06/01/2026 — originally written as a reflection on the biggest learning from 2025.

It was the first party I’d attended after moving to NYC after 2 years in SF. I was a plus-one. This guy stared me in the eye and asked,

“Tell me about yourself”.

What started as an introduction began to feel like an interrogation. He kept asking me to go deeper, unsatisfied when I tried to talk about my move or my job. He’s probably one of those ‘I hate small talk’ people. Eventually I felt less like I was introducing myself and more like I was trying to justify my existence. Not just “who are you?” but “why are you here?”

I spent the next 6 months in an existential crisis. Pages and pages in my journal trying to write the sentence that would summarize myself. As if there was a correct answer. In school, I was surrounded by students, so I wore the identity of a student. In San Francisco, I was surrounded by founders, so I wore the identity of a founder. But New York is so many people at once; there’s no single prescriptive identity to adopt. New York is a city full of eyes — you’re constantly being witnessed but no one is really looking at you. You have the freedom to “be yourself”, but honestly I never really knew what that meant.

It clicked one afternoon when I was sitting on a bench at McCarran Park. I watched a group of guys throw a football around for an hour. They just looked like they belonged with each other. It felt so natural and effortless for them to exist in harmony. With ease. It dawned on me that I'd never just belonged like that.

So much of who I am is deliberate construction. There was nothing for me to inherit from my parents. In the closet, I had to invent someone who was palatable to the world; and after coming out, I had to reinvent that person again. My therapist used to talk about “foundation” - the parts of yourself that were always there. But when I look inwards, I can’t find anything firm to stand on.

Existing has always taken conscious effort for me. I never felt like I could just play football at the park. It has been about becoming rather than being—the present version of myself always felt incongruent with wherever I currently was.

I always thought of authenticity as an effortlessness. An ease to just “be who you are”. As if that’s obvious. But what does it mean to be authentic If I’m always watching myself? Trying to be authentic is self-defeating. Looking at it changes it. You can't dance like no one's watching because you are always watching yourself.

Fuck effortlessness. What if you are actually the most important audience member in your own performance? Perhaps authenticity is just putting on a show for yourself to enjoy. Your own gaze is the only consistent witness to your life. Is it kind? Do you like what you see? It takes effort.

We spend so much time by ourselves and not enough time with ourselves. The missing piece was recognizing my own presence in my life. The belonging that I’d always sought like those boys who played football I could find in my own company. I hate to admit that my therapist was right; this whole time, I am my foundation.

Maybe it’s on me for overthinking it, but “tell me about yourself” is a dumb question to ask at a party. It’s not even a good question to ask at a job interview. It’s lazy. How can anyone distill all the layers of their being into a sentence?

I wish in that moment I didn’t feel the need to explain my existence. Existence precedes justification. I used to research the biological/evolutionary function of homosexuality. As if a “why” would change anything. It's like asking the sky to justify why it's blue. No matter what the answer is, it is blue. I am here.