There is a subtle tension that lives inside the modern believer, a tension that rarely announces itself with noise but steadily erodes confidence from within. It is the tension between intellect and surrender, between analysis and trust, between needing to understand and being willing to follow. Over the years, I have come to realize that many people who feel distant from Jesus are not hostile toward Him and are not rebelling against Him, but are simply exhausted from trying to mentally untangle Him. Faith has quietly become an equation to solve rather than a relationship to enter. The simplicity that once drew fishermen from their nets and tax collectors from their tables has been replaced with layers of hesitation, self-examination, and spiritual second-guessing. In a world that celebrates complexity and rewards skepticism, it has become almost uncomfortable to embrace something as direct and disarming as childlike trust. Yet the more I study the Gospels and examine my own walk, the more convinced I become that overthinking Jesus is one of the most understated barriers to spiritual transformation in our time.

When Jesus walked the earth, He did not recruit scholars by dazzling them with abstract arguments, nor did He construct a system that required intellectual mastery before participation. He spoke in stories about seeds, soil, vineyards, storms, coins, and bread because He was revealing something profound about the nature of faith itself. Faith was never designed to be an academic exercise detached from lived experience; it was meant to be embodied, walked out, breathed in real time. The fishermen who followed Him did not request a detailed roadmap of the next ten years of their lives before leaving their boats. They did not demand clarity about political implications, theological frameworks, or personal safety guarantees. Something in His voice cut through the noise of their reasoning and spoke directly to the deeper part of their being, the place where trust is born long before understanding catches up. That same invitation still echoes, but it often collides with our modern instinct to analyze every variable before taking a step.

I have watched sincere believers become paralyzed by the need to reconcile every doubt before moving forward. They tell themselves that once they resolve every question about suffering, sovereignty, timing, and unanswered prayer, then they will be ready to trust more deeply. They convince themselves that clarity must precede obedience, that understanding must come before surrender, and that certainty is a prerequisite for commitment. What quietly happens in that process, however, is that faith becomes perpetually postponed. The mind continues searching for a level of resolution that life rarely offers, and the heart waits patiently for permission to believe. The tragedy is not that questions exist, because questions have always been part of spiritual growth. The tragedy is that questions become gatekeepers instead of companions, standing at the entrance of obedience and refusing to move aside until they are fully satisfied.

When I read about Peter stepping out onto the water, I do not see a man who had mastered the physics of buoyancy or fully understood the identity of the One calling him. I see a man who heard a voice he had learned to trust and responded before fear could rehearse all the possible outcomes. Peter’s step was not built on flawless comprehension; it was built on relational confidence. Even when he began to sink, the story did not end with condemnation but with rescue. That detail matters more than most people realize, because it reveals something essential about Jesus’ posture toward imperfect faith. He did not withdraw His hand when Peter faltered; He reached for him. In that moment, the lesson was not about mastering the mechanics of walking on water but about learning the character of the One who calls us beyond our comfort zones.

Overthinking Jesus often disguises itself as spiritual maturity, but beneath the surface it is frequently fear wearing theological clothing. Fear whispers that if we move too quickly, we might misinterpret God’s will. Fear insists that if we trust too openly, we might be disappointed. Fear suggests that if we surrender too fully, we may lose control. These fears feel responsible and measured, yet they slowly erode the very courage that faith requires. The longer we sit in analysis, the more we amplify worst-case scenarios, and the more distant obedience begins to feel. We start confusing hesitation with wisdom and delay with discernment, all while the invitation of Christ remains steady and uncomplicated.

The woman who reached for the hem of Jesus’ garment did not hold a symposium in her mind about ceremonial law before pressing through the crowd. She did not map out a strategic plan for social acceptance or rehearse a theological defense in case someone confronted her. She simply believed that if she could touch Him, something would change. Her faith was not polished, eloquent, or academically defended; it was desperate and direct. That desperation cut through the noise of over analysis and moved her toward action. When Jesus turned and acknowledged her, He did not critique her method or interrogate her reasoning; He affirmed her faith. There is something deeply instructive in that exchange, because it reminds us that transformation is often waiting on the other side of movement rather than contemplation.

In our era, access to information has created the illusion that spiritual depth is measured by how much we can articulate rather than how deeply we can trust. We can listen to countless sermons, read volumes of commentary, and debate doctrines across digital platforms without ever taking a single obedient step forward. Knowledge accumulates while courage atrophies. The mind grows sharper while the heart grows cautious. We begin to mistake familiarity with language about Jesus for intimacy with Jesus Himself. Yet intimacy is not built through analysis alone; it is built through shared journey, through moments of vulnerability, through obedience when the outcome is still unclear.

Thomas is often remembered for his doubt, but what fascinates me is how Jesus responded to him. He did not shame Thomas for wanting tangible assurance; He invited him closer. He offered His hands and side as evidence, not as a rebuke but as a bridge. The story does not suggest that doubt disqualifies someone from relationship; it shows that doubt can be met with grace. However, Thomas still had to move toward Jesus to encounter that reassurance. He did not remain distant, analyzing from afar. He stepped into proximity. That proximity transformed uncertainty into conviction, not because every philosophical question was resolved, but because he encountered the risen Christ personally.

Overthinking often keeps people at a safe distance where they can observe faith without risking participation. It allows them to critique, evaluate, and assess without committing. There is a strange comfort in staying in the realm of theory, because theory does not require vulnerability. Once you step into practice, you open yourself to the possibility of disappointment, misunderstanding, or even failure. Yet the Gospels reveal again and again that growth happens in proximity, not detachment. The disciples learned who Jesus was not by studying Him from a library but by walking dusty roads beside Him, sharing meals, witnessing miracles, and wrestling with their own shortcomings in real time.

There is also a subtle pride hidden within overthinking that rarely gets acknowledged. It is the belief that if we can intellectually master something, we can control it. When faith feels unpredictable, the mind tries to domesticate it by dissecting it. We search for formulas that guarantee outcomes, systems that ensure results, and principles that eliminate mystery. But Jesus never offered a formula; He offered Himself. He never reduced relationship with God to a mechanical sequence of inputs and outputs. Instead, He spoke of abiding, remaining, trusting, and loving. Those words are relational, not procedural. They invite engagement rather than calculation.

I have encountered many who delay obedience because they fear making the wrong decision and missing God’s will permanently. They analyze every option to the point of paralysis, convinced that one misstep could derail their entire spiritual destiny. What they fail to see is that Jesus specializes in redirection. The disciples misunderstood Him repeatedly, argued about status, fled in fear, and even denied Him, yet their story did not end in disqualification. It ended in restoration and commissioning. If the path of following Christ required flawless navigation, no one would qualify. The beauty of grace is that it meets us in our missteps and guides us forward again.

