Ever since I started embracing the idea of flirting with the world, I’ve found myself way more social. Striking up conversations with strangers, saying “why not” to random invites, hosting all kinds of things. In my mind, that’s the sociable, charismatic self I aspire to be—putting myself out there, doing things for the plot, collecting stories.
Probably the most interesting story from all this: talking to a stranger in the sauna somehow turned into an invitation to be on a dating comedy show. Next thing I knew, I was one of five guy contestants up on stage—all because of one open question.
Another thing that came out of it was this neighborhood meetup I’ve been hosting every month with some friends. I struck up a conversation with someone at a friend’s house-cooling. Turned out she had just moved to Long Island City and wanted to meet more people in the area. We talked about how it’d be nice to actually know our neighbors. Fast forward a few weeks—we just hosted our second LIC meetup, with over 50 people showing up to hang out.
Maybe because of how empowered I felt, I started hosting more: Sunday writing clubs, a hotpot night for alumni from my high school, a beach volleyball day by the water (where I accidentally hit the ball into the East River). Hosting became my default. Turns out it’s often just a few taps on Partiful.
And it’s summer in NYC—every weekend there’s something happening. After two years here, I get invites from new friends, old acquaintances, even people I just met. Not because I’m popular—NYC just puts you at the center of things if you’re a decent human who shows up.
Back in LA, if I wanted connection, I had to be proactive to make plans. In NYC, I can be passive and things still happen.
But honestly, I’m feeling a little burned out. As an introvert who recharges alone, my weekends have been so packed I haven’t had time to recover from my social hangovers. I’m over-socialized and drained. Part of me just wants to disappear for a while, work on my own stuff, then come back months later.
I feel caught between two identities. One is the social, magnetic guy—charismatic, connected, well-liked. The one who fears missing out. The other is the builder—the part of me that knows I can just do things, make cool stuff, pursue flow. That side wants agency, freedom, long-term momentum. To be someone others want to build with—focused, grounded, compounding.
Both are real. But when they’re both active, they pull in opposite directions. I can’t go out and lock in at the same time. Trying to do both costs me clarity, momentum, and peace.
Maybe being too open comes at a cost. When you’re always absorbing every perspective, it’s easy to lose your own. Every new person shifts the mirror. And in a city full of lives you could live, you drift fast without a clear anchor.
I’m starting to think there’s value in just choosing a perspective. Picking a lane instead of floating. People say SF is a monoculture—but maybe that’s the point. Sometimes I think about moving there and starting fresh. But I know that’s just me coping. If I can’t figure it out here, I won’t figure it out there.
At this stage, I want to care less about what others think, get grounded in my values, and start building toward a vision. I need to be real about the tradeoffs—and commit to the version of me I want to grow into.
I’ve got ambition, ideas, and self-awareness. But time and energy are finite. Without clarity and boundaries, it’s easy to drift. If I want alignment, I need to be way more intentional about where my energy goes. It’s not a motivation problem—I just haven’t built a container to hold it.
Right now, I’m playing too many games at once. Trying to build. Grow an audience. Be magnetic. Find love. Maintain friendships. None of these are bad. But trying to do it all means doing it all halfway. It’s better to make the tradeoff consciously than try to have it all and end up with nothing.
Most realizations come in two steps. First, you know it logically. Then, eventually, it hits you emotionally. I think I’m finally at that second part. The way I’m operating now is only going to leave me plateaued in a life I don’t actually want.
Like most things, it’s not black and white. But I do think it’s time to start saying no and protect my energy. To see locking in not as a limitation—but as a commitment. To focus. To trust myself. To get clear on what matters and build from there.