Unchained

When they asked for identity verification, I actually laughed out loud.

Red-tailed hawks hunt the field behind my home.

They circle in broad silence above me. Their sharp vision, keen in thin air—where the opportunities and threats are clear, and their next move is natural and effortless.

Patient. Relentless. Swift and deadly. They’re beautiful to observe.

For the past seven years, LinkedIn has been fertile hunting for me. I used tools like Sales Navigator to sharpen my vision and spot new opportunities through the weeds.

A Ghost in the shadows. I studied them—became them—a thought leader, a coach, an entrepreneur—the invisible hand writing their words.

CEOs would send me screenshots and rough ideas scribbled on napkins. I'd transform their notes into profound insights about the future of prefabricated housing components.

Founders trusted me to translate their caffeine-fueled 3 AM emails into coherent market analyses.

I enjoyed my work, but it wasn’t me—it wasn’t my voice.

LinkedOut

Personal crises show up at the most inopportune times, and here was mine, 5:47 AM:

Subject: Paul, your password was successfully reset

Hi Paul,

You've successfully changed your LinkedIn password.

Thanks for using LinkedIn!
The LinkedIn Team

Someone in Ho Chi Minh City had decided to become me, and they were doing a surprisingly thorough job of it.

They'd even added two-factor authentication – a security measure I'd been meaning to implement for years, except now it was protecting my impostor from me.

The irony was deep enough to sink a ship.

I reached out to LinkedIn support, and when they asked for identity verification, I actually laughed out loud.

“Ha! Which identity would you like?”

The one I'd fabricated for the sustainable construction startup? The one who wrote passionate manifestos about concrete innovation? The tech evangelist who made blockchain feel practical and indispensable for construction contracts?

I even had a CLEAR identity verification certificate linked to my profile — the kind you get to skip airport security lines? But even that wasn't enough to prove I was myself.

And to be honest, I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to reprise the role.

Acting as if…

Truth be told, my career in deception started long before I became a professional ghostwriter. At my first real corporate job interview, I wore a tie I'd shoplifted from a department store and claimed I had Excel experience—like actual skills.

The tie was clip-on, and Excel was a mystery I wouldn't unravel for another three years, but I got the job. It became a pattern: claim expert status, figure it out as I go, survive through sheer audacity and late-night YouTube tutorials.

Each success made the next lie easier. I became fluent in the language of corporate aspiration, crafting backstories that were just plausible enough to avoid scrutiny.

I was willing to sacrifice my own identity to impersonate the highest bidder. And it was wearing me down.

But losing my LinkedIn profile forced me to face an uncomfortable truth: I'd become so good at inventing personas that I'd forgotten to cultivate my own.

Looking at my profile now through the eyes of my Vietnamese doppelganger, I didn't recognize the person I'd built.

The carefully curated project history, the strategic endorsements, and that AI-generated profile picture, framed at that perfect angle to make me look trustworthy and vaguely self-assured…

It was all as fake as those Excel skills I'd claimed in that first interview.

The earth rises to a lowland peak, a short walk from outside my window. Atop that lowland peak, a stand of Slash pine hosts a family of Red-tailed hawks.

This past spring, I watched the hawks protect their nest from the murders of opportunistic crows, one adult hawk battling gangs of the raucous scavengers in mid-air while its partner sheltered their eggs back at the nest.

Months later, the young hawks emerged, teetered on pine boughs, and launched into the clear, expansive sky.

They make it look so easy, this business of flying.

Sure, I could create a new LinkedIn profile, spin another narrative, and craft another carefully curated persona. I've done it countless times for myself and others.

But instead, I sit here, watching majesty in the sky and contemplating faith, perseverance, and fidelity.

A lone adult hawk circles the air, now only a stone’s throw above me. Slowly, patiently, it spirals, floating above the earth.

The hawk breaks into a bullet dive, wings tight to its side—a controlled plummet where velocity and gravity align.

With talons spread wide, the hawk strikes in a blur and snatches a rabbit in its crushing grip. The prey barely has time to react before being lifted into the air by the hawk’s mighty pumping wings. The rabbit wriggles helplessly as the hawk ascends, talons locked around its prize.

At first, I was surprised by this brutality.

Now, I can only marvel at its grace.

I’ve long thought of myself as the hawk—the predator, hovering, circling, waiting for my next opportunity.

But, as I sit here, contemplating my next move, I can’t help but wonder…

Perhaps I’ve been the rabbit all along.

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I love you guys 🥰

May you be happy, healthy, and free from harm. 🙏

-Paul