The thief on the cross is one of the most striking examples of uncomplicated faith. He did not possess a long record of good deeds to present. He did not have years of disciplined spiritual practice to point toward. In his final moments, he simply turned to Jesus and asked to be remembered. That request was not backed by a fully developed theology; it was backed by trust in the One hanging beside him. Jesus responded not with a lecture but with a promise. That exchange shatters the notion that understanding must be complete before salvation can be received. It reveals that sometimes the most powerful faith is expressed in a single, sincere turning of the heart.

As I reflect on all of this, I am increasingly convinced that the courage to simplify is one of the rarest virtues in a complicated age. It takes courage to trust without having every answer. It takes courage to obey when clarity is partial. It takes courage to believe that Jesus is enough even when circumstances feel unstable. Overthinking feels safer because it keeps us in control, but control is not the same as peace. Peace flows from knowing the character of the One you trust, not from mastering every possible variable. When we reduce faith to an intellectual conquest, we inadvertently rob it of its transformative power.

The invitation of Christ remains remarkably consistent throughout the centuries: follow Me. Those two words do not contain exhaustive explanations about the journey ahead. They do not outline every challenge, disappointment, or triumph that may come. They simply call for movement rooted in relationship. Following implies trust in the leader’s direction, even when the path curves unexpectedly. It acknowledges that understanding may unfold gradually rather than instantly. It shifts the focus from mastering information about Jesus to walking with Him personally.

In my own life, I have had seasons where I wanted guarantees before obedience. I wanted assurance that stepping forward would result in visible success or immediate confirmation. I wanted clarity that removed all risk. What I have learned, sometimes through uncomfortable experience, is that growth rarely happens in the absence of uncertainty. The very spaces where I felt most unsure often became the places where I encountered God most deeply. Had I waited for complete understanding, I would have remained stationary. It was the act of stepping, even with trembling, that opened the door to greater confidence.

Overthinking Jesus can slowly morph into overcomplicating identity. If you are constantly questioning whether your faith is strong enough, pure enough, or consistent enough, you may begin to see yourself primarily through the lens of deficiency. Instead of resting in the truth that you are loved, you start striving to prove that you deserve love. Instead of receiving grace as a gift, you attempt to earn it through mental perfection. This mindset breeds exhaustion rather than intimacy. The Gospel was never meant to be a performance review; it was meant to be good news for imperfect people.

The simplicity of the Gospel does not mean it lacks depth. On the contrary, its depth is inexhaustible. But depth is not the same as complication. A child can understand that Jesus loves them and yet theologians can spend lifetimes exploring the implications of that love. The accessibility of the message does not diminish its richness; it magnifies it. Overthinking tends to assume that if something is simple, it must be shallow. Yet the most profound truths in life are often the most straightforward. Love your neighbor. Forgive those who hurt you. Trust God with tomorrow. These instructions are not complex, but they are transformative when practiced.

As we continue walking through this idea, it becomes increasingly clear that the battle is not between intelligence and faith, but between control and surrender. Intelligence is a gift, and thoughtful reflection is valuable. The problem arises when reflection becomes a substitute for response. When thinking replaces trusting, and analysis replaces action, we drift from the heart of discipleship. Jesus did not rebuke people for thinking; He invited them to move beyond thinking into following. The call was never to abandon reason but to anchor reason in relationship.

There is a quiet freedom that emerges when you release the need to have everything mapped out before taking the next step. That freedom does not eliminate questions, but it refuses to let questions dominate the journey. It acknowledges that mystery is part of faith, not a threat to it. It embraces the reality that God’s ways may exceed human comprehension without becoming inaccessible. When you stop demanding exhaustive explanations, you create space for encounter. And encounter, more than explanation, is what transforms the human heart.

This is where the shift begins to happen, not in a dramatic explosion of revelation, but in a steady recalibration of posture. Instead of standing at a distance evaluating every aspect of who Jesus is, you begin walking with Him, allowing experience to deepen understanding over time. Instead of waiting until your fears subside completely, you move forward trusting that courage will grow through obedience. Instead of seeing faith as something to conquer intellectually, you begin seeing it as something to inhabit relationally. That shift does not happen overnight, and it does not happen without resistance, but it is the beginning of uncomplicated faith that carries profound strength.

And as that strength begins to grow, something remarkable happens within the soul. The constant internal debate starts to quiet. The pressure to perform spiritually begins to loosen its grip. The need to justify every act of obedience with airtight logic fades into the background. What remains is a steady confidence rooted not in perfect comprehension but in trusted character. That character belongs to Christ, whose consistency through history and in personal testimony continues to anchor those willing to step beyond over analysis into lived trust. It is here that faith becomes less about proving and more about participating, less about dissecting and more about dwelling, and this is where the real journey unfolds.

The unfolding of that journey does not eliminate complexity from life itself, but it reorients the believer’s relationship to complexity. Problems still arise. Suffering still confuses. Prayers are sometimes answered in ways we did not anticipate or on timelines we would not have chosen. Yet the foundation shifts from needing to understand everything to knowing Who you are walking with through everything. That shift is subtle, but it changes the emotional climate of the heart. Instead of panic driving reflection, trust steadies reflection. Instead of fear dictating delay, confidence encourages movement. And in that movement, faith matures in ways that analysis alone could never produce.

When faith settles into that quieter, steadier posture, it begins to reveal something that overthinking could never produce: endurance. Endurance is not built in the classroom of theory but in the field of lived obedience. It is formed when a person chooses to trust again after disappointment, to pray again after silence, to step again after stumbling. Overanalysis tends to magnify every setback as evidence that something has gone wrong at a fundamental level. It convinces the believer that perhaps they misheard God, misunderstood His will, or lacked sufficient spiritual insight. Yet when you look closely at the lives of those who walked with Jesus, you see a pattern of growth through imperfection rather than avoidance of it. Their maturity was not the result of flawless interpretation but of continued participation.

Consider how often the disciples misunderstood Jesus’ words. They misinterpreted His references to leaven, mistook His warnings, argued about who would be greatest, and even tried to prevent Him from speaking about His own suffering. If overthinking had disqualified them, their journey would have ended early. But Jesus continued to teach, correct, and include them. He did not demand immediate mastery of every concept before allowing them to witness miracles or share in ministry. Their understanding expanded as their experience expanded. They learned by walking, by failing, by asking, by observing, and by remaining. That pattern still applies today. Understanding deepens through relationship, not isolation.

