I don't know if this even counts as a confession, really. More like... an observation? A weird, low-grade ache I've been carrying around. I think maybe I'm becoming a caricature of myself, or what I thought a successful person should be. Is that weird? Does everyone feel this? I find myself doing these things, and in the moment, it feels right, like I'm playing the part, but then later... later it just feels hollow, you know? Like, yesterday. I had this big presentation to the board. THE board. All these grey-haired dudes and one woman who looks like she eats iron for breakfast. And I'm there, in my best suit, which is probably too expensive for what I actually make, but you gotta project, right? And I put on these glasses. Non-prescription. Just... for effect. To make me look older, more serious, like I’ve got some gravitas. Which, honestly, I don't know if I do. I'm 38. That's not exactly *young*, but in that room, it felt like I was still in high school. So I'm up there, with my little presentation clicker, and I start talking about "synergistic paradigms" and "leveraging core competencies for maximum impact." Total corporate speak, right? Stuff I picked up from old textbooks and probably a few bad TED talks. I could see some of them nodding, like they understood. Or maybe they were just nodding off. Who knows. But I kept going, "We need to operationalize our strategic imperatives and ensure robust stakeholder engagement across all verticals." I even said "verticals." I almost laughed out loud at myself, but then I remembered where I was. And the whole time, I'm thinking, "This isn't me." Like, the real me would rather be in a dusty art studio, covered in paint, listening to some obscure indie band. The real me probably wouldn't even know what a "vertical" is in a corporate sense. I just... I *do* it. I put on the glasses, I use the words, I perform. And they bought it. Literally. They approved the budget for my whole "disruptive innovation initiative." Which sounds so impressive, but it’s basically just... an ad campaign. A really expensive ad campaign. After the meeting, Mr. Henderson, the CEO – a man whose smile never quite reaches his eyes – shook my hand and said, "Excellent work, [My Name]. Very forward-thinking. You really grasp the zeitgeist." Zeitgeist! I almost snorted. The "zeitgeist" I grasp is probably more about which brand of instant ramen is on sale. But I just smiled, nodded, and said, "Thank you, sir. Always striving for optimal brand equity." Optimal brand equity. What even IS that? I don't know if I even *believe* in half the stuff I say. It’s like I have two lives. There's the one where I'm this slick marketing exec, pulling off big deals, and then there's the other one where I come home to my tiny apartment, order takeout, and stare at a half-finished canvas for hours, wishing I had the guts to just quit and actually *make* something that matters. My landlord keeps sending me passive-aggressive texts about the rent. My credit card bill is a scary monster under the bed. So I keep showing up. I keep putting on the glasses. I keep saying "synergistic paradigms." I don't know if it's exhaustion or just... some kind of emotional short-circuit, but when I got home yesterday, I just sat on the floor in my living room and stared at the wall. Not sad, not angry. Just... blank. Like watching a movie where you don't care about any of the characters. And I thought, "Is this it? Is this what 'making it' feels like?" Because if it is, it's pretty beige. Pretty flat. Sometimes I wonder if I'm just playing a role so well that I've forgotten who's supposed to be playing it. Like, who is actually in there? Does it even matter? I guess I just wanted to get it out. The whole thing. It’s pretty funny, though, isn’t it? The non-prescription glasses. The jargon. God. I'm such a fraud. A successful, approved-budget-fraud. Ha.