In Jeopardy

A (sort of) poignant reflection on my experience being a contestant on America's favorite quiz show.

In June, I had the rare privilege of appearing on Jeopardy, fulfilling a lifelong dream at just 23. I made a lot of lifelong friends, had a lot of fun, and walked away a 1-day champion with a little over $20,000 to my name. How exciting!

However, in the aftermath, I ran into a number of shortcomings that I had never even thought to consider. Some reshaped my life for what I still believe to be the better; others exposed parts of myself that I’d never confronted before. Who knew there were so many strong emotions that come with being a game show contestant?

I felt both an immense pride in winning and a profound sadness in the frustration that I could have done better, and that the experience was already over, unlikely to ever be repeated. My ego was simultaneously inflated and bruised, and learning to live inside that contradiction sent me to strange and regrettable mental places. Trying to explain it to friends and family felt mostly futile, not because they lacked empathy, but because the experience itself is so unique and singular that I couldn’t find the proper language to explain how it felt. Unfortunately, I lacked the insight to recognize this at the time, and I lashed out instead, straining relationships and, in some cases, losing them altogether.

Alongside all of this, I started to take stock of my life with a more unforgiving severity. Things that once felt manageable, or at least distracting, no longer did. Work especially stopped offering any sense of fulfillment or refuge; I often felt unsupported, and there were moments when it seemed that neurodivergence was poorly understood rather than intentionally accommodated. Over time, that lack of alignment compounded my dissatisfaction, aand I eventually concluded that stepping away was the most honest decision I could make.

For a while, I felt as if I lacked direction, and rightly so. With the job market tightening and uncertainty everywhere, fear quietly took over, and I began building things not out of curiosity or conviction, but out of urgency to stay employable, to prove relevance, to outrun the possibility of being left behind. The work felt productive on the surface, but hollow underneath, driven more by anxiety than intention. It took a while to realize that my wires were getting crossed, and motion alone isn’t direction. I felt that I needed a detox, and with the newfound freedom I had from quitting my job, I took a much-needed retreat in the form of a two-week trip to Iceland. There, I explored my purpose, my being, and truly felt one with nature. Om.

I think things have improved since then. Stepping away from corporate life has given me a new sense of freedom and allowed me to move through the world with more intention and clarity. I’ve been able to really focus on the kinds of work I actually care about: working in small and controlled environments (in this case, just myself), building my own projects, using my skills in ways that feel meaningful, and thinking seriously about how to make things better rather than merely functional. Designing with intention, and in ways that bring people joy, has become a priority. On the side, I’ve been able to go to places I’d always dreamed of visiting. I’ve gotten a lot of new clothes that have made me feel more secure in my identity and how I present myself. I’ve loved, and I’ve lost, and I’ve come to accept that as part of the process. And most of all, I’ve found community in the people I met through this experience, and I’m deeply grateful for the friendships that came out of it.

This game has changed my life in more ways than just the money, the pride and the angst. It changed what I had believed about progress, success, and what fulfillment was supposed to look like. It gave me something tangible, but it also took away the illusions I had been quietly relying on. It taught me that I have the freedom to explore, to think for myself, and chart a course on my own terms.

In Jeopardy, the defining rule is that you must always respond in the form of a question.

I think it’s time I start living in the form of one, too.