“Authenticity is a collection of decisions that we have to make every day. It's about the choice to show yourself and be real. The choice, to be honest. The choice to let our true selves see. "~ Brene Brown

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

"It's so nice to meet you. What are you doing?"

These are the questions that we are asked all our lives. When we are children, everyone always asks about the future. They ask excitedly, "What are you going to do?" The subtext of these questions is:

“How will you be productive in society? How will you contribute? "

We were asked these questions all the time when children made us adults who asked them. We are in the same cycle and don't seem to know, instead asking: "Who are you?"

For a long time my focus and self-identity was connected to what I was doing. I would tell people, "I'm a filmmaker." When I was young I knew I wanted to make films. I loved telling stories. "I want to be a film director!"

Growing up and actually getting jobs in Hollywood I realized that most people aren't movie directors. Most people aren't even filmmakers. You work in the film. It takes a lot of people to make one, but only a handful of people get recognition or consider themselves filmmakers.

"What are you doing?" People would ask. I would have a hard time figuring out how to explain that I'm a production assistant working on films. I was basically a glorified secretary, a personal assistant. But I wasn't a filmmaker.

I've worked on other filmmakers' films. Personally, I hadn't made art or films in over six years. I was so busy and tired of working in the industry I wanted to work in that I forgot about myself.

When I could no longer define myself as a filmmaker, I became disillusioned. If I wasn't what was I then? People were always excited when I said I was working on films. Their eyes would light up and they would pester me with questions about the famous people I knew or in secrets.

You never wanted to know how much sleep I missed or how many friends and family events I sacrificed for Hollywood's boastful rights. They didn't want to know what excited me about life or who I was. They just wanted to know what I did.

This dissatisfaction grew. I was getting angrier and angrier all over the film industry. I felt needed. Worthless. The world was nothing but ego and money. I would never be her if I didn't sell myself and play her game.

I wasn't ready to play the game, find the back doors, pinch a dime, or be downright cruel. I started to see that the industry was soulless. The art and the stories were dictated by companies that wanted to earn as much as possible.

The stories were not selected for their value and need in the world, but with those with whom they would earn the most money. They benefited from these stories and from the manual labor and bottom line sacrifices of the workers that were seen as available.

Celebrities made millions and I made minimum wages, but I didn't have the luxury of a free jet ride home and an apartment for my girlfriend. I was reprimanded for refusing to work on a Saturday after only a five hour break.

Slowly I began to wonder if this was who I was. If this "works in the movie industry" really was. me. And I felt guilty! I felt ungrateful. I've worked on great films! How could I not be happy? I did it.

I could only go up from here. I could be the next Stephen Spielberg, the next Tarantino, the next Lucas? Then I worked for one of these famous guys. He was only human. He wasn't the god I thought he was. It was flawed.

Sure, he got the adrenaline rush to make art, but at my expense. I was lucky enough to have my name in the credits. I wasn't part of the golds, the actors and producers who were the "real" movie.

If I didn't want to play the "Hollywood" game, I could become independent. But I felt guilty for calling myself a filmmaker when I hadn't made a film in years! I didn't even want to make one up.

I had friends who made films on the weekends. They devoted every free second to him. I was just sleeping. Then you drag me to dinner or a date and pretend I have a social life before I had to go back to work. I felt guilty and feared that if I left the industry, I would be seen as a failure.

I was afraid that I would be seen as weak or that people would think I couldn't hack it. The more fear I felt, the more I turned to my unhelpful habit of Googling advice. Nothing helps about hours of Reddit and self-help blogs. They are all contradicting itself.

However, this googling resulted in some articles with actual facts. It was then that I began reading about the tendency for Americans to identify with our jobs. Our self-esteem and identity are related to what we do.

We say things like, "I'm a lawyer." "I'm a physicist." "I am a teacher." We don't say, "I practice law." "I study physics. "I teach." We focus on the job and not on the self.

I began the long, drawn-out process of separating myself, the self, from the filmmaker and the woman who worked in the film. I realized that I felt uncomfortable calling myself a filmmaker because I wasn't.

I struggled to define my title for others because I didn't really believe that it was me. I am a woman who likes movies and stories. More importantly, stories inspire me.

Filmmaking was just a job. The intense zeal aspect of the film industry had always hit me wrong. Now i know why. I am not a job. I am more than the work I do.

Through this process I slowly realized that I was not satisfied with my work. There was a separation between that and the way I saw myself in life. I had to walk away a bit and allow myself to heal from the damage I and the poison industry had done to my soul.

Not only the film industry is toxic. American work culture is. We have created an environment in which work has to be our passion. Confucius said, "Choose a job that you love and you will never have to work a day in your life." I do not agree with you. Work is work.

You may like it, but as long as you give your time for money, you are engaged in a business transaction and it is work. Just accept it as work and accept that you can be a whole person outside of your job. Your job is just a small part of the much bigger person.

Our work culture revolves around the phrase "We are like a family". It is recommended that your team members and co-workers are family members. You are not.

You can get along with them, be friends with them, but when you call them family there is pressure to feel loyal and not to let them down. Our alliances are manipulated to work in the first place. Any time you spend doing something for yourself or your actual family is viewed as selfish.

A year after my last film job, I still have trouble seeing myself outside of these identities. I am now enrolled in the graduate school and I want to excel as a student. But I am not. I am Dia. I study mythology.

Sometimes I am a storyteller, but this title does not and cannot encompass the whole and the breadth of who I am as a person.

Identifying yourself through our work is like trying to fill a cup with the ocean. At some point the ocean will overwhelm the cup and we will stay wet and feel bad.

The next time you're at a party after the pandemic and you meet someone, you may not ask, "What are you doing?" Instead, ask, "Who are you?" Create the space to meet the real, whole person; the person who is big, deep and full of wonder for the world.

About Dia Griffiths

Dia Griffiths grew up in the mountains of West Virginia. Although she lives in Brooklyn with her cat Coco, Dia is still inspired by the cavities of the woods to this day. She loves stories and mythology and finds strength in them. Dia is currently enrolled at the Pacifica Graduate Institute to study mythology. Dia works to create spaces and communities where people can connect, heal, and be authentic through storytelling.

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