I’ve never needed to go anywhere incognito. I’ve never been well enough known to feel the need to wear sunglasses or insist that I was merely an acquaintance of that famous person. OK, back when I was a folksinger, I was once taken for someone better known, and I basked in the warmth of what it was like to be admired for no better reason than you were well known. This lasted hours, and the young lady who mistook my identity seemed satisfied with my vague answers to her inquiries about people in my erstwhile band. I was glad it was over because the stress of being famous was a bit more than I was ready to endure for long.
Fame has eluded me as an anthropologist, folksinger, and carver. But, unfortunately, I doubt writing will provide the adulation needed to boost me to the point that I’ll have to run to avoid groupies.
Besides, my wife has requested my presence at the sink to wash dishes, and the trash needs to go out. So who needs fame, anyway?