What happens when I meet things before I try to understand them? I see how my mind quickly builds stories around my experiences—turning passing feelings into explicit tales and short-lived impressions into solid conclusions.

Can I gently embrace just how random this process of making meaning is? Not by saying it isn’t helpful but by understanding it’s a choice. I realize that labeling and judging are not automatic but are choices I make, even if I don’t always know I’m making them.

Isn’t it strange that I only appreciate not feeling pain when I do feel it? My knee without pain is unnoticed and unappreciated—until that discomfort shows me what I didn’t previously see. Could it be the same with my thoughts? I don’t notice the absence of my mental stories until they are always there.

I have squandered my resistance for a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises…

What if my stories aren’t as important as they feel? These narratives are built on bits and pieces of what I perceive, and my explanations come from limited information. They aren’t necessarily wrong, but I might give them more weight than they deserve.

When my motivation fades away instead of being forced down—isn’t that different from pushing it away? My simple need to find meaning can disappear without struggle or victory, like misplaced keys.

What is left when I can experience things without putting them into words or ideas? It isn’t meaningless; it might hold a different kind of significance that doesn’t need words or explanation to exist entirely.

I think everyone can see how the mind likes to tell stories and that one can relate to experiences outside of those tales. Everyone can feel the urge to explain and the friendly freedom to let things be as they are without needing to express them.

You are always welcome.