When I’m out and about, I often wonder what people think when they see me. Do they feel sorry for me? Do they wonder what kind of life I have? Do they see me as one of them? Would they ever guess that I read books or that I’m engaged or that I have a big network?

A couple of stories.

About twelve years ago, I was furniture shopping with my parents and I couldn’t get my chair into the store. My parents told me to wait outside. As I was sitting there, a woman passing by pulled out a dollar bill and gave it to me.

My college roommate Sami and I were catching a movie a couple of years ago. Before we went in, a woman stopped me in the lobby and asked if I was there to see Alice in Wonderland. I couldn’t help but laugh, because she had no idea that Sami and I were good friends hanging out–talking about his time in Dubai, girls, and my book.

Usually I don’t care what people think of me or how they see me. There are times when I need to make an impression on people, and I do. I think back to the people who know me and I feel fortunate that enough people know who I am.