Overthinking often convinces people that they must resolve every theological tension before they can live with conviction. They wrestle with questions about sovereignty and free will, suffering and goodness, timing and delay, and while those questions are important, they can quietly overshadow the daily call to love, serve, forgive, and trust. It is possible to spend years attempting to harmonize every doctrinal nuance while neglecting the very practices that shape the soul. Meanwhile, Jesus continues to invite His followers into tangible acts of faithfulness that require courage more than comprehensive explanation. Loving your enemy does not wait for you to understand every dimension of divine justice. Forgiving someone who wounded you does not require a complete theological framework for pain. Obedience often precedes clarity rather than the other way around.

There is also a psychological weight that accompanies constant spiritual self-examination. When every thought, doubt, or emotional fluctuation is scrutinized as a potential failure of faith, the believer can become inwardly consumed. Instead of looking outward in service or upward in trust, the focus turns inward in relentless evaluation. Am I believing enough? Am I praying correctly? Am I feeling what I am supposed to feel? Over time, this internal microscope can create anxiety rather than intimacy. The irony is that Jesus consistently redirected attention outward toward relationship, compassion, and mission. He did not ask His followers to obsess over the perfection of their inner state; He asked them to abide in Him and bear fruit.

Abiding is a profoundly relational word. It implies remaining, dwelling, continuing in connection. It does not imply mastering every detail about the vine before drawing nourishment from it. When Jesus described Himself as the vine and His followers as branches, the emphasis was not on intellectual comprehension but on sustained connection. A branch does not overthink its dependence on the vine; it simply remains attached and receives life. In the same way, faith thrives not through constant analysis but through ongoing communion. Prayer, worship, service, and obedience become the rhythms that sustain growth. These practices do not eliminate questions, but they anchor the heart in relationship while questions are explored.

One of the subtle dangers of overthinking Jesus is that it can gradually transform Him into an abstract concept rather than a living presence. When He becomes primarily an idea to debate or a doctrine to defend, the relational aspect of faith can recede into the background. Yet the testimony of Scripture and of countless believers throughout history is that Christ is encountered personally, not merely studied academically. This does not diminish the value of study; it restores it to its proper place. Study should deepen encounter, not replace it. Reflection should enrich trust, not suffocate it.

There is a profound difference between thoughtful faith and paralyzed faith. Thoughtful faith engages the mind while still moving forward in obedience. Paralyzed faith remains stationary, waiting for a level of certainty that may never arrive. Thoughtful faith asks questions while still praying. Paralyzed faith withholds prayer until questions are answered. Thoughtful faith acknowledges doubt but refuses to let doubt dictate action. Paralyzed faith allows doubt to become the final authority. The distinction is subtle, but its impact is significant. One posture leads to growth through engagement; the other leads to stagnation through hesitation.

When I speak about uncomplicated faith, I am not advocating for blind belief or anti-intellectualism. The Christian tradition has long valued rigorous thought, philosophical exploration, and careful interpretation. The issue is not whether thinking is valuable; it is whether thinking has become a barrier to trusting. There is a humility required to admit that not every mystery will be resolved on this side of eternity. That humility is not weakness; it is strength rooted in perspective. It acknowledges the finite nature of human understanding without diminishing the reliability of divine character.

Trust ultimately rests not on the ability to explain every circumstance but on the confidence that the One being trusted is good. The Gospels present a portrait of Jesus marked by compassion, courage, integrity, and sacrificial love. He touched the untouchable, spoke truth without cruelty, confronted injustice, and laid down His life willingly. That character becomes the anchor for faith when circumstances fluctuate. When life feels unpredictable, remembering who He is steadies the soul more effectively than attempting to decode every outcome.

There are seasons when overthinking is fueled by disappointment. Prayers go unanswered in the way we hoped. Doors close unexpectedly. Plans unravel. In those moments, the mind works overtime trying to identify what went wrong. Did I lack faith? Did I mishear? Did I miss a sign? While self-reflection can be healthy, it can also spiral into self-blame. Yet Scripture repeatedly shows that faithful people experienced delay, confusion, and hardship without being abandoned. The delay did not negate God’s presence. The hardship did not cancel His purpose. If anything, those seasons often refined trust in ways comfort never could.

Abraham stepped into an unknown land without a detailed itinerary. Moses confronted Pharaoh without a guarantee of immediate success. Esther approached the king without certainty of survival. In each case, obedience preceded visible resolution. Their stories did not unfold in tidy, predictable sequences. They encountered resistance, fear, and uncertainty. Yet they moved forward anchored in trust rather than exhaustive explanation. That same pattern runs through the New Testament as well. The early church advanced not because every risk was eliminated but because conviction outweighed hesitation.

The modern tendency to overthink can be amplified by the constant comparison facilitated by digital culture. We see curated glimpses of others’ spiritual experiences and assume that our own faith must match or exceed them. We compare callings, outcomes, and perceived levels of clarity. That comparison breeds insecurity, which then fuels more analysis. We begin questioning whether we are hearing correctly, moving correctly, believing correctly. Yet the call of Jesus has always been deeply personal. He addressed individuals by name. He spoke into specific contexts. He tailored His guidance to the person in front of Him. Your journey will not mirror someone else’s exactly, and it does not need to.

When you release the need to mirror another’s path, you create space to walk faithfully in your own. That release reduces the noise that often drives overthinking. Instead of measuring every decision against external benchmarks, you learn to cultivate attentiveness to the quiet leading of the Spirit in your own life. That attentiveness is not frantic; it is steady. It does not demand constant signs; it rests in ongoing relationship. The more you practice obedience in small, daily ways, the less intimidating larger steps become. Courage grows through repetition.

Uncomplicated faith does not mean naive faith. It means anchored faith. It means choosing to trust the character of Christ even when the details of the journey remain partially hidden. It means acknowledging that while the mind is a gift, it is not the ultimate authority over spiritual movement. It means allowing love to motivate action more than fear motivates delay. When love becomes the driving force, obedience shifts from obligation to response. You follow not because you have solved every mystery but because you have encountered Someone worthy of following.

There is also a deep peace that comes when you stop attempting to predict every twist in advance. Planning has its place, but prediction often carries anxiety. You cannot forecast every outcome or shield yourself from every disappointment. What you can do is cultivate resilience rooted in trust. That resilience does not deny pain when it arrives, but it refuses to let pain redefine God’s character. It does not suppress questions, but it refuses to let questions eclipse devotion. It moves forward, sometimes slowly, sometimes boldly, but always relationally.

