This world feels like one giant theater stage. We are all actors, rushing through our scripted scenes, chasing the next promotion, the next purchase, the next fleeting high that is supposed to finally make us happy. We work endless hours for money we barely touch, pay taxes and bills on endless repeat, build dreams that too often stay just dreams. We struggle, we break, we patch ourselves up and charge forward again, never sure when the curtain suddenly drops or what the real point of the play even is. And somewhere out there, someone or something is watching. Leaning back, smirking, maybe laughing softly. Looking down at us busy little ants and wondering: “Why do they keep doing this to themselves?” Three days ago I lost a friend. A young, ambitious man full of fire and plans. In the past year alone I have stood at more graves of young men than old ones. Good people, gone far too soon, still chasing their scenes when the lights went out without warning. What is the point, really? We grind and hurry and suffer for a story that can end mid sentence. If this is all just a strange performance for an audience we cannot see, maybe the joke is on us. Or maybe the only rebellion left is to stop rushing quite so hard, to look up from the script once in a while, and live a little louder before the stage goes dark. 😏