I scan every room now and I can't stop
A woman I met at a bar in Mexico City asked what I did for a living and I lied. Said I was a teacher.
Not because I was ashamed. Because I was tired of what happens after I tell the truth.
You say "I run a few online businesses" and something shifts behind their eyes. The posture changes. The questions get specific in a way that isn't curiosity. How much do you make. How'd you get started. Can I pick your brain sometime.
Two years ago, when I was delivering Chipotle orders, nobody wanted to pick my brain about anything. Nobody leaned in when I talked. Nobody followed up the next day with a "great meeting you, I'd love to connect."
That's the trap. You build something that works and every new person becomes an audition. And you start auditioning them right back.
It happened slow. First it was the obvious ones. A guy at a coworking space in Bali who spent forty-five minutes asking about my revenue before he asked my name. An old friend from high school who hadn't texted in six years and then DMed me the week I posted something about traveling full-time.
Those are easy to spot. You laugh them off.
But then it gets into everything. A buddy invites you somewhere and you catch yourself wondering what he needs. Someone pays you a compliment and you wait for the ask. You're seeing someone and she mentions wanting to start a business and your first thought isn't cool, tell me about it. It's here we go.
You become a person who scans every room. Always measuring the gap between what someone says and what they probably want. And the worst part is you're right often enough that you can't talk yourself out of it.
I caught myself doing it with my own family. My younger brother called last year just to talk. Somewhere in the conversation he mentioned he was thinking about buying a car. Normal thing. Telling me about his life. And my brain went: he's about to ask for money.
He didn't. He just wanted to talk to his brother.
I sat there after we hung up feeling like the worst version of myself. Twenty minutes on the phone with someone who loves me and I spent half of it looking for the angle.
That's what this does. Not the big betrayals. Not the scammers or the pitch artists. It's the slow erosion of your ability to take anyone at face value. You lose the muscle for basic trust. And trust is the thing that makes every relationship worth having.
I told that woman in Mexico I was a teacher and we talked for two hours. About her family. About the neighborhood she grew up in. About how the tacos at the place around the corner were overrated but the horchata was worth the walk. She didn't ask me a single question about income or systems or how she could do what I do.
Best conversation I'd had in months. And I had to lie to get it.
I don't have a clean answer for this one. I've tried being more generous with my assumptions. Giving people the benefit of the doubt on purpose. It works for about a week and then somebody proves me right and the wall goes back up twice as high.
What I do now is small. When I meet someone, I don't mention work unless they ask twice. If it comes up I keep it vague. Not because I'm hiding. Because I want ten more minutes of being a regular person before I become someone's opportunity.
My parents never dealt with this. Nine kids, two jobs each, no margin for any of it. Nobody was trying to network with a guy pouring concrete or a woman cleaning houses. Their friendships were ordinary. You showed up. You helped. You ate together. Nobody was angling for anything because there was nothing to angle for.
I think about that more than I probably should. The cleanest relationships I've ever had were when I had nothing anyone wanted.
Some mornings I paddle out early and it's just me and two other guys sitting on boards waiting for a set. Nobody knows what anyone does for a living. Nobody cares. You're just bodies in the water reading the same horizon. That hour is the most honest part of my week.
Everything after it, I'm still figuring out how to take people at their word.
— Best, Jose
