I was raised by Pentecostals, atheists, Baptists, Muslims, and more than a few accidental philosophers. Somehow, nobody taught me to hate the other side.
Now I watch neighbors, churches, and communities divide themselves into "us" and "them," and I can't help but wonder: when did faith become more about identifying enemies than loving neighbors?
We are the most connected people who have ever lived, and so many of us are quietly, deeply lonely. A reflection on the noise, the screens, the manufactured urgency, and the homesickness we cannot quite name, for a way of being we never meant to leave behind.
There was a time when wonder came easily.
We found it in fireflies dancing through humid summer air. In the sound of distant trains at night. In bicycles racing down gravel roads with nowhere to be before dark. The world felt enormous then, untouched and alive, and somehow we were fully present inside it.
Before the noise.
Before the screens.
Before every quiet moment became something to escape.
Wonder didn’t require money, status, or constant stimulation. It only required space. Space to think. Space to imagine. Space to sit beneath a fading sky without feeling the need to document it for strangers online.
Somewhere along the way, we traded awe for distraction.
Modern life keeps us entertained but rarely fulfilled. We scroll endlessly, consume endlessly, and move from one dopamine hit to the next, yet many of us feel more emotionally exhausted than ever before. Our minds are crowded, but our souls are starving.
“The Death of Wonder” is not just about nostalgia for childhood. It is about the quiet tragedy of losing our ability to truly see the world again.
And perhaps, if we slow down long enough, it is about finding it once more.
I watched a movie last night, and it got me thinking — about credulity, confirmation bias, and the people I love who have traded truth for belonging. This is a note from someone who is saddened, but still believes there is goodness in people, and that the course of humankind can still be changed in a pause.
Somewhere between the noise, outrage, endless scrolling, and emotional exhaustion, many of us quietly lost touch with ourselves. “We Were Never Designed for This” is a reflective piece on overstimulation, disconnection, and the quiet search for peace, presence, and something real in a world constantly demanding our attention.
We slowly drift out of tune through pain, trauma, distraction, shame, and exhaustion until we no longer recognize the sound of our own lives. Through the reflection of a worn acoustic guitar, this deeply personal essay explores healing, repair, resilience, and the realization that even after years of neglect and distortion, something beautiful can still come through.