Photo by Jacob Stone on Unsplash
For the last number of years, my modus operandi has been to increase my visibility. More networking, more connecting and more socialising.
In truth, I’m not sure I was particularly successful at it. I’ve built some good connections along the way, but they have broadly remained at surface level. Whilst it’s nice to have acquaintances, many end up being a case of mutually watching one other’s Instagram stories. I might have a conversation every now and then. It could be after a few months. Sometimes, it’s after a few years.
For some, it is understandable. We live in distant places. Regular physical interaction is not possible. It was my choice, after all to up sticks and move from my country of birth. For others, it’s just simply a case of diverging life paths. We are different people, and so the connection has naturally loosened.
But often, it’s not about distance. This happened with people who lived in the same city. That was both when I was living in London, and now in Brussels.
My response was simply to try harder. But the harder I tried, the more futile the exercise felt. I’ve worked on my ‘social skills’ and doing things that people are meant to do in the hopes that this would bear fruit.
Because I was trying so hard, it seemed that people implicitly started relying on me to put in the effort. Without realising, I’ve spent much of my adult life building relationships where the expectation was that I would be pulling most of the weight.
It’s only now, by the end of 2025, that I’ve finally given up the ghost. I’ve not been putting too much effort out there, and I suppose it’s unsurprising that my social life has dwindled. It’s a lonely process, but an important one.
Now, I see that many of my past friendships have been highly conditional. So many of them have expected me to be the mature, softer one. People assume I have my s**t together, and so I’ve ended up absorbing a lot of emotional energy. It has been a long standing pattern throughout my life.
I’ve actually lost some friendships as I’ve come into my own. At first, I thought it was because I was being too outspoken (after all, that’s what everyone has told me my whole life). But now, I realise that it was because these friendships were based upon the idea that the other person can say or do what they want, but I cannot.
And so, I’ve stumbled upon an uncomfortable truth. If authenticity is the key for self-fulfillment and enlightenment, it’s also been a one-way ticket to ostracisation. That’s not the case for everyone, but it seems to be for me.
There are some who become more self-aware, and this has an immediate boost in their lives. People notice it, and react positively. But for people like me, it actually leads to further shunning. Many people preferred who I was before, when I had less opinions.
But there is comfort in realising that I don’t need to be social. I don’t need to be super public or visible. In fact, my life is better this way. In fact, I think it is how it is meant to be. Some people, like my dad (front of mind as I’ve been working on his biography) were born for the limelight. Others are best kept a little more hidden.
That is not some sort of self-effacing claim. It is a realisation that certain people are better suited to public facing profiles. These are often flawed but absorbing people who attract admiration and love. I see this very vividly with my father.
I, on the other hand provoke a sense of intrigue, and often intimidation. My opinions tend to be too avant-garde for the room, so I often break a room’s delicate harmony. My perceptive nature and lack of desire to follow social norms provokes suspicion, and for some, is a danger to their egos.
This is only becoming more stark as I unshackle my sense of ‘true-self’. The hot-takes are no longer toned down. I’m no longer in social structures and employment where I can be easily punished. I think this is how it is meant to be.
I was pointed by ChatGPT to Edward Said’s description of exile. Exile is not just meant in a literal sense, but in a state of mind. Said himself was displaced to many different countries, and although he had the safety of academic tenure, he was never a part of any establishment.
Said was too interested in the truth to be especially popular by any side. His essays on orientalism led to ostracisation in the academic elites, whilst his nuanced views on the Middle East only served to upset everyone. He received many death threats on his life, and was surveyed for many years by the FBI. There is, after all, nothing more dangerous than the truth.
In his essays, Said does not romanticise this sense of exile. He describes it as difficult and often lonely. But he also describes it as necessary. The world requires people who can see things without being a part of the established order.
This fits my life better than any other description I have seen.