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by Dan Gathoff

Day 2 of our hiking and biking trip was shaping up to be a challenge. Our goal? Conquering a 2,000-foot mountain. The catch? We had two ways up: an unforgiving biking route packed with switchbacks and thigh-burning climbs, or the “easier” option—a vertical hike. Our group of 16 split nearly evenly. We hadn’t formed close bonds with anyone yet, so the decision was purely a matter of courage. My wife and I? We chose the bike ride.

Or so we thought.

On the transport to the mountain base, my wife started feeling queasy. She leaned over and whispered, “Maybe we should hike instead?” Sure, why not? It didn’t matter that we were decked out in tight, bright cycling gear or that our backup “hiking shoes” were loafers. We’d make it work.

But as the sun beat down, I had another problem—no shade for my face. Fortunately, I had my trusty cycling cap. You know the kind: vacuum-sealed to your scalp and obnoxiously colorful like it’s yelling “LOOK AT ME!” I looked like an escapee from Moulin Rouge.

When the guides dropped us off, they mentioned the rest of the group was just a few minutes ahead. Within 10 minutes, my wife and I caught up to the tail end of the hikers, where Frank and Julie had paused for a water break. Though we hadn’t spoken much before, Frank wasted no time sizing me up. Before even saying hello, he shot me a wry glance and said, “If you’re going to wear that hat, you’d better own that hat.” No pleasantries, no soft introduction—just a direct hit.

If you know me, you know what came next: I burst out laughing. Frank had taken a risk with his humor, and instead of getting defensive, I let him know I appreciated it. We became fast friends right then and there.
The truth is, I did look like a caricature—an absolute goofball. But I didn’t care. I owned my look. I kept that hat on for the rest of the day, and now, I have plenty of photos where my head looks comically large. I love them.
This story makes me think about the things people don’t own, or, stated differently, try to hide or fake when conducting a job search. The person who fudges their employment dates because they don’t want to explain the year they got sucked into a toxic company. The senior professional who chops off the early part of their career to avoid age discrimination. Or the person who claims the “mutual decision,” even though they were part of a mass layoff.

What are you trying to hide because you don’t want to own it? The bigger question: Won’t it eventually come out?
For example, let’s say you rewrite your resume to make it look like you started working in 2000, even though your career really began in 1992. Won’t the truth surface in interviews or reference checks? If a company is going to discriminate based on your age, don’t you think they’ll figure it out eventually? I understand the merit in keeping resumes tight and relevant. Streamlining experiences makes sense.

What doesn’t make sense is deliberately deceiving people on resumes and in interviews in an attempt to boost your chances. Maybe I’m in the minority here, but I’ve never seen this strategy work in real life.

Hire Thought
Owning who you are and what you’ve done—both the good and the bad—is far more powerful than any attempt to hide it. Trying to outmaneuver the truth only delays the inevitable and risks your credibility. Embrace your experiences—they’re part of your story, and they’ve shaped the professional you are today.

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