The Other Side

It was April, and things were still cold when I found myself in front of the offices of Insomniac Games’ old offices, near Universal City Walk. I was on the threshold of the office door, looking in — but I hadn’t gone in yet.

If you were to cut my life in half, I’d put the center point right there. That moment.

I still often think back and remember that first moment out in front of the studio. In my mind, I look at the younger me — at the expression on his face.

I know what he’s feeling in that moment, what he’s thinking. His hopes and ambitions. It’s like I’m here on the other side of that doorway looking back at him and I want to give him advice.

I want to tell him to come in. To calm down.

I want to tell him he’s got time; that everything will work out well. I want to give him warnings and tell him about road bumps, but I’m not entirely sure he’d want the spoilers.

I want to tell him to calm down, but I know it wouldn’t help.

When I write articles or when I teach designers… I try to imagine I’m teaching him — how he’d want to have been taught. I know how little he knew and how much he thought he knew, and I try to have patience with it.

I try to let his excitement (so much rarer these days) well up in me and remember how each little thing felt so important.

No matter how far I get from that young man and that cold morning, I try never to forget him. It teaches me humility and patience and whatever, I guess — but that’s not why I’m telling the story.

I know lots of people who, when they get through that doorway don’t think much about the people on the other side who just want to come in.

So I’m writing this to you in the hopes that you too will remember that threshold moment when it happens (or if it has already happened). Try to remember who you were before you became who you are now.

Then, when you see someone else looking in the door, turn back and extend a hand to them. They’re probably afraid, excited, and want to come in.

Just like we did.

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