TRAGEDY IS THE NEW REALITY

I always wondered what my mid-life crisis would look like. I pictured myself as someone rational enough to see it coming, to explain it away before it even began. But here I am, staring at the same questions that sneak up on everyone else eventually: what mark am I leaving in this world, and does any of it matter when the lights finally go out?

I have spent years solving problems as a software engineer, building and fixing, finding order in chaos. For a long time, that was enough. Recently, it has not been. Something inside of me wants more, something that feels meaningful, something creative, something that scratches an itch I cannot quite put into words. So I did something that surprised even me: I started writing a screenplay.

The last time I did any real creative writing was in college. I was not sure if I had it in me anymore. The more I leaned into it, the more I remembered what it felt like to create for no reason other than to see what might come alive on the page. I dug up an old idea from that long-forgotten writing class, dusted it off, and before long I had a story bible, characters, and even an entire fictional world mapped out. For the first time in a long while, I felt like I might have something.

I believed in it enough to form an LLC and submit my work for copyright. That is when the wall hit. The Copyright Office flagged my submission as “AI-generated” because I had used tools along the way to help organize my notes and polish the structure. I was furious. The ideas were mine. The characters were mine. The choices, what to keep and what to cut, were mine. The AI did not create for me; it only helped me corral the chaos. But apparently, that did not matter.

I pulled the application. It deflated me more than I expected. It made me wonder if the effort itself was even worth it. I put my own text into the same kind of AI detector they used and got a “high probability” score too. That alone told me how flawed the process is. Creativity does not come out looking like an equation, yet that is exactly how these detectors try to frame it.

Still, I have not given up entirely. I have finished three scenes so far. Writing alone feels hollow though, like talking into an empty room. I still lean on AI here and there, not to create but to question me, to keep me honest, to push me when I get stuck. It is not perfect, but it is something.

I do not know if writing is truly “my thing.” Maybe this is just a phase, maybe it is my version of a crisis. What I do know is that I need something that moves me forward, something that challenges me to keep going. Whether it is this screenplay or something else, I hope that by the time I claw my way through this moment, I will have found a way to feel whole again.

I have been restless lately, searching for something to pour myself into on the weekends that feels like it matters. I want to produce something with real impact. Writing software still excites me, and I love learning new languages and tools, but I want it to be in service of a larger vision. The idea of working on side projects or freelancing has crossed my mind more than once, but the thought of putting myself out there is uncomfortable. I have looked at platforms to get started, but the setup process feels overwhelming. I do not even know what to charge for my work. In the past, I have done projects for others, but getting paid for them was a struggle. What I would truly love is to be part of something new where I have a stake in the outcome.

I have a few things in motion now, but I am struggling with the engagement of others involved. I am passionate about building great software, and I have my contributions finished far ahead of schedule. Others in the group do not seem to share the same urgency or dedication. Weeks and sometimes months go by without progress. It is frustrating to feel ready to push forward while the rest of the machine idles.

In my day job, I do not write code anymore, but I lead those who do. Over the years, I have moved between being an individual contributor and a leader, and both roles have their own appeal. Still, there is nothing like putting on headphones, sinking into a technical challenge, and solving it piece by piece. I enjoy my work, but there are parts of it that make me consider leaving. The problem is that corporate America is the same wherever you go. The politics, the inefficiencies, the misplaced priorities, they are universal. A change in employer might not change much at all.

I wonder how different it would be in a company where I had ownership, where my voice carried real weight. I want to believe I could take the lessons I have learned and create a better environment, one that avoids the pitfalls I have come to resent. But maybe everyone thinks that in the beginning. Maybe money and growth inevitably warp good intentions. I would like to think I could resist that pull. I have to believe I could. Otherwise, what is the point?

Yet, that is the tragedy we keep living through, our best intentions swallowed by the same forces we swore we would never bow to. Every venture begins with promises of something better, but somewhere between the dream and the outcome, the same cracks appear. The same rot spreads. The new reality is not that we cannot build something different. It is that we rarely survive the process of trying.

Is it possible to go a single day without a new distraction? Every morning seems to bring something else to pull our attention away from what matters. I find myself asking why it is so easy for people to pledge loyalty to those who have not earned it. Why has it been so effortless to let violence and hate seep into their veins? Why is it so difficult to step back, to question, and to work not only toward improving our own lives but also toward helping others reach their potential?