If you find yourself caught in a cycle of overthinking Jesus, begin by returning to what you already know to be true. Return to the stories of His compassion. Return to moments in your own life where you sensed His guidance. Return to the foundational truth that salvation is a gift, not a reward for intellectual mastery. Let those truths steady you while unanswered questions remain in process. Faith is not the absence of inquiry; it is the decision to trust while inquiry continues.

The quiet courage of uncomplicated faith may not attract headlines, but it builds enduring strength. It is the courage to pray even when answers are delayed. It is the courage to forgive even when feelings lag behind obedience. It is the courage to serve even when recognition is absent. It is the courage to believe that Jesus remains who He has always been, regardless of shifting circumstances. That courage grows not from exhaustive explanation but from sustained relationship.

As you continue walking this path, you may discover that many of the fears that fueled overthinking lose their intensity. The more you experience God’s faithfulness in small matters, the less you require airtight guarantees in larger ones. Trust compounds over time. Each step of obedience becomes a reference point for the next. The journey remains dynamic and occasionally mysterious, but it is no longer paralyzing. You learn to live with open hands rather than clenched fists.

In the end, following Jesus was never about constructing a perfectly reasoned system before taking action. It was about responding to a call that still echoes with clarity. That call invites you into relationship, into growth, into transformation that unfolds across a lifetime. You will continue to think, to question, to learn, and to reflect. But those processes no longer dominate; they support a deeper foundation of trust. And from that foundation, you walk forward not as someone who has solved every mystery, but as someone who knows the One who walks beside you.

Your friend, Douglas Vandergraph

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s inspiring faith-based videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Support the ministry by buying Douglas a coffee: https://www.buymeacoffee.com/douglasvandergraph

• this month started like most: overwhelming. while i usually take the contours of my life with relative grace, there’s something about this month that scares me. lots of decisions are being made in the next couple of weeks, let’s see if they’re correct—or at least worth the wait.
• ever since i’ve been writing more, the specter over my shoulder is starting to be exorcised. reality seems to be taking shape and i finally have the eyes to see it.
• i think i need at least ONE roommate. living alone is obviously a luxury most want but don’t receive, however, i’m starting to talk to myself way too much. it’s a habit i picked up in high school, regurgitating study material to myself silently in my school’s media center, but it’s ended up overstaying its welcome. i can clearly remember moving into my first apartment in dc rehearsing professional elevator pitch in front of my bathroom mirror wearing only a towel while hitting power poses. i recite monologues around my place too, of course thinking i’m preforming like there’s an eviction notice on my door. anyway, i think i just need a pet. i was cat-sitting for my friend momina a couple months ago (if you’re reading this hiiiiii) and i was immediately taken aback having another living thing in my home. i don’t necessarily ignore the silence, i didn’t really have the ears to hear the frequency. it’s like the cat’s signs of life widened my understanding by reminding myself adolescence, back when i was sharing a room with one or both of my siblings. i miss the noise.
• i think i’m attracted to men that are built and look like walruses.
• it’s fleeting, but i sometimes feel 17 again. it’s like i wake up and lose progress one day. sometimes i look in the mirror and see him staring back. is there something i’m missing?
• i think i’m the only person who knows about madi sipes & the painted blue. i found the band right before covid hit while i was visiting home for spring break. i was in a phase of isolating myself and illegally watching movies on my 2017 macbook air until 2 AM, using the last couple of dollars from my work study paycheck to buy snacks from the vending machine by my dorm. some say i might’ve been struggling financially—i’m gonna have to agree. anywayyyyy, the music is kinda made for people who want to imagine what sex is like without actually having to experience it (there has to be a better way to say this my god). it’s melodramatic, sometimes gaudy, but always good idc. these lyrics were tearing 19-year-old me apartttttt.

• i would’ve been that one grad student in elizabeth holmes’ chemistry lab praying on her downfall.
• i’m sitting at my desk trying to work but i think this job is genuinely making me depressed. it’s hard to explain but going to the office feels like a funeral procession—i find myself gravitating to all black outfits and walking somberly to the metro as if i’m awaiting the fate of my livelihood. last year when it was even worse (lol yeah that’s possible) and my mom would comment on how sad my eyes looked on facetime. i didn’t believe her at first but now it’s all see when i look at myself in passing. it’s draining. i just want these people to take me seriously like everyone else in my life. why can’t they see me? but also who fucking cares about them? idk. it also sucks because i’m wearing my sophie sweater today and serving too much cunt for a corporate environment.

• i will never forgive the initial commodification of large language models by openai. its gonna take so much longer for ai research to be taken seriously by the general population.
• i deleted my twitter account about two years ago and while i’m eternally grateful for that decision, i’ve always been nervous that i’d be missing out on the inside jokes that make up most of internet culture. all that to say, thank god for those meme pages on instagram reposting tweets like i really needed someone to fill that vacuum of humor and they came through for me.
• i have a memory from elementary school where i was in my music class and playing with a sharpened pencil on the carpet. all i remember next is the pencil going through my left hand and blood leaking all over my uniform shirt. it seemed that no one helped fast enough as the blood dried on my skin with smudges from my tears i’m guessing? i still don’t know if that was a dream.
• time isn’t as close as i think it is. it’s like when i turn back i can’t see it anymore, i’m waving back to get its attention—i still feel the weigh over my shoulder.
• i’m gripping what i want so tightly i might kill it. i can see the life leaving its eyes and veins pop. but it’s for me. i know it’s for me.
• oliynykova’s serve is so cool, it looks too cool to be that consistent and fluid.
• i think ariana grande was allowed to co-opt black culture without too much blowback from the public since she was a child star on nickelodeon. to me at least, working with dan schneider under the age of 18 gives you one hall pass for a socially unacceptable behavior. i’m thinking about this since i’m a) a gay guy and b) listening to positions in a time of tumultuous transition.
• this tweet fr follows me everywhere:

• there has to be a drink with the same flavor profile as classic red bull like i can’t keep drinking caffeine like this if i want to retire in brazil.
• i find it so endearing that my barber sings along to the radio while he cuts my hair. he’s not shy with it either, finding harmonies with the melody and vocalizing the ad-libs with precision. i sometimes join him in between cuts obviously avoiding eye contact even though everyone knows the words to s&m…
• i’m actually so glad i don’t have a childhood home. i don’t think i can visit a space of mine that has witnessed so much change. my presence is inherently transient. i’ve gotten so attached to places i’ve only lived in for a couple months, college dorms mostly. i look back at the photos and can explain ever design choice, every poster placement, every pin on my wall.
• why do we need to ai-generate little latin boys with grammys if we have bad bunny performing at the super bowl?
• i don’t have my pulse on the culture like i used to but i hope bugonia is a frontrunner in the oscar conversation. (aside: i’ve heard so much about one battle after another [review below] and tbh i wasn’t as impressive as it was made out to be. coming into it i had this expectation that pta succinctly captured the climate of post-covid america in three hours and while he kinda did, it didn’t move me at all? that’s a pretty loaded statement and i probably need to write a full-blown essay about it but i digress…)

