It is maybe 1992 and I am sitting along the back wall of a conference room when my manger asks me to describe the work I did on some project. She is asking me because her boss's boss, our General Manager, is in the room to check in with the team. I am immediately nervous, heart racing. I am not nervous because I'm about to speak to someone important but because of all the people in the room. All the people paying attention to me. A reaction of fear. I start to introduce myself and then to describe my project. My mind goes to someplace where there are no words. I cannot formulate a sentence. I string words together but not in a way that has any meaning. One set of words are not connected to the next set. I am staring at my lap. I glance up and catch a knowing and partially sympathetic look from an older coworker. Mostly knowing. I glance back down and mumble my words until I am done. The situation, which was orchestrated to give me visibility and a sense of recognition has left me shattered.

21 years later some things have changed and some things have not. I've been moderately successful in my career even though at each step along the way I've been told that I need to be something that I am not. I shouldn't say that was 100% universal with my direct managers, only most of them, with the others realizing that kind of change wasn't in the cards. The supportive ones focused on the actual work I do and that my inward nature has no actual impact while the less supportive ones silently pigeon holed me into a stereotype which made their jobs easier.

My personal life has not been so different on the acceptance front and much worse since I've moved to Beijing. I go to a dinner and I am the only foreigner at the table and I am expected to socialize. If I am lucky my kids are with me and I can socialize with them otherwise I am left to myself and people judging me for not being social. I would love to talk about the Giants or the 49ers or the latest season of Californication, but the topics always turn to food or weather or my foreignness. Countless of Yang's friends have asked her what is wrong with me. Countless of Yang's friends and colleagues imply directly to me that there is something wrong with me.

And guess what? There is nothing wrong with me. This is who I am. This is part of what else has changed over the past 21 years. I care less what people think of me. I should rephrase this. 21 years ago I was sitting in the corner of my apartment wondering what was so wrong with me. Today, I am sitting in my apartment, writing this, and pissed off. So, no, my current manager I am not going to start showing up to work and back slapping folks and telling them how great they are so that one day 10 years from now I could have your job. Just keep it, thanks. So no, spouse, nothing is wrong with me because I don't want talk to your friends at dinner about how bad my Chinese is.

A couple of years ago I had the opportunity to give a short project presentation to Bill Gates. I thought a lot about the young man who in 1992 could not form a sentence. I prepared my material and with the support of a good manager I gave the presentation. And nailed it. I have a small set of friends who all know I am quiet but appreciate my humor and intensity. I'm open to change but I don't see myself as that guy who sits next to the other random foreigner at dinner and is the life of the party. That's just not who I am. There's a price for that, for sure. I've paid that. There's a steeper price for thinking the problem is you and I've paid that as well. No more.

So be it.