I started writing this blog as an outlet. It was never about shouting into the void or feeding the endless cycle of outrage. It would be simple to react, to spew back conspiracies, to let anger run the show. I have those thoughts. I get angry like anyone else. But beneath the noise, I have always hoped for more. I want to meet people where they are, even when we disagree. I want to talk, not to win or to convince, but to understand. So far, I have never been successful. Every attempt has turned defensive and brittle. I cannot tell if that is conviction or something else entirely.

Do we really believe what we say we believe? Or are our thoughts shaped by the people we surround ourselves with? I keep coming back to childhood. As children, we trust without question. We believe what we are told because why wouldn’t we? The word lie feels too harsh. Often the beliefs passed down to us are just echoes of what someone else was taught. Generations handing off their worldviews like family heirlooms. It is only later, if ever, that some of us learn to question. For some, questioning comes from rational reflection. For others, it comes through new influences entering their lives. It is fascinating and terrifying at the same time.

Maybe I am rambling. Maybe this is all just word salad. But I cannot help trying to untangle these thoughts because I am desperate to understand where we are heading. I constantly ask why some people do not see what I and many others see. And I know that on the other side of the aisle, people are likely asking the same question about me. Somewhere along the way, the common good has been pushed aside. We are drowning in decisiveness, in noise, in conflict that leaves no room for nuance.

Are we so laser focused on our chosen narratives that we cannot see the edge of the cliff? Or are we choosing ignorance, keeping the VR headset on because reality feels too heavy? I keep wondering what it will take to wake us up. What event will finally break the spell and make us truly observant of the world as it is? I hope we do not have to learn the hard way.

I had a conversation with my wife today about the state of our country. It feels like we are moving toward a tipping point, a place where the division among us grows so deep that violence begins to feel like the only resolution. I do not want to believe that is true, but I cannot ignore the sense that compromise is slipping further from reach. Across all sides, rational conversation on difficult topics seems almost impossible. Mutual respect has become rare. And if no one is willing to listen, then I am not sure the sides of a coin even matter anymore.

At its core, I believe the issue is selfishness. No matter what we believe, human decency should guide us first. Helping others should not be controversial. Of course there must be systems in place to hold accountable those who exploit generosity, but compassion should always be the starting point. People make mistakes. Sometimes they are unlucky. Sometimes they are trying to survive in a system that was never built for them. Those who have succeeded have a choice. They can hoard what they have gained or they can offer a hand to those still climbing. That one act of help could be the turning point for someone struggling to hold on.

There are countless ways to build a more harmonious society, but there is only one way to begin. Each of us can lift someone else up. There is room in this world to live comfortably without needing a vault of wealth like Scrooge McDuck. Utopia may be out of reach today, but I hope those who come after us will learn from our failures and find a way to break the cycle.

We cling to our assumptions and protect our chosen truths. Everyone does it. Some truths are solid and universal. Others twist and warp to fit our desires. But what if we stopped? What if we could agree on one simple premise? We all share this Earth. What if we each took responsibility to protect it and its people equally? We would all benefit. Is that really too much to ask? Is the hate so deeply rooted that no one will even consider another way?

Hate is not born in us. It is taught, sometimes loudly and sometimes in quiet, unspoken ways. Imagine how much better the world could be if we simply stopped passing it down. What if we started there?

I’ve started writing down an idea that has been sitting with me for a while. A screenplay. I’ve never written one before. I haven’t taken a single course on screenwriting, and I can’t say I’ve even attempted it in any meaningful way until now. So why this? Why now?

Maybe it’s a reaction to aging. Maybe it’s an attempt to shape something meaningful out of a sense of drifting. I’m not sure. But the need to get it on paper has felt urgent in a way that surprised me. So I followed that pull. I created an LLC to hold the copyright while retaining authorship. Was that overkill? Maybe. But putting some money behind it made it feel real, like something I was accountable to finish. I even applied for a trademark for the name. I have no idea how it will all pan out, but it’s something I felt I had to try.

So far, I’ve written a few foundational documents. A story bible, archetype breakdowns, character profiles, relationship maps, act structures, and a beat sheet. I registered a copyright for them, just to anchor the effort with some intent. It’s strange though. Even with all this planning, the dialogue in some of the early scenes feels flat. Off. Like I’m mimicking something without quite knowing what makes it breathe.

