One Nation, Under God

In a Mulligan, I Would Be A Social Influencer...

If I had it to do all over again I’d become a social influencer.

It’s a calling that seems to fit me. I have little talent. I don’t sing, dance, act, or play a musical instrument. My athletic skills are paltry. I’ve been told on numerous occasions that I can’t write a lick, either.

I envision a world, however, where my opinion matters, where what I’m wearing matters, where what I’m eating matters.

People would follow my lead. They’d wear ill-fitting clothes, hang out with dogs, and drink beer. They’d spend countless hours wondering what I was thinking about this or that, never once considering that I might not have been thinking at all.

I’d post videos about my favorite socks and people would watch them and comment. I’d suggest praying for the hungry and people would pray.

As a longtime newspaper columnist, I’ve sought to influence folks with little success. A column I wrote recommending that anyone who didn’t farm or ranch should live in town only spurred more folks to move to the country. My columns lauding wilderness were labeled anti-business. A column I wrote about using kittens as bait drew death threats.

I suspect it was the newspaper connection that doomed me. As a social influencer I wouldn’t have to follow any rules, cite my sources, or tell the truth, all things the newspaper insisted I do.

I’d simply weigh in on any inane topic that crossed my mind, post my thoughts, and soak in all the adulation that followed.

The job obviously pays a lot. Social influencers are nothing if not well-dressed and finely coiffed.

That might be a problem for me. On my best days, I look homeless, and on my worst slightly deranged. It’s all about appearance, you know?

I could fill a niche market. I’d be the guy folks turn to in order to feel better about themselves. Men would see me and think: “Wow. I look a lot better than that guy.”

Women would simply think: “meh.”

I’d embrace an obscure cause – irritable bowel syndrome, perhaps – and social influence the bejeezus out of it. My face would be synonymous with that syndrome.

If only in my dreams.

I fear the opportunity to become a social influencer has passed. I’m too old and unkempt. The only influence I wield is over my dogs, and even that is quickly waning.

Parker Heinlein is at [email protected]

 

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