• i think gpt by stayc is the best songs on love in the internet age post-covid and that’s a hill i’m willing to die on. i’m also only sharing this opinion because i think i’m dl, but in a k-pop sort of way. (aside: i’ve been on the periphery of k-pop stan culture for most of my time on twitter and regularly found myself running in the same circles as people with irene avis. in a way i felt an kinship with them and i don’t think i have time to explain further.)
• the world has always been broken
• i feel like 2% of all air canada employees speak french fr
• are you predicting trends or just observing what’s already in front of you?
• whenever i drink a strawberry matcha i feel like a fruit fly drinking sugar water in a wet lab
• is media literacy really at an all time low if the only people seeing these takes are also concerned with anti-intellectualism? we only talk about these issues as outsiders looking in instead of actually interacting with the realistic opinions of the people who are “media illiterate.” it also doesn’t help that these conversations mainly happen online with media publications regurgitating the spark notes version of a video essay an editor found on youtube. i guarantee you most people don’t know who mina le is.
• there’s something about the personality of the average british person that makes the traitors uk the best in the franchise
• emerald fennell’s movies are gonna be cult classics in 30 years and yes i’m being dead serious
• rather than relying on gestures, we rely on diction and syntax
• we need more horny b-roll footage
• industry is one of the only shows that treats sex scenes as something that is used to explicitly help the narrative to make relationships more obvious to viewer without it teetering on “show, don’t tell.” it feels less intimate—more viscous and voyeuristic. it’s like i’m watching something too realistic to suspend my belief that i’m watching television.
• imagine if tennis had loser brackets… like imagine an unseeded player grinding through the draw after losing early and then having to reset the bracket against sinner in the final… like i’d kill myself.
• life constantly feels like you’re traversing fog of  war and unlocking previously restricted areas; somehow MOBAs are a useful metaphor.
• time builds fondness
• and of course this knocked me off my ass btw:

There are two cardinal rules of writing. First, you never say I’m trying to write a book, novel, short story, etc. Second, you never talk about what you’re writing in detail. Break these rules and you’ll never get anything done.

I don’t like talking about my upcoming projects because I always jinx myself. However, eventually I’m going to have to talk about them. And since I’ve been mostly consistent on posting on this blog, the momentum helped me bring back unfinished short stories out of the back burner.

I’ve stopped writing short stories for several years because I’ve been so busy. Now, I’m back in the game. I have a chance to finish my short story trilogy before the year is done.

Why now? I hate leaving anything unfinished. At this point in my life I don’t care if my works succeed or not. It’s all about just finishing. Best to be last in the finish line than to drop out completely. At least I can say to myself in the mirror that I did it.

Do you have any writing projects in your back burner? Do you want to finish them regardless if you succeed or not? Take advantage of 2026 before 2027 creeps up on you.

#writing #project #shortstory

New York, NY. #chairsz

Almighty and Everlasting God, Who hatest nothing that Thou hast made, and dost forgive the sins of all those who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we. worthily lamenting our sins, and acknowledging our wretchedness, may obtain of Thee, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ, Thy Son, our Lord, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the Holy Ghost, ever One God, world without end. Amen.

—Common Service Book of the Lutheran Church, 1917

#lent #prayers

This series begins with the post, Rules for Thee: The Homeowners Association Community Standards. Moving on to “Prohibited Items,” this is what it says for my HOA-governed neighborhood (emphasis mine):

Certain alterations/conditions are not allowed within the Declaration without the written approval of the Board as submitted by the ACC. These include, but are not limited to those listed below. They are considered to be in VIOLATION and subject to immediate action by the ACC through the Violation Procedures as amended from time to time.

•Window Air Conditioning Units

•Satellite Dishes over 39.37 in.

•Aluminum, metal, plastic, or fiberglass roofs where the roof pitch is equal to or greater than 3/12 unless covered by composite asphalt/fiberglass multi-tab or dimensional shingles.

•Wood or asphalt mineral surface roll roofs

•Plastic or Artificial flowers.

The first major problem I had in my new house was the a/c. Within two or three years, it needed new coils because mine were freezing up and the type I had was outdated and no longer on the market. WTF! Next, I needed a new fan motor because mine burned out. That was between year three and four. By year five or six, the a/c was irreparable, and the cost for replacement was $9k!!! Thankfully, it went out in the “fall” or I probably would have died.

So, for a year or so, I had one a/c window unit in the back. Next, I added another to the front. Then, I added a portable one that had a part you had to put to the window, but it didn’t hang out the window. It was hot AF in this house! I gathered a fraction of the money then applied for a bank loan to finance a new unit.

I wrote all that to say not one time did the HOA say anything. There were other “violators” in the neighborhood. And I actually didn’t know it was against “Community Standards” until a gracious informant clued me in. Plus, I have definitely seen artificial flowers. Do you really think homeowners are asking for permission from the “Architecture Committee” for box air conditioners and fake ass flowers?

When you closed on your house located in an HOA-governed community, you agreed to things that you may not have imagined. Yes, you as a grown person—who likely made the largest purchase of your lifetime—signed up to have an abundance of rules for a property you thought you owned. These rules exist to create homogeneity for the betterment of the community, aka “to increase property values…or at least that’s what they continue to tell you. Look at the verbiage HOAs use (emphasis mine):

It is the intention of the ACC to maintain a high standard of exterior architectural appearance throughout the Vista Palms Community. The following guidelines have been set up to protect the integrity of the community for both the developer’s interests and the purchasers’ investment therein. Your adherence to these guidelines will help preserve the quality of Vista Palms.

However, if you have come to understand how rules work, rules are not for everyone. And they are often enforced arbitrarily. You can see this by driving through a community. But you will not truly know unless you know someone who the HOA has made an example of. Thankfully, I will demonstrate this through a review of my neighborhood in a series of posts, beginning with this one.

My HOA Community Standards document informs homeowners upfront that they don’t mean everything that they say. And even if they don’t say something, it may still apply to you (emphasis mine):

This Community Standards Document is established to assist the Architectural Control Committee (ACC) and Owners with procedures and guidelines through consistent and high quality design standards for the property alteration process. It supports and amplifies the Declaration of Restrictions and Covenants and other governing documents that bind each property Owner. It is provided to residents of Vista Palms for their future reference. This document is not intended to address all possible situations, alterations, etc…These standards do not cover every possible situation that may require ACC approval.

