I saw this kid at the gym the other day, maybe college age, he was wearing one of those huge hoodies, like the kind that could swallow a small child, even though it was kinda warm inside. And he was trying to lift weights, you know, the free weights, but he kept glancing around at the other guys, these big dudes, probably athletes or something, with arms like tree trunks. And he’d do a rep, then pull the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands, almost like he was trying to hide how skinny his arms were. It was just... I don't know, it hit me kinda hard. Like, I remember that feeling, man. That exact feeling of just wanting to disappear, to not be seen, especially when you’re trying so hard to be something you’re not, or at least not yet. It’s dumb, I know. I’m thirty-fucking-eight, got bills coming out my ass, mortgage, car payment, trying to keep up with rent here in the city, and I'm still thinking about some kid's skinny arms at the gym. But it just brought me back to being that age, when everything felt so critical, so scrutinized. And you’re constantly comparing yourself, aren't you? Even now, I catch myself doing it, looking at my friends who’ve got their shit together, or at least they look like they do, with their fancy jobs and their perfect little families, and I’m just... here. Still wondering if I made the right calls, still feeling like I’m wearing a goddamn hoodie trying to hide my own underdeveloped parts, whatever those are these days. It’s not even sad, really. Just... flat. Like a really old soda. I should probably feel something more about it, about seeing that kid, about remembering that feeling, about still feeling it myself sometimes, but nah. Just kinda numb to it all. Just another Tuesday night, scrolling through this shit, wondering what the hell I’m doing with my life while some poor kid is probably still at that gym, pulling down his sleeves, feeling like he's not enough. Fuck.