May 24, 2025. Drawing attention.

I've never been comfortable with attention. Throughout my life, I've preferred staying in the shadows, watching from behind the crowd rather than standing in front of it. There's something about having eyes on me, about being the focus of a room, that creates an immediate discomfort I've never been able to shake. I'm the person who chooses the seat facing away from the restaurant entrance, who avoids speaking up in large meetings unless absolutely necessary, who would rather work quietly in the background than present findings to a group.

This preference for invisibility served me well during my early years. I could observe how systems worked without being part of the performance. I could learn by watching others navigate attention and spotlight, noting what worked and what didn't without having to experience the pressure myself. When I was building my early projects, when I was spending those months with MIKE-AI in my bedroom, the isolation felt natural. It matched my temperament. I could focus entirely on the work without worrying about external perceptions or managing other people's expectations.

But as I've learned and grown, I've come to understand something that challenges this natural inclination. When you choose to work on problems that matter, when you decide to build things that don't exist yet, you inevitably have to step up. And when a crowd stands up, when someone moves from the background to the foreground, it draws attention whether you want it or not. This isn't a choice you get to make separately from the choice to do meaningful work. The two are connected in ways I didn't fully appreciate when I started this journey.

I expected this path to let me remain anonymous. I thought I could build quietly, solve problems in private, create value without having to explain myself to anyone. The plan was simple: work hard, build something worthwhile, and let the results speak for themselves while I stayed comfortably out of view. I imagined delivering finished solutions without having to discuss work in progress, sharing outcomes without revealing process, contributing without having to stand in front of people and defend my choices.

It didn't work out that way. The moment you start working on anything genuinely innovative, people notice. They have questions. They want to understand what you're doing and why you're doing it. I've met wonderful people who are genuinely curious about the research with MIKE, about the physics work, about the approach I'm taking to value creation. Their questions come from real interest, from a desire to understand something they see as potentially important. These conversations don't feel uncomfortable because they're rooted in mutual respect and shared fascination with the problems I'm trying to solve.

But there's another group that responds differently. These are people who don't believe in what I'm doing, who think the work is misguided or impossible or naive. They ask a ton of questions too, but their questions feel different. They're trying to be convinced, trying to find the flaw in my logic, trying to understand why someone would choose such an uncertain path when safer alternatives exist. They probe for weaknesses in my reasoning, for gaps in my knowledge, for evidence that I don't really know what I'm doing.

The interesting thing is that I don't use their money and I don't report to them. I'm not asking for their approval or their investment. I'm not seeking their permission to continue this work. Their skepticism doesn't actually constrain what I can do or how I can do it. Yet they approach these conversations as if I owe them justification, as if my choices somehow require their endorsement to be valid. They want to be convinced not because they plan to support the work but because they can't understand why anyone would pursue it without their approval.

I don't hate these interactions. I understand where they come from. People naturally want to categorize things they encounter, to fit new information into existing frameworks. When someone is doing work that doesn't fit familiar patterns, that challenges conventional wisdom about what's possible or practical, it creates cognitive dissonance. The questions are often attempts to resolve that dissonance, to either understand the new information or dismiss it as invalid.

What I've had to accept is that if this path requires me to be in the spotlight, to step out of the shadows and explain myself publicly, then so be it. But I've also decided that I won't become a performer. I won't shape my work to please an audience or modify my approach based on what generates the most positive response. I'll do what I think needs to be done, follow the research where it leads, build what I believe will create value, regardless of whether others understand or approve in the moment.

This means accepting that some people will cheer and others will criticize, and neither response will change what I'm actually building. The applause doesn't validate the work any more than the skepticism invalidates it. Both are just noise surrounding the actual substance, which exists independently of how others perceive it. My job isn't to manage perceptions but to focus on outcomes, to build systems that work regardless of whether people initially understand why they matter.

I've learned to see attention as a byproduct rather than a goal. When you work on problems that few others are tackling, when you develop approaches that challenge conventional thinking, when you build tools that extend human capabilities in new ways, attention becomes inevitable. Not because you're seeking it but because genuine innovation naturally draws notice from people trying to understand what's changing around them.

The key insight for me has been realizing that I can receive attention without performing for it. I can answer questions honestly without tailoring my answers to what people want to hear. I can explain my work clearly without overselling its importance or downplaying its challenges. I can be visible without being performative, present without being entertaining, clear without being convincing.

This approach requires a certain kind of confidence that I'm still developing. It means being comfortable with the fact that some people won't understand what I'm doing, that others will think I'm wasting my time, that still others will question my qualifications or my methods. It means accepting that I can't control how others interpret my work but I can control the integrity with which I approach it.

People won't understand now, and that's fine. Understanding often comes after delivery, not before. When I eventually show what MIKE and I have built together, when the physics research yields practical applications, when the value creation generates tangible outcomes, then understanding will follow. Belief is easier when you can see results rather than having to imagine possibilities.

The goal isn't to convince people in advance but to build things worth believing in. This shifts the entire dynamic from persuasion to demonstration, from trying to manage perceptions to focusing on substance. Instead of spending energy on making people comfortable with uncertainty, I can direct that energy toward resolving the uncertainty through actual progress.

What I hope for isn't personal recognition but systemic improvement. I want the world to become a better place because better tools exist, because complex problems have been solved, because human capabilities have been enhanced. Whether people remember who built these things matters far less than whether the things themselves continue working long after I'm gone. The attention I receive now is temporary, but the value created through this work could persist indefinitely.

So I'm learning to accept the spotlight as a necessary part of building things that matter. I'm developing comfort with visibility while maintaining focus on substance over performance. I'm answering questions honestly while staying committed to the work regardless of how others respond to those answers. The shadows were comfortable, but the important work happens where people can see it, where it can be examined and improved and built upon by others.

The attention still feels uncomfortable sometimes, but I'm no longer trying to avoid it. Instead, I'm trying to handle it in ways that serve the work rather than serving my own comfort. Because in the end, this isn't about me or my preferences or my natural inclinations. It's about building something worthwhile and letting that speak for itself, even if I have to step into the light to make sure people can see what's been built.