So, what does the Architectural Committee have jurisdiction over? Well, everything related to the outside of your house and the surrounding land as follows (emphasis mine):

Any exterior property alteration (to the home or the lot) requires the completion of an “Application to Architectural Control Committee” form that must be approved by the ACC. A copy of a blank application form is included in this booklet.

Examples of alterations include, but are not limited to:

•Awnings

•Brick pavers: location and color

•Changes to the exterior color of the home (painting)

•Exterior decoration applied above garage doors and fronts of homes

•Recreational or sporting equipment

•Fences

•Flag poles and antennas

•Front door: style and/or color

•Gutters: style, color

•Items in flowerbed besides plants

•Lanais, sunrooms and gazebos

•Lighting: placement and size

•Landscaping (refer to Article 4)

•Pools, spas, hot tubs, whirlpools

•Porches, decks and patios

•Roofing

•Screen Enclosures

•Home additions and exterior renovations

You bought/financed a house so that you could apply to your HOA to determine if you can make any changes to your house. Does that sound like something you own?

I imagine this scenario below to make myself laugh even though it isn’t the greatest analogy [because the car doesn’t stay on the lot in one community].

You buy a Ford Expedition. You decide you want change the color of the car from black to blue but you have to apply to the Ford Architectural Committee (FAC) first. They say yes because blue is safer than black (Why did they sell you a black car then?). But it has to be sky blue because it has to match the current fleet of Ford Expeditions. Your a/c stops functioning and so you leave the windows down all the time. The FAC tells you that you cannot have those windows down like that and they are going to fine you $1000. (They don’t have to do to this. They want to do this.) You are confused because there are other Fords drivers with their windows down but, apparently, they only have their windows down at night. A/C repair is $800 which you obviously do not have right now because, duh, why would you be having your windows down while it is 106 degrees outside. There are two nails in your left passenger tire and you get one used tire to replace it. The FAC sends you a notice that you aren’t allow to have mismatched tires on your Expedition because that doesn’t represent the “high standard” of the brand. But you don’t need four new tires plus you don’t have the money to replace them all in addition to needing a new $800 a/c and having to pay the $1k fine for having your windows down all day for the past few months. You play your music loud in your Expedition’s upgraded sound system while you try to come up with a plan for all your expenses. The FAC sends you a violation stating that the volume of your music is unacceptable for a person who drives a Ford Expedition and you will be fined $1000. You now have the money to get all new tires and to get the a/c fixed. You receive a notice from Ford Law Firm that your case has been referred to them and that you owe fines and attorney’s fees for multiple violations and if you don’t pay, they will take you to court to get a lien and/or take the car from you to sell it. But you own the it. What? At least you can just sell the Expedition because it has a value higher than other brands…except that people are now buying much older cars because they realized that there is better value in those. Plus, there are so many other Expedition-type vehicles on the market that are cheaper than yours and with similar features. Also, sky blue is like, so senior-citizen.

Because I have something like 400 books stored in Houston, a few of which I'd like to bring back to Cairo with me, I decided to travel without a book on my person, and that way I'd have one less book to carry. Instead, I grabbed my kindle—which I hadn't touched in over a year—to start diving into whatever unread book(s) I might have on it. Walter Mosely's ARCHIBALD LAWLESS, ANARCHIST AT LARGE has thus far not disappointed. Apparently, you can hardly ever go wrong with me if the book prominently features a character that tethers between genius and madness.

Enjoyed watching BUGONIA on the long leg from Paris, though its title does strike me as a little forced. I also watched the Francois Ozon film adaptation of Albert Camus' THE STRANGER, which was surprisingly good. Surprising only because the book itself is rather peculiar and doesn't quite lend itself too well to movies, but the black & white cinematography alone is just gorgeous, and all the performances are very on point.

The weather in Houston this time of year is both warm and crisp, and much more pleasant than Cairo right now which has yet to fully shed its winter chill, despite Khamaseen dust storms having just rolled in early this year—typically a sign of incoming spring.

The AirBnB I'm staying at is just around the corner from my kid's place, his school sandwiched in-between. Got to walk him to school this morning, which was just absolutely delightful.

#journal #travel

I’ve been playing Marvel SNAP for close to three years. If you’re not familiar, Marvel SNAP is a card battling video game where you play cards with Marvel superheroes and villains, each of which has a point value and most of which have abilities that affect the game.

Games usually take about five minutes, so it’s a really good casual game to play on your phone. You can win without spending a ton of money, and the developers seem to really put a lot of effort into keeping the game competitive.

….and, I think it’s going to die.

Because Marvel SNAP depends on players spending money to get cool variants (the same card you already have, but with a different picture) or entirely new cards. They launch a new set of cards every four or five weeks. They call these “seasons,” and if you pay ten bucks for a season, you’re guaranteed to get some new cards.

So the primary way this game makes money is by getting players to pay money for new cards. Which presents a problem: the business model demands infinite growth, but neither the IP nor the game design will support that.

Every recognizable Marvel character already has a card. So if part of the fun of the game for you is playing cards that feature your favorite characters, you know at this point that you’re never seeing any more.

They’re starting to do new versions of old characters with slightly different abilities. So right now, for example, they’ve got Star Lord: Master of the Sun, which a) makes me start singing “Dayman” in my head and b) is the third Star Lord card they’ve released. But even as they release new cards for old characters, they’re trying to give them new abilities, but the game is simple enough that most of the good abilities have already been assigned to a card, so the card descriptions are getting longer and more intricate which directly contrasts with the simplicity of the gameplay.

The motivations for getting a new card boil down to either “this unlocks a new way to play the game” or “this strengthens my existing strategy.” There was a bit of buzz when the Marvel Zombies dropped in October, satisfying the former motivation, but nothing really essential for the second motivation.

What this means is that since October of ‘25, nobody’s had a whole lot of motivation to get new cards. And it doesn’t look like the situation is going to get any better. It used to be that they’d launch a new card and people who had that card would mop the floor with you, and you’d have to get that card or a reasonable defense for it in order to stay competitive. That’s just not the case anymore.

Which is fine! It’s still a fun game! I could happily play with just these cards more or less forever! But since the business model depends on endless growth, I think we’ve reached a crisis point.

So it’s basically a microcosm of capitalism, is what I’m saying. Trying to milk endless growth out of finite resources is a fool’s errand, and capitalism as a whole seems to be at the same place as Marvel Snap. They keep trying to convince us that we need some new thing, or that the next consumer revolution is upon us, but they haven’t introduced anything that’s a real game changer since the smartphone in ‘08.

