way…almost dissatisfied to a certain degree. Or more that, our childhood desires of careers spring up. Do anything of us…really at all…were born to do this job? Or was our childhood dreams consisting of a career that we suppressed when we realized it brought no income, was not respectful, was…impractical?

When I first watched Randy Pausch’s Last Lecture, I was inspired (perhaps only temporarily) to make my childhood dreams come true. I signed up for a creative writing class and took an improv class. I loved both—the ability to be someone else for a moment and escape my everyday hum-drum.

And yet at the same time, there’s a part of me that wants to sleep all day and do nothing at all.

“You’re the first person that I have allowed to eat in my car,” he said, nearly three years after the fact.

I have accidentally spilled cake crumbs, dripped ice cream, eaten crispy french fries with oozing sauce…and I never knew any better.

There was one time when I was eating cookies and the crumbs fell into a carefully placed napkin. Knowing that our journey was going to be long, I decided to fling the crumbs out the window. As we drove forward, I rolled down the window. Not understanding physics well, I placed the napkin only inches outside and the crumbs immediately flew back into the car, causing the driver to scream in agony.

So yesterday I asked, “Why me?”

He was puzzled too and repeated while shaking his head, “I don’t know I don’t know…”

“What’s your secret to being a good project manager?” a friend asked me on a web project during my funemployment days.

I jokingly answered, “I like bossing people around.”

But I have discovered recently that it’s more than just that. It’s about shoving. It’s about communicating. The concept from start to finish. It’s about delivering the support, providing that support, knowing when to provide the support when needed. It’s about keeping everyone’s best interests at heart—but knowing how to prioritize when there are pressures coming from above and keeping the members on the team happy. It’s also about telling those far above you what to expect, what they need to give…and taking ownership, because nobody else will. The project becomes your baby—you water it carefully, prune the unneeded parts, fertilize it with the support, and let the sun fall in…stabilizing the temperature all day.

Several months ago, I planned a huge event with a friend. A large reunion from an organization at Berkeley. I enjoyed the planning, the scheduling of activities and organizing the vendors. There was chaos yes. Long meetings. Disagreement. Task assignment. Yet ultimately, the funny thing was…I loved the planning more than the execution. I wanted to see the pieces falling into place, but seeing it come fruition was the last part I wanted.