I Wasn’t Built to See the World Like Everyone Else—So I Had to Make My Own Way

On perception, adaptation, and seeing beyond the obvious

I don’t just see the world differently—I literally don’t see it at all.

I have aphantasia.

That means when I close my eyes, I don’t see anything. No images. No movie reels. No daydreams in vivid color.

Just black.

For most of my life, I never thought about it. It was just how my brain worked.

Until one day, my wife asked me a question that cracked everything open.

"Wait—you don’t see anything when you close your eyes?"

"Nothing. What do you see?"

"Everything."

That was the moment I realized—

I wasn’t just thinking differently.

I was creating differently, too.

The Stories We Tell Are the Stories We See

The way we think shapes the way we tell stories.

Most people see a scene in their head. They visualize characters, settings, movements—like a director in their own private cinema.

I don’t.

For me, stories aren’t seen. They’re built. They’re driven by motivations.

They take form in structure, rhythm, and logic. I feel the tension before I can describe it. I hear the dialogue before I know what the speaker looks like. I don’t see characters—I know them. Their motives, their flaws, the weight of their choices. The beats of a story—the rise, the fall, the crescendo—that’s what I see first.

And because I create this way, I write this way.

Which means the stories I tell?

They don’t look like what you’re used to.

They move differently. They don’t rely on what’s expected. They break patterns. They force you to think about what’s happening—because I had to think about every piece of it, rather than just seeing it unfold naturally.

And maybe that’s why I started noticing something.

Something I couldn’t unsee.

The World Started Telling Different Stories—
And I Couldn’t Ignore It

I never thought much about how I process stories—until I realized the world had started telling them differently, too.

For most of my life, I never thought much about race, identity, or political "sides" in the way most people do.

I grew up in a multiracial family. I wasn’t blind to it—I just didn’t see it first. It wasn’t the defining feature of how I understood people.

Then, the world changed. Hard.

Suddenly, everything was about labels. About identity. About what “side” you were on.

I started questioning. Was I supposed to see the world differently? Was I broken? Was I missing something?

I spent years trying to understand the conflict—especially around race. I listened. I asked questions. I studied discourse, analyzed arguments, and wrestled with perspectives that challenged me.

I was obsessed with understanding why this had taken over everything.
It stunted my creativity. I stopped writing. Stopped creating. I thought about it constantly. It ruined me.

Maybe that was the goal—to make me question myself instead of the system.

For a long time, I thought I was the problem.

That the way I saw—the way I thought—was broken.

That I had to change.

But then I realized—

I wasn’t broken.

The stories were.

They Live Was Just a Clever Movie—Until a Few Years Ago

That obsession led me to question narratives beyond my own—just like in John Carpenter’s They Live. It wasn’t a prophecy. It wasn’t a warning.

It was just a damn good sci-fi movie by one of my favorite directors—one with the most ridiculously badass fight scene in history.

But its gimmick? Seeing past the surface?
Turns out, that never stops being relevant.

Because when you stop taking stories at face value—when you start looking at how they’re built, what they assume, what they leave out—you start noticing the cracks.

The way narratives shift.
The way they nudge you into thinking a certain way before you even realize it.
The way media frames a conversation so you never question the foundation.

Not because of some grand conspiracy.

But because this is how stories work.

Once you see that—once you know how the narrative works—you can’t unsee it.
I couldn’t.

That’s what happened to me.

I Don’t Think in Hashtags or Headlines

Most people process the world visually.

They see race, symbols, aesthetics, categories. They react to the surface.

I don’t.

I see structure. { Patterns. } The deeper framework of things.

That’s why I love storytelling.
That’s why I thrive in conceptual thinking.
That’s why I can pull apart the meta-narratives shaping society while others get caught up in the fight itself.

And that’s why my stories feel different.

I don’t write like I was trained in the same machine as everyone else. Because I wasn’t.

What If You Could See Differently?

I don’t expect people to think the way I do.

But what if you could shift perspectives—not to abandon your own, but to understand how others process the world?

I literally can’t see what you see.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand it.

Maybe that’s my superpower.
And maybe it can help you see differently, too.

Why This Matters—And Why You Should Stick Around

I hope my storytelling makes you think, maybe even see things a little differently—just like I have.

Maybe we can start seeing what really matters.

Even if my perspective isn’t for you, keep the framework in mind.

Because seeing differently helps everyone.

Next time you react to a headline, a post, or a conversation—pause.

Ask yourself:

Are you seeing reality?

Or just the illusion you’ve been trained to see?

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