Trying something you’ve never done before is one thing. Trying it without guidance or community is another entirely. I know I need to spend more time learning from people who have done this before. I’ve been given a few names to explore. My only concern is getting so caught up in structure that I lose whatever is unique in what I want to say. That edge between preparation and originality is razor thin.

But for now, I’m still walking the line. Still trying. Still chasing whatever it is that made me open that document and start typing in the first place.

I’ve been feeling a growing weight, one I know I’m not alone in carrying. The state of the world has become a source of constant unease. Though I live in a place that offers relative safety, I can’t help but think about the millions who don’t. Those who live each day in fear, not knowing if the next hour will bring peace or peril.

Why haven’t we, as a species, evolved past our own insecurities and pettiness? Why does it always seem that religious extremism and unchecked selfishness are behind so much of our pain? We’ve had centuries to grow. And yet, here we are, still pointing fingers, still drawing lines, still choosing power over compassion.

I hope I’m here tomorrow. But for the first time in my life, that hope feels uncertain. The threats we face aren’t isolated, they’re everywhere, stacked on top of each other like tinder. And if tomorrow does come, I fear it may arrive carrying even more destruction than the day before. This isn’t how it should be. We should be lifting each other up, protecting one another, tending to the only planet we’ve ever called home.

Instead, we bicker over whose god is the right one, or which side of the political aisle is most corrupt. We lie, cheat, insult, and steal from each other, for what? A fleeting sense of control? A hollow sense of righteousness? Somewhere along the way, we took a wrong step. Maybe many wrong steps. And if there is a divine creator, I can’t imagine this is the vision they had in mind.

I’m tired. I suspect you are too. Not because we agree on everything, but because we’ve all been carrying this weight for too long. Regardless of what you believe or who you vote for, there has to be something better. So close your eyes. Breathe. Imagine a future where we actually take care of one another, not in theory, but in practice.

It’s still possible. But no one person will get us there. We have to want it, together.

I had a conversation with a friend last night. We’re of similar mind, though not identical, and that made the experience richer, not harder. The space between us wasn’t defined by agreement, but by trust. We wandered into deep waters, drifting through ideas without fear. There was no need to win, no compulsion to defend. Just presence. Just curiosity.

It reminded me how rare that’s become. I’ve known others who I once considered close, but the moment tension entered the room, especially around charged topics like religion or politics, their posture changed. Dialogue dissolved. What might have been growth instead became silence, or worse, retreat. Conflict, even gentle disagreement, was treated like betrayal.

Politics, in particular, seems incapable of nuance now. Conversations feel like traps. One wrong word, and the whole exchange collapses. And yet, most of us aren’t standing on mountains of undisputed facts. We’re surrounded by manufactured certainty. Truth has become elastic, shaped by whichever echo chamber delivers it best. The media knows this. It thrives on this. It pours gasoline on contradiction and sells us the flame.

I wonder, in all this noise, how we’re supposed to build anything. How do we create when every day starts with a headline that feels more absurd than the last? The tension is chronic. The exhaustion, cumulative. It’s becoming harder to hold focus, harder still to hold faith that progress is possible. There’s a creeping sense that we’re inching toward something irreversible. A point of no return.

Some days, I wish I could trace the thread of my life back to a single decision, a nexus event, and tug myself in a new direction. Choose another path. One that bypasses this chaos, or maybe simply teaches me how to withstand it better.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remain neutral. Week after week, the United States seems to breach yet another boundary of what once felt unshakable. This past week was no exception. We witnessed a stunning disregard for the rule of law, as the president openly acknowledged he would accept a luxury jumbo jet, valued at $400 million, from the government of Qatar. And not only that, but he gets to keep it by “donating” it to his Presidential Library Foundation once he leaves office.

This isn’t just improper, it appears to be unconstitutional. The Foreign Emoluments Clause of Article I makes it clear: “no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept … any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State.” These words aren’t ambiguous. They were designed to protect the republic from exactly this kind of conflict, where personal gain and foreign influence overlap with public service.

This is not the country I grew up in. This is not the country so many have fought and died to protect. The founders didn’t expect perfection, but they did expect progress. The Constitution wasn’t written as a static document, it was built to evolve. But evolution should aim for higher ground, not a slow slide into cynicism and entitlement.

Yes, the nation has changed. It was always meant to. But the goal was never to consolidate power or enrich the elite off the backs of the poor and middle class. The goal was always to strive toward a more perfect union. We can’t lose sight of that just because it’s inconvenient to those in power.

