When I started my career, I believed something that seemed perfectly reasonable.
Nobody ever told me that. It’s simply how I thought careers worked.
It took me several years to realize I was wrong.
Waiting
After spending a year working in robotics in Paris, I moved to Montreal and joined the Assassin’s Creed Origins AI team.
I arrived as a Level 2 programmer.
For the next two and a half years, I poured myself into the project.
I built core AI systems. I fixed bugs whenever I had spare time. I helped other programmers when I could.
As the project approached the end of production, I found myself touching more and more parts of the game simply because there was always another problem that needed solving.
I enjoyed it.
I also quietly assumed I was working toward my Level 3.
The project shipped.
No promotion.
My lead was fantastic. We had a great relationship. There was no conflict.
It just… didn’t happen.
So I waited.
Starting over
After shipping ACO, I joined the Far Cry 5 team to help them ship the game.
New project.
New teammates.
New lead.
New opportunity to prove myself.
Six months later, the game shipped.
Still Level 2.
That one made sense. Six months simply wasn’t enough time for a promotion cycle. Nobody had done anything wrong.
So once again, I waited.
Then I moved to Far Cry 6.
Already doing the job
Far Cry 6 was different.
I was responsible for some of the project’s core gameplay systems. Before long, other programmers started coming to me with questions. I naturally began organizing work, reviewing code, helping solve technical problems and coordinating part of the team.
Without really noticing it, I had started leading.
One day, someone suggested making it official, because it was working.
The answer came back.
“He can’t be Team Lead. He’s still Level 2. Team Leads need to be Level 3 at least.”
I remember finding that strangely funny.
I was already doing the job.
The title was the only thing missing.
And people were suprised too that I was only Level 2.
So my Level 3 finally became the priority, except promotions don’t happen overnight.
By the time I reached Level 3, another answer arrived.
“He just became Level 3. It’s too early for him to become Team Lead.”
So I waited again.
A few months later, it finally happened.
I officially became Team Lead.
Two years later, I reached Level 4.
The promotions eventually came.
Just not until I started taking ownership of where I wanted to go.
The realization
Looking back, I don’t think anybody failed me.
My managers cared.
My leads supported me.
HR had rules that existed for good reasons, even if they sometimes produced frustrating situations.
The problem wasn’t the people.
It was my assumption.
I had been waiting for someone else to drive my career.
Nobody wakes up in the morning thinking about your career as much as you do.
They’re thinking about milestones.
Hiring. Budgets. The next playtest. The next release.
Your career matters.
But mostly to you.
That doesn’t mean your manager shouldn’t help. A good one absolutely will.
It simply means that your career is ultimately your responsibility.
I’m doing my part
That realization changed the way I approached every conversation about it.
I stopped assuming people knew what I wanted.
I started talking.
Those conversations changed everything.
Not because promotions suddenly became easy.
Because I finally had a direction.
Today, whenever I mentor younger engineers, this is probably the piece of advice I repeat the most.
Don’t wait for someone to remember everything you’ve accomplished over the last year.
Don’t assume people know where you want to go.
Ask.
Make your ambitions explicit.
Find out what’s missing.
Take ownership of the path.
Because if there’s one lesson my career has taught me, it’s this:
Nobody is going to care about it more than you do.
And once I stopped waiting for someone else to steer it, my career finally started moving forward.