Authenticity

Yesterday, I took a walk to the Brooklyn Bridge, a notorious tourist trap but also a beautiful and marvelous feat of engineering. I wanted to photograph it (a cliché, I know) so I can make a print for someone as a gift. Hours passed in what felt like minutes. This experience, this immersion in creation for its own sake, is what makes me call myself an artist. So when a friend of mine–who reads this blog–made an off-hand comment critical of the fact that I call myself an artist, I wasn’t offended, but it did get me thinking about: who is an artist? What makes someone an artist? Is it enough to just make art? Do you have to show it? Sell it? Call yourself an artist on your LinkedIn profile?

I like to write, and sometimes I like to write about writing. This meta-reflection offers valuable insights into the creative process. There’s a touch of irony here—similar to artists who teach because they can’t sustain themselves solely through their art. In my case, I’m neither successful enough to earn a living from my writing nor from teaching it, but I genuinely enjoy both activities nonetheless. This practice of examining one’s craft often deepens understanding, as teaching something frequently strengthens our own grasp of it.

Sometimes we do things because we want to, sometimes we do things because we must. You might tackle that tedious spreadsheet at work not because you love Excel, but because it’s your responsibility. Or you might blast that 80s power ballad for the twentieth time simply because it brings you joy. Simple enough, right?

There’s a subreddit called r/amiugly where people post pictures of themselves and ask the community to rate their appearance. It’s a place where people seek validation, reassurance that they are beautiful, or at least not ugly. After spending time on this subreddit, I’ve noticed something striking: most people posting aren’t ugly at all. They’re generally normal-looking individuals who skew young and presumably struggle with low self-esteem. It’s a fascinating window into the minds of people who are deeply insecure about their appearance despite—in most cases—having nothing to worry about.

“I don’t know.” Three words that, when spoken genuinely, reveal more wisdom than a thousand confident declarations. Yet they’re among the hardest words for many of us to say. There’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance. Few have mastered the art of walking it, and fewer still have the wisdom to know when to step back. People with enough self awareness to recognize their fallibility are–in my experience–a rare breed.

At some point in recent history, travel transformed from a luxury into a cultural expectation. The rise of social media has dramatically changed how and why we travel. A 2019 study found that 40% of millennials choose travel destinations based on “Instagrammability” rather than cost or cultural experience1. While technology has proliferated travel information and made the world more accessible, it has also shifted our motivations in subtle ways.

Personal growth requires honest assessment of our blind spots, biases, and behavioral patterns that might be holding us back. In my many conversations with strangers, I’ve recently made a conscious effort to listen more and speak less. This seemingly simple shift has proven remarkably powerful for understanding others and, somewhat surprisingly, myself. People reveal extraordinary depths when given adequate space and your attentive silence. Strategic questions help navigate the conversation, but what truly matters is creating space for others to express themselves—and most people will naturally fill conversational gaps if you allow them.

Rejection delivers a particular kind of sting that transcends context and circumstance. Whether or not it becomes easier to handle with age and experience remains an open question—the anticipation of rejection rarely prepares us for its emotional impact when it actually occurs. I’ve developed a certain expertise in rejection through abundant experience. I’ve been rejected by educational institutions, potential employers, friends, family members, and romantic partners. I’ve faced rejection from people I’ve deeply admired and respected, people I’ve loved and trusted, and even complete strangers.

In the bygone era, we had résumés—and today, many of us still maintain these professional summaries (or curriculum vitae, for the academically inclined). But now we also curate digital identities through social profiles that serve as our new first impressions in an increasingly online world. For the professionally ambitious, these digital personas have become the initial point of contact, the gateway through which career opportunities flow. In the context of employment, these digital breadcrumbs form a constellation that hiring managers use to make judgments about your candidacy long before any interview. Best hope those recruiters don’t unearth your anonymous Reddit alter ego.

When someone asks me, “s’whattaya do?”, I have a difficult time providing a straight answer. These days, I suppose any of these would be acceptable answers: Software Artisan Philosopher Amateur Blogger Author Investor Entrepreneur Human With Two Dogs Computer Person Techie Nerd Former Lyft Driver Autodidact Potato Farmer People often get too attached to job titles and labels, but in truth, you can put whatever you want on your résumé and there’s nothing anyone can do to stop you. (They could verify your employment history or other facts, but you are free to identify with whichever profession you choose.)