Man of Seriousity

In the beginning, I just really wanted to look like I knew what I was doing. That’s it. I wasn’t out to change the world. I just wanted to send an email without reading it back seventeen times.

I wanted to walk into a meeting and not feel like a student who wandered into the teacher’s lounge. I wanted someone, anyone, to look at me and go, “Ah yes, that’s a person who definitely uses a calendar.”

So I started copying the Serious People. The ones who drank sparkling water from branded bottles and always had a screen to share. They had folders called Q3_REVIEW_FINAL and said “circling back” like it was a spell. I studied them like wildlife. I took notes. I downloaded software. I signed up for Pipedrive not because I had sales to track, but because it sounded like something a capable human would use, probably while eating almonds and nodding at graphs.

And the Serious People? They saw right through it, in the most loving way. They knew I was trying to crack the code of professionalism. They smiled when I used phrases like “let’s sync up” and “touch base” with my whole chest. I think part of them missed being that kind of hungry. That kind of high-voltage, color-coded, what-if-this-notebook-changes-everything excited. They weren’t mocking me. They were rooting for me. “Look at this little eager beaver trying to become a Man of Seriousity. Adorable.”

And the wild part is, I got there. I became the Man of Seriousity. I had folders within folders. I got invited to meetings that didn’t have an agenda. I was sending The Deck. I even used “per our last conversation” once without flinching. I was in. I was official.

But here’s the twist. It didn’t feel how I thought it would. Not bad. Just different. Because somewhere along the way, I realized that real seriosity doesn’t come from sounding like a template. It doesn’t come from apps or five-year plans or a Slack status that says “Deep Work.” It comes from showing up and trying. Messily. Repeatedly. With snacks. It comes from listening, from caring, from laughing in a meeting where no one else thinks the dashboard is funny, but you do. Because come on.

These days, I still track things. I still organize some. But I don’t need Pipedrive to feel legit. I use a simple spreadsheet that’s more patchwork quilt than pipeline. It has one tab called “Probably Important.” Another just says “uhhh.” There’s no automation. Just vibes and my memory of what the colors mean. And it works. Because it’s mine.

Now, the seriosity comes from me. Not the stiff kind that wears a tie and makes people nervous. The kind that helps others breathe. The kind that stays calm when things go sideways because I’ve seen sideways before. The kind that doesn’t panic over a typo but panics over bad fonts. Still working on that.

When you reach this kind of grounded, playful professionalism, the kind that comes from your actual self, you don’t have to leave pieces of you behind when a project ends. Because the work carries your fingerprints. Your humor. Your half-finished ideas that somehow helped someone else’s finish. You were there. Fully. It counts.

You stop trying to be the Man of Seriousity and start being yourself, professionally. You bring your metaphors and your browser tabs and your way-too-many sticky notes. You stop asking, “Will they take me seriously?” and start asking, “Does this feel true?” You stop rehearsing how to sound smart and just say the thing. You stop pretending you don’t love glitter.

You get to define your own kind of seriosity. Maybe it looks like Gantt charts and 6AM jogs. Maybe it looks like frog stickers on your laptop and spreadsheets called “HOORAY.” Maybe it’s somewhere in between. There’s room for all of it.

So if you’re wondering whether you’re allowed to build something good and true and maybe even important, the answer is yes. You don’t need more certifications. You don’t need an app stack that costs as much as rent. You need curiosity, a little courage, and a belief that your weird little brain has something valuable to offer. You can do this. For real. You’re not pretending anymore.

You're the Man of Seriousity now. Snacks and all.

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