It’s the first of May. My birthday month. A time when some people post their baby pictures, others their biggest flexes, and a few brave souls post their actual faces unfiltered. Meanwhile, I remain… strategically obscured. Un-selfied. A fog machine away from full noir.

Let’s talk about that.

I’ve been running this blog—this whole curious, chaotic, contemplative corner of the internet—for years. I’ve shared thoughts on grief, joy, soup, shadows, Scooby-Doo, and the psychology of survival. And yet, you’ve never seen my face. Not once.

No profile pic. No “here I am in front of a brick wall looking thoughtful.” Not even a blurry “caught off guard” candid.

And it’s not because I’m shy (spoiler: I’m not). It’s because there’s power in mystery. And because curated identity doesn’t have to come with a high-res image. Sometimes, the realest thing you can do is not show it all.

In a world obsessed with “authenticity” that somehow still means filters, captions, and that one good side, I’ve built something different. Call it Bronx boss meets Scooby-Doo energy. The kind of leadership that rolls up in a metaphorical van with snacks, strategy, and just enough fog to keep ‘em guessing.

So as May begins and the “birthday content” starts rolling out across timelines, here’s what I’m posting: presence over pictures. Vibes over vanity. Mystery with a dash of moxie.

And if I ever do post a blog photo, it better come with a jazz soundtrack, emotional intrigue, and lighting so moody it deserves its own therapist.

Until then, I’ll be here—typing in the mist.