Something moves through me.
It isn’t polite.
It isn’t scheduled.
It doesn’t ask if this is a good time.
It hums.
It knocks.
It paces the room.
I feel it when I wake up with an idea already half-formed.
I feel it when a sentence wants to be spoken, even if no one is listening.
I feel it when stillness turns into stagnation and rest starts to rot.
This thing is not ambition.
It’s not hustle.
It’s not productivity.
It’s closer to weather.
A current.
A pulse.
A rhythm that says: get going.
Move.
Some people try to shut it down.
They sedate it.
Numb it.
Drown it in screens and snacks and safe little routines that never ask anything of them.
They call it peace.
But it isn’t peace.
It’s sedation.
Real peace has movement in it.
At least for me.
Real peace breathes.
Life doesn’t ask us to be perfect.
It asks us to be in it.
This isn’t a rehearsal.
This isn’t a read-through.
This is the show.
To choose not a life of imitation.
To stop sanding down the edges that make us human.
To stop apologizing for the part of us that wants to build, speak, create, initiate.
This creative drive—this restless, holy
(sometimes it feels unholy)
pressure—
is not a problem to solve.
It’s an embrace to surrender to.
Surrender doesn’t mean collapse.
It means cooperation.
It means listening closely enough to know when the current is moving—
and diving in when it calls, instead of fighting it.
Sedation says:
Stay small.
Stay comfortable.
Don’t risk looking foolish.
Surrender says:
Trust the motion.
Let it carry you.
You’ll figure it out as you move.
And here’s the truth most people miss—
or at least I missed for a long time:
The cost of not answering that call
is always higher
than the risk of answering it.
Because when you ignore it long enough, it doesn’t go away.
It turns into anxiety.
Into bitterness.
Into that quiet, grinding sense
that you are betraying something essential.
Some of us can’t stop.
Not because we’re broken—
but because we’re aligned.
Sometimes it even feels like the whole thing is happening for you—
like you’re both the audience and the performer,
watching yourself become
what you were always meant to be.
You get addicted to the shindig.
Because when we move with the rhythm instead of against it,
life stops feeling like resistance
and starts feeling like music.