Okay. Fine. Let's get this over with.
You're on the About page, which means somewhere a little algorithm in your brain is expecting a name, a job title, maybe a photo of me drinking coffee in a way that suggests I have my life together.
A hometown. A "fun fact." Three to five bullet points about my personality, written like a dating profile that's trying too hard.
You're not getting any of that.
Not because I'm hiding some big scandal.
I just genuinely do not care to hand you a version of myself, curated and bite-sized, so you can decide in four seconds
whether I'm worth your scroll.
That's the whole game everyone else is playing ... look at me, here's my life, here's my face, here's my morning routine,
please perform your interest back at me in the form of a heart-shaped button.
No thanks.
I grew up before any of that was a thing you were supposed to do, and I'm not starting now out of politeness.
So here's what you get instead.
I'm a voice. That's it.
One voice in a world that's gotten very loud and very shiny and very obsessed with being watched.
I'm not interested in being watched.
I'm interested in looking ... at things, at people, at the strange and lovely mess of being alive ... and telling you what I saw.
And what I see, mostly, is that the world is still absurdly wonderful, even now, even with all the noise.
I write about what baffles me, what pulls me in, what catches my eye.
A whale who apparently helped catching fish. Twins raised apart who somehow picked the same year to marry a woman named Linda. A house built forever because a widow was afraid of what would happen if the hammering stopped.
A museum of body parts, because of course someone built that. 😒
Sea otters holding hands while they sleep so the ocean doesn't pull them apart from each other in the night.
I didn't make any of that up. I don't have to. It's already sitting there, waiting for someone to notice it and say "wait ... what?"
That's the job I've given myself.
Not influencer, not content creator, not personal brand.
Just someone who still gets stopped in her tracks by a good story, a strange fact, a small act of loyalty between two otters.
Someone who still finds people ... and animals! and honestly, animals are doing great ... capable of astonishing kindness when they feel like it.
I also get baffled and mildly furious at how differently the world works now, and yes ... I write about that too,
because muttering into the void is cheaper than therapy and occasionally funnier.
What I won't do is tell you who I am.
Not my age, not my job, not my face, not my "story."
Consider it a small, deliberate act of rebellion against a culture that thinks every person owes the internet a biography before they're allowed to speak.
I don't. Neither do you, for what it's worth.
So no, you won't find out anything about me here.
You'll just find the bits.
Make of them what you will.
Rosita