Empathy, Excel and Endless Movie References

Existing in a professional environment while neurodivergent is like attending a potluck where everyone somehow knows to bring a beautifully arranged charcuterie board, and I show up proudly holding a single sleeve of saltines.

The real kicker? I rarely know if what I’m feeling is actually mine or a sample platter of everyone else’s emotions. I am deeply empathetic—I know when you’re upset before you do, and I will absolutely carry your stress in my back pocket for days. But I often can’t tell if the loud thoughts in my head are my own or if I accidentally picked them up like a leftover coffee cup from a conference room.

Because of this, I reach out for external anchors. While my colleagues might bond over happy hours or fantasy football, I reach for Tommy Boy when I’m on the verge of laughing myself right out of my ergonomic chair

When I want to feel life crack open in that raw, electrifying way? I think about that scene in Garden State where they stand at the edge of the quarry, scream into the abyss wearing trash bags, and for one fleeting moment, feel alive and unconfined. That moment is a love letter to every part of me that feels too big or too loud for the conference room.

My most enduring friendships have been solidified not through shared meals or intense brainstorms, but through finishing each other’s movie quotes. The day a close friend effortlessly continued my When Harry Met Sally line—“You’re right. You’re right. I know you’re right.”—that was the day we were bonded forever. We could have survived the Oregon Trail together, that’s how serious it felt.

Maybe everyone tries to connect through cultural references, but I doubt it. I suspect most people don’t need to mentally rehearse The West Wing dialogue before presenting a quarterly update.

In my world, music, books, and movies aren’t just entertainment; they’re the emotional GPS I rely on to figure out what I’m feeling and how to express it to the rest of the world—especially at work.

When someone tells me, “Just be yourself,” I wonder: Which self? The one that narrates life in Bridget Jones monologues or the one that tears up to The Killers during an Excel pivot table demonstration?

Being neurodivergent in the workplace means my inner world is sometimes so loud it drowns out the polite small talk and scheduled synergy sessions. But it also means I get to live life with a cinematic soundtrack, epic plot twists, and more references than a Tarantino film.

So if you catch me quoting Tommy Boy in a strategy meeting or humming Death Cab for Cutie before a presentation, just know: that’s me trying to connect with you, trying to find the common thread between my weird, wonderful brain and yours.

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