I was definitely born in the right generation this time around.
A glowing red society that breeds high achievers and truth seekers.
Biohacking, habit stacking, and every inch of one’s day turned into a personal CV—played out like a movie in your mind.
This generation feels the crunch of time on our backs.
To pause means to acknowledge the dire truth: we are running against a clock.
Holding our breaths and waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The last straw.
The rug to be pulled.
While we load our days with something- anything, that might say I was here, even for a little while, and this is what I was able to do with it all.
So it’s no surprise that I’m uncomfortable in the doing nothing and in the stillness of life.
By the time I drop into my app’s meditation, it’s almost done.
But there are moments now
that have only come with age.
I embody some semblance of a wise woman.
I cosplay a gray-haired Italian nona.
Where I can walk without tech in my ears,
listen to birds, and actually hear—
between the veil of society and nature’s ancient medicinal melodies.
And then there is the coveted five minutes I allow
between the rituals of a rigorous bedtime routine.
It’s rather cruel how the sting of my eyes is the cue
for my hand to relinquish the book from my grip.
And only then can I flop over in unison,
letting my own pages close for the day.
The surrender of the body, bred by the red society,
shifts into an ache of nothingness.
Her mind loops and spins and twirls
with opening lines of poetry and songs waiting to be composed.
The fight to pull her body up
from the delight of this delicious nothingness—
to write it all down in a flurry, in hopes to be one of the greats.
The sweet surrender of nothingness wins
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