It occured to me just now that I do not look like a writer. 

I hesitate to call myself a writer. Labels make me feel weird. (It\’s because of how special I think I am.) But I can say this: Whether or not I am a writer,  I do not look like a writer.

This revelation (which, as you will see shortly, is worthy of eye rolls and scoffing) occurred after I stepped out of the shower and was admiring both my biceps and my genius after discovering that I could mix sunscreen with lotion to apply it to my tattoos quite a bit easier; (a quick google search says not to do this, but I\’m going to do it anyway.) I just came back from the gym, and my upper body is a little bit swollen, meaning my arms are at their best. I\’m also down to 181, which makes things show up much better.

Af first glance, I look vain, especially when I wear a medium sized t-shirt. Shallow. —a bro, but one with decent taste, I like to think.

Upon closer inspection, I appear pretentious and mercurial, with hints of intelligence and depth.

A little closer and then my anxious neuroticism appears.

If you go deeper, you end up here. This is where the/m[y] my ideas are. I spend a lot of time here.

Maybe my appearance is why people don\’t take my ideas more seriously. I don\’t look like a guy with ideas. But I want to be a guy with relevant ideas that are taken into serious consideration—whether at work, in writing, or in conversation.

If I want to communicate my ideas with more people, I am going to have to cultivate my persona and my reputation. (Which does not include giving up squats and bicep curls.)

It is a brute (and cruel) fact of life that people do not (or perhaps cannot) spend the time to get to know my/your deeper, truer self (unless they are your closest friends and family, but even they are suspect). So, personas and reputations are important. They must be tended to. They are a bridge-builder and a key.


A ghost sits by a great and unscalable wall. The ground is barren. The sky is dark. Yet the wall is clearly pale and golden, a lusterless, dull yellow. The ghost appears to suspect that there are many gods and buddhas beyond the wall. And so he stands there.

I do not know what this means.