In a world where everything feels like it’s been done, said, or posted before, the idea of being original can feel impossible — like chasing smoke. Algorithms tell us what to wear, how to think, and what’s worth sharing. But somewhere underneath the mimicry and marketability, there's still a pulse of something real. This post is a search for that pulse — through identity, society, and connection — and a reminder that originality isn’t about escaping influence, but transforming it into something unmistakably you.

This weekend, away from service and screens, I realized how much time I spend scrolling through other people's lives — and how little I actually sit in my own. Here’s what a camping trip taught me about stillness, presence, and the quiet moments we tend to avoid.

This week I witnessed just how deep our collective anxiety runs—especially in the next generation. Behind the screens and silence is a feeling we all know too well. It’s not just a “kids these days” issue; it’s a mirror. And if we don’t start facing it now, we risk losing more than attention spans—we lose real connection.

This year, I made a quiet promise to myself: to show up more, connect deeper, and maybe even build something lasting. Inspired by The Parable of the Sower, I’ve been reflecting on what it really means to create community—not just to find like-minded people, but to grow with those willing to care, sacrifice, and trust. For the first time, I feel open. Not just in posture, but in mindset. And that shift is changing everything.

Traditions don’t have to be inherited—they can be invented. From sitcom rituals to quiet moments with family, I’ve been thinking about how we make meaning from the ordinary. It’s not about waiting for the calendar to tell you what’s important. It’s about choosing to make something matter. This week, I’m reflecting on intentionality, effort, and the beautiful, silly ways we create traditions of our own.

Growth begins the moment you question what you’ve always accepted as true—even if it’s just your hate for eggs.

Philosophy 60 wasn’t just a crash course in propositional logic—it was a deep dive into how we build, challenge, and refine ideas. Through the chaos of conditional statements and the beauty of growth, I learned that progress isn’t linear; it’s about embracing the process and trusting the journey.