The Breeze of Now Feels More Real Than Tomorrow’s Sky
It’s 4:30 in the morning on a sticky summer night, and I’m lying in bed like a restless rotisserie chicken—flipping from side to side, sweating through my shirt, and wondering how the hell people just fall asleep like it’s some natural human ability. Last night’s coffee is still running laps in my bloodstream, and tomorrow’s meeting agenda is on an endless loop in my head like an obnoxious pop song I never asked for. And, of course, once your brain is awake at stupid o’clock, it decides to invite the whole anxiety marching band to practice. The thoughts come marching in—bank account’s looking dangerously anorexic, rent might be going up, how am I going to make more money next year, and what if one of my cats gets sick? That last one hits especially hard because vet bills are basically legalized robbery. The parade keeps going—every scenario somehow worse than the last—and I’m lying there thinking, Great. I’m about three more thoughts away from a full-blown existential cri...