Whereas it used to seem like the breakneck pace of advancement would never let up, there are now legal adults who’ve grown up wihout any really significant advances in technology. (Yes, I am aware of the AI “revolution” but remain unconvinced that it’s a real thing anymore than the blockchain “revolution” was. Just because a lot of credulous dopes have invested money into something doesn’t mean it’s got real value.)

The frustrating thing is that everybody knows this. Nothing grows forever, especially nothing that’s built on resources that can’t grow forever. So maybe it’s time we stop pretending that endless growth is a real thing.

Quando si lavora alla costruzione di un curricolo nazionale per la prima infanzia nei Balcani, si ha spesso l’impressione di muoversi in un territorio apparentemente tecnico, fatto di indicatori, standard, descrittori di competenza. Ma sotto questa superficie si agitano forze molto più profonde: identità collettive in trasformazione, eredità storiche che non smettono di pesare, aspirazioni europee che chiedono di essere tradotte in pratiche quotidiane. È in questo spazio, dove la pedagogia incontra la geopolitica culturale, che il pensiero di Kwasi Wiredu diventa sorprendentemente rilevante. Non perché offra soluzioni preconfezionate, ma perché illumina un nodo cruciale: ogni società, quando riforma la propria educazione, sta in realtà ridefinendo se stessa.

Wiredu parte da un’idea semplice e radicale: non esistono concetti neutrali. Ogni parola porta con sé un mondo, e ogni traduzione è un atto politico. È un’intuizione che nei Balcani si percepisce con forza. Termini come agency, holistic development, participation arrivano da organismi internazionali con un’aura di universalità, ma quando entrano nelle lingue locali si trasformano, si piegano, talvolta si svuotano. Non perché manchi la volontà di comprenderli, ma perché ogni lingua custodisce una propria visione dell’infanzia, della comunità, del ruolo dell’adulto.

Wiredu ci invita a non subire questo processo, ma a governarlo. Non basta importare concetti: occorre ricostruirli dall’interno, farli risuonare con le categorie culturali locali, evitare che diventino slogan tecnici privi di radicamento. È un lavoro che nei Balcani assume un valore particolare, perché qui la lingua non è solo uno strumento comunicativo: è un marcatore identitario, un terreno di memoria, talvolta un confine politico. Progettare un curricolo significa allora anche decidere quali parole meritano di entrare nel lessico educativo nazionale e quali invece rischiano di imporre visioni estranee.

 

Uno dei contributi più originali di Wiredu è la sua capacità di tenere insieme universalismo e particolarismo senza farli collidere. Egli sostiene che gli esseri umani condividono una base comune, biologica e cognitiva, che rende possibile il dialogo interculturale. Ma questa base non cancella le differenze: le rende intelligibili. È un equilibrio che descrive perfettamente la condizione dei sistemi educativi balcanici, sospesi tra l’esigenza di allinearsi agli standard europei e il bisogno di preservare la propria specificità culturale.

In questo senso, i curricoli non sono semplici strumenti tecnici: sono dichiarazioni di appartenenza. Aderire agli standard internazionali significa affermare una direzione politica; valorizzare le tradizioni locali significa rivendicare una continuità storica. Wiredu ci ricorda che non si tratta di scegliere tra i due poli, ma di costruire un ponte credibile. Gli universali non sono un’imposizione, ma un terreno comune; i particolari non sono un ostacolo, ma la forma concreta attraverso cui ogni società interpreta quei principi.

 

Wiredu non separa mai la filosofia dalla politica. Per lui, pensare significa intervenire nella realtà, soprattutto in contesti segnati da eredità coloniali o post‑imperiali. Nei Balcani, questa prospettiva è particolarmente pertinente. La scuola dell’infanzia è uno dei pochi spazi in cui le società possono immaginare un futuro diverso da quello ereditato. È qui che si costruiscono le prime forme di convivenza, si negoziano le differenze linguistiche, si sperimentano modelli di partecipazione che possono influenzare la vita civica.

La democrazia consensuale evocata da Wiredu, fondata sulla ricerca di accordi e sulla centralità della comunità, offre una chiave di lettura interessante per i contesti balcanici, dove la frammentazione etnica e linguistica ha spesso ostacolato la costruzione di politiche condivise. Un curricolo che valorizza la partecipazione delle famiglie, la pluralità culturale e la cooperazione tra educatori non è solo un documento pedagogico: è un gesto politico che mira a ricucire il tessuto sociale.

 

Il metodo di Wiredu, che unisce rigore concettuale, attenzione alle pratiche culturali e pragmatismo, si presta sorprendentemente bene al lavoro curricolare nei Balcani. Significa analizzare con precisione i riferimenti internazionali, ma senza assumerli come dogmi. Significa osservare le pratiche educative locali, non per idealizzarle, ma per comprenderne la logica interna. Significa costruire un quadro coerente che sia allo stesso tempo fedele alle aspirazioni europee e rispettoso delle identità locali.

In questa prospettiva, il lavoro curricolare diventa un esercizio di decolonizzazione concettuale nel senso più alto del termine: non un rifiuto dell’esterno, ma un uso critico e creativo delle influenze globali per costruire un modello educativo autentico, credibile e sostenibile. È un processo che richiede tempo, ascolto e capacità di mediazione, ma che può produrre risultati profondi e duraturi.

Il pensiero di Kwasi Wiredu offre una lente potente per comprendere ciò che accade quando un Paese riforma il proprio curricolo della prima infanzia. Non si tratta solo di definire competenze o descrivere pratiche: si tratta di decidere chi si vuole diventare come comunità. Nei Balcani, questa scelta è particolarmente carica di significato, perché riguarda società che stanno ancora ridefinendo la propria identità dopo decenni di trasformazioni politiche e culturali.

Integrare la prospettiva di Wiredu significa riconoscere che ogni curricolo è un atto di sovranità culturale, un modo per affermare una visione del mondo e del futuro. Significa costruire un’educazione capace di dialogare con l’Europa senza rinunciare alla propria storia, e capace di valorizzare le culture locali senza chiudersi in esse. È un equilibrio difficile, ma è proprio in questa difficoltà che si misura la maturità di un sistema educativo.

 

Go Dawgs!

My early game to follow tonight comes from the Big Eight Conference and will have the Butler Bulldogs men's basketball team playing against the Georgetown Hoyas. Start time is scheduled for 5:30 PM CT.

And the adventure continues.

Our Father Who art in heaven Hallowed be Thy name Thy Kingdom come Thy will be done on Earth as it is in heaven Give us this day our daily Bread And forgive us our trespasses As we forgive those who trespass against us And lead us not into temptation But deliver us from evil

Amen

Jesus is Lord! Come Lord Jesus!

