Don’t Find Fame & Flee

A Reflection on Connection, Confidence, and Missed Moments in the Everyday Spotlight

In the past five years, I’ve approached roughly 1,300 people. That might sound like a lot, but it’s far short of my original goal—five new people a day. You’d think that taking public transit daily would make it easy. After all, the metro and bus are flooded with possibility: curious eyes, fleeting glances, beautiful souls trying to find their way.

I ride not just to reduce my carbon footprint, but to observe, connect, and—honestly—to stay in touch with the hopeful pulse of Montréal. I see it in the subtle body language of strangers, in the way people try to preserve their personal bubble. And some days, I admit, I stay in mine too.

The Temptation to Flee

Here’s what I mean by “Don’t find fame and flee”—because the fleeing goes both ways. A glance, a smile, a moment of potential passes between two people. It’s an invitation to perform, to step into a shared moment. But more often than not, one of us bails.

Fight or flight. And flight’s just so much easier, isn’t it?

In this swipe-driven era, the moment you hesitate, it’s gone. A connection that could’ve changed your day (or life?) slips past, and you’re left with nothing but “what if.” Sometimes the regret lasts an hour. Sometimes it lingers for days. So what do we do? We fall back into what’s safe: career, family, gym time, “the grind.” We rebuild our confidence and hope the next chance doesn’t scare us off.

The Psychology of a Compliment

Eventually, the courage comes back. We brush off the doubt, come up with a decent opener, and find a way to approach without startling or offending.

But even when all signs say “Go ahead, it’s okay,” things can turn cold fast. I’ve told strangers, respectfully, that I found them attractive. No creepy lines, no pressure—just genuine appreciation. And sometimes… I get shut down like I insulted them.

The irony? If I’d been a little rude or aloof, I might’ve gotten further. Depending on your looks or the role people cast you in, rejection and acceptance play by strange rules. But that’s a different post.

Here’s the thing: so many of us prepare ourselves like we’re walking into a spotlight every day. We coordinate outfits, perfect our hair, practice subtle makeup artistry. Yet the second someone notices? We deflect, we freeze, or we shut it down. Why?

Who Are We Really Dressing For?

Let’s get honest for a second. When someone says they “do it for themselves,” what they usually mean is: “I want to feel good by being noticed.” And that’s okay. That’s human.

But if we’re working so hard to present ourselves, why reject praise so quickly—especially when it’s sincere?

As someone who’s approached people both casually and professionally, I’ve learned: not everyone who wants to be in the spotlight knows how to stand in it. I’ve met aspiring models and performers who can’t take a compliment without bracing themselves, like it’s an ambush.

If you want to thrive in entertainment—or any space that demands visibility—you have to make peace with attention. Praise and critique are part of the same spotlight. As my mom used to say, “If you keep frowning, your face will stay like that.” Turns out that applies to energy, too.

Lessons From the Sidelines

Some days, I still catch myself hesitating—watching opportunity blur past in a stranger’s stride, a glance never returned. I’ve realized that being in the spotlight isn’t about being famous. It’s about being present. It’s about recognizing that every day, someone might notice you. Or you might notice them. And that moment deserves a response.

So now, I try to show up fully. If the spotlight finds me, I smile. I don’t retreat. I take the compliment. I give one back.

I live each day as if it might be my moment to perform—even if just with a nod, a word, a smile in the chaos of the city. Not because I want to be a star, but because the world deserves people who don’t flinch when it offers them connection.

Thanks for reading. Have you ever fled from a moment that could’ve changed everything?

Drop a comment or share your story—I’d love to hear it.