I design buildings while driving strangers home

Dear Delyara, In Iran, I was an architect. In New York, I drive a rideshare car twelve hours a day. My degree hangs inside a folder under the bed because the licensing process is expensive, slow, and full of requirements I cannot meet while supporting my family. Passengers ask what I did “back home,” and I say construction because architect invites too many questions. Tonight, I drove a young couple past a glass tower I once studied in an architecture magazine. The man complained about the lobby design. I agreed with him and explained why the circulation was poorly planned. He laughed and said, “You sound like an architect.” I told him I watch a lot of television. After they left, I parked outside the building and looked up at the lines of steel and light. I know how loads travel through structures. I know how to make rooms feel open without wasting space. Yet every night, I measure success in completed trips and tips. I am not ashamed of honest work. I am ashamed that I have started answering to “driver” so quickly that “architect” now feels like a story I tell myself.