Come Lord Jesus! Christ is Lord!

The Victory of Ukraine

For days beseen in Heav’ Litany if Ghosts in fear Justice in Water And small pens The rhythm of daily wonder Effects to the late in May Fallen years and days.. And the months we sceptre Iranian blues by the lift Salmon in wonder of the Navy Pressing by the dew And skips of the Ron for water’s end In peers we knew the end Small wonder for wars that would Like this one, and the news we thought Blasting to corridors And courage to connect the one Not freely, but in temper And just in spirit- To go alone For Victory this alias And a sky of wonder to know Same time as the Deity- Our Father in Heaven Who put us first In fearless wonder And the day gave way Making Bread as hand in hand The four shots we heard that day And we knew of Absolom- and the meek and wonder To be old and powder’s due This symphony of a hangman’s dirge Calling collective to the Royal A page in view, And offering to collect A fortune’s path- but we were there, in toe The ecstasy of charting In due course change our plan And noticed charge Victory is ours And Home For the better day As we wait.

質問が止まらないほど相手に関心がある、という気持ちに憧れがある。 それとは逆に、能動文だけで会話する、というカッコよさを同時に思いつく。 持っていないものはすべて、遠くから見ると美しく見える。

その思いを文字にしたとき、前半はうまくいったと思った。 確かに、頭の中で輝いていた部分が、そのまま紙の上に落ちてきたように見えた。 ところが後半に「かっこいい」という言葉を置いた途端、すべてが安くなる。 光沢のあった表面に、急に指紋がつくような濁りを感じる。 頭の中にあるうちは、確かにそれはダイヤのようだったのに、文字にしてしまうと、「ああ、君はそんな子だったのね」とガッカリしながら自分が産んだ言葉をそれでも愛す。

両手で物を持つという行為が好き。

花瓶を両手で持つ。 スマートフォンを両手で持つ。 お茶碗を両手で持つ。

両手で持つという、その仕草自体が好きで、何でも頭の中で両手に持たせてみる。 普段は片手で済ませているものを、わざわざ両手に移すと、急にそれが大切なものに変わる。

普段両手で持たないものも持ってみる。 箸を両手で持つ。 コンビニの帰りの袋を両手で持つ。 一円玉を両手で持つ。

両手で持つと、片手で持つより、重みを持つ。

物語にあまり関心がない。 起こっている事象そのものが好きだ。 もし、ストーリーよりも事象の連なりを見せることだけを目的に映画を作る監督がいたとしたら、俺は「おやおや」と思うだろう。 その言葉は、軽く押し隠した羨ましさが隠れている。

嫌いなことを続けると、体が熱くなる。 顔の表面に脂が浮いてくるのが分かる。 内側で何かが燃えているというより、ただ外側が溶けていく感じがする。

ゴミ袋がある。 誰かが捨てた。

自転車がある。 誰かが置いた。

ショッピングモールがある。 誰かが建てた。

誰かに伝えようとすると、説明が必要になり、受け手は少し困る。 だが、もし困っていない人がいたとすると、その状態には名前があったら良かったのに。

日々とても辛い。 そして、辛いことを辛いと思わないようにするのは、とても醜い。 今日も、俺は赤色と金色が好きだと思う。

It is the future, and Nanofactories have removed material scarcity. No one misses out on their material needs. So why do we still have power structures?

There has been an assumption that power relationships arise from unequal access to resources. One historical perspective argues that if a boss has power over an employee, it is because the boss has access to greater capital resources. If the same employee had access to an equal amount of capital, it is assumed they would leave and start their own business, where they have full control.

Now that everyone can freely print capital using Nanofactories, the above perspective leads to the assumption that companies will now collapse. Sure, we've seen this start to occur in certain fields (e.g. financial, middle-management, supply chain, etc), but why is it not more widespread? Surely no one would choose to continue working under a company structure when they don’t have to.

There appear to be other reasons that people stay at organizations, even if they no longer need to. For most of human history, it was assumed that people worked for survival as the primary reason. However, on a second look, we can see widespread examples of people working to earn far beyond the need for basic sustenance: taking pay cuts, volunteering, open-source development, managing community groups – just to name a few examples.

Even our distant ancestors lived in small nomadic communities, worked less hours than most current jobs, and this was enough for survival. If that survival-capital was the end of human want, there would be no need for cities to develop. Thousands of years (and several automation breakthroughs) later, material-shaping artisans gradually became information and financial workers. People continued to commit themselves to more and more complex structures of power and coordination.

When we look beyond the material necessities, we see it is social power and social influence that is gained by being part of an organized effort. We tend to achieve far more for our fellows when we do it as a community effort. If humans were content having no influence over their peers, then today we would be seeing society dissolve as people journey off in their own directions. That may be the “true path” for some, but for most others, meaning comes from living a life in service of the larger society.

Today, we no longer need each other to survive. We can print everything we need. Despite this, many of us choose to work together as organizations, requiring compromise and personal sacrifice. We choose this, because it is the way to support the thriving of the rest of humanity, and not just our own survival. And so jobs shouldn’t ever be expected to vanish via technological breakthrough.

La afición me idolatra, como lo hicieron sus abuelos con Pelé o sus padres con Ronaldo Nazario.

No tanto, pero es suficiente; se suben cuando toco el balón en medio de la adversidad y voy para arriba. Si sale bien, qué más pedir, no encuentro nada más sublime.

Crecí en un barrio donde los niños resuelven la vida a las buenas o a puñetazos. A ninguno se le ocurre dejar el devenir para mañana. Es ahora: nada se aplaza. Nadie sabe si estará vivo la semana entrante.

Un día mi tío Jair, que jugó en el Botafogo, me dijo:

-Tú sirves para portero.

Y me entrenó. Comprendí el punto clave: el valor. Robar la bola de los pies al atacante, cabeza fría en el penalti, volar entre los palos. Aunque te partas los dientes.

Más tarde faltó uno y me pusieron de atacante. A continuación, ya saben.

Porque el secreto es que huelo el miedo, el miedo es el agujero. El miedo del defensor lo desequilibra. El miedo del portero es un segundo tarde. Parece pereza, negligencia. Pero es miedo espeso que inmoviliza porque está en las tripas.

Me empujan, me escupen, me insultan, me patean. No hay miedo. Y llevo el balón. Lo que gritan en las gradas es eso, no hay más.

Vencer. El miedo que nos drena. Que nos impide vivir con dignidad.

Es la fiesta.

La cancha es la vida. La vida es la cancha.