
The Stories We Tell Ourselves
I once believed that stability meant staying put, that consistency required routine, and that adventure was something other people pursued. But eventually, a quieter realization took hold: these weren’t facts. They were stories I had repeated to myself until they began to feel like truth. I started to wonder what else I had mistaken for reality. What other inherited beliefs had quietly shaped the contours of my life?

Reclaiming Attention in an Age of Distraction
I pick up my phone without thinking, thumb moving automatically, drawn by a force of habit rather than any real decision. Mid-scroll, awareness returns, sudden and sharp, and I catch myself in the act. A discomfort settles in my chest. My attention, that quiet current shaping every experience I have, is slipping through my fingers. How long have I allowed distraction to dictate the rhythm of my days?