Why am I Here?

When the pain of staying silent becomes the greater risk.

FFor months, I’ve been debating whether to keep this Substack alive or shut it down forever. I’ve struggled with the pressure of a cadence I can’t commit to and a focus I refuse to narrow. With my business thriving, I have zero interest in monetization. So why do it? Why risk handing my deepest thoughts over to a data-industrial complex that builds a profile on every human—a record that could easily be weaponized against me? Why risk my hard-won peace for something with clear downsides and no quantifiable gain?

The answer is simple: the pain of staying silent has finally eclipsed the pain of speaking out.

Something in me is coming out of the closet. Not the one you might think, but a deeper room where I have kept my witness hidden. I am aghast at the world, and despite the small bubble of peace I have meticulously built around myself, I can no longer look away. I have borne my share of human suffering, and while I loathe risking the stability I’ve found, the truth is pushing against the door.

I am infuriated by the state of our world. I lived in the Middle East during a war; I have seen the bombed-out skeletons of buildings and seen innocent people in casts and bandages. Today, I see that same cycle fueled by the usual suspects: war profiteering by the fossil fuel and military-industrial complexes. What is more sinister now is the blatant graft—a first family selling drones to the Pentagon while the geopolitical interests of Vladimir Putin are served (intentionally?) by the chaos. We are told there is no money for food assistance or healthcare for our neediest, yet we find endless billions to feed the mouth of war.

At home, we are witnessing the rise of a secret police force and black-site prisons. These are tools of distraction, designed to demonize the vulnerable—immigrants and people of color—to keep us from looking at the staggering income inequality driven by the billionaire class. Big Tech has fueled this fire, distracting our collective minds and providing the tools for insidious misinformation while hollowing out the business model of the journalists who once held power to account. To me, the nine scariest words in the English language have become: “I’m a new technology and I’m here to help”.

But even in this, I find a different kind of power—the power of courage.

I find strength in the survivors of Jeffrey Epstein’s abuse, women who endured the unthinkable and are now showing us a bravery that the billionaire class can’t fathom. I am moved by the protestors in Minneapolis and beyond who have put their bodies in the street. And I am inspired by the artists who continue to resist, showing far more backbone than our elite law firms or traditional media outlets. Survivors, protestors, and artists are my heroes. I aspire to model their courage.

One of my favorite authors, Alexander Chee, wrote: “A book gets written when the pain of writing the book is less than the pain of not writing the book”.

I’ve realized that I am at that threshold. If you want to hear from me occasionally as I navigate my emerging artist voice, I invite you to subscribe or follow.