If we care about the future of this country, we must be willing to speak out, not in anger, but in accountability. This moment demands more from all of us.

When one of the highest offices in the land seems to show little regard for the rule of law or the sanctity of due process, it casts a long shadow over what that role is meant to represent. Our country was founded with the intention of doing better, of building something more just and more humane than what the founders left behind. I wonder if they’d even recognize what we've become.

To be fair, they knew the world would change. They built a system that could evolve, one with amendments, checks, and deliberation. But at its core, it was meant to remain grounded in one enduring idea: a government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Today, that spirit feels increasingly distant. The wealth gap widens, and with it, the compassion gap. Prosperity for some seems to come at the expense of others. I'm not opposed to success, far from it. But when wealth is built by stepping over those without a voice, and then defended as deserved, something vital is lost.

We cannot afford to let due process erode, especially now, in an age where fiction is too easily dressed up as fact. When truth becomes a performance and evidence is optional, the consequences ripple outward. Democracy depends on a foundation of fairness, not a chorus of certainty shouted without proof.

We owe it to each other to be more discerning. To seek truth, not just affirmation. And to defend the structures that protect us, especially when they’re most at risk.

There’s a growing discomfort I’ve noticed lately, particularly in places like LinkedIn. Some express frustration when political concerns are raised in spaces they believe should remain neutral. I understand the desire for separation, but what’s unfolding around us reaches far beyond politics. It strikes at the very foundation of who we are.

We are witnessing behavior from leadership that defies precedent. The erosion of respect for law, for the co-equal branches of government that were designed to safeguard us, has been nothing short of staggering. Power, once restrained by careful balance, is now being stretched beyond its intended limits.

Citizens and non-citizens alike are facing consequences without due process, a principle we once held sacred. Freedoms we often take for granted, speech, protest, dissent, are increasingly under attack. These aren't abstract concerns reserved for political debate. They are direct challenges to what it means to belong to a free society.

This should alarm all of us, no matter our personal views or affiliations. It’s no longer about party lines. It’s about the survival of the principles that make citizenship meaningful in the first place: rights, protections, and accountability.

We need to wake up, not with fear, but with clarity. Questioning authority is not disloyalty. Oversight is not obstruction. Especially when agendas are hidden or obscured, scrutiny becomes an act of civic responsibility, not defiance.

Silence in moments like these is not neutrality. It is surrender. And if we value what this country claims to stand for, we cannot afford to look away.

It’s difficult not to feel uneasy about the direction we’re headed. Not because of one political party or another, but because of the growing sense that truth itself is being bent, not toward understanding, but toward convenience.

We used to aspire to be a nation of many voices, diverse in origin, belief, and experience. That mosaic gave us strength. Yet somewhere along the way, our shared vision fractured. The idea of building something greater together seems to have taken a backseat to power, profit, and partisanship.

We can’t allow wealth to be our only metric of success. You can’t take it with you. So why not use our time here to improve what we’re part of, for ourselves, yes, but also for those who follow? A legacy rooted not in accumulation, but contribution.

Truth is not a tool for personal gain. Something either happened or it didn’t. And while there are certainly gray areas, nuance, complexity, context, we should never confuse that with manipulation. There is a difference between perspective and distortion.

But we’ve surrounded ourselves with so much noise, so many opinions dressed up as fact, that the real story too often disappears beneath the surface, or worse, is reshaped into something unrecognizable.

That’s what concerns me most. Not disagreement, but the erosion of a shared sense of what’s real. If we can’t begin from the same page, how can we ever write the next chapter?

We owe it to each other to slow down, to ask better questions, and to stay grounded in a curiosity that seeks to understand rather than control. The world doesn’t get better by accident. It gets better when we stop spinning and start listening.

There was once a time when the structure of our government, three coequal branches, felt like an unshakable truth. It was taught to us in school, simplified into tidy diagrams and textbooks: executive, legislative, judicial. Each with its powers. Each with its limits. Together, a system of checks and balances, designed to keep any one force from overtaking the others.

But lately, that balance feels more like a memory than a reality.

I’m not here to point fingers or name parties. This isn’t about political allegiance. It’s about the slow unraveling of something we should all hold sacred: accountability, restraint, and the idea that no person, or institution, is above the Constitution.

What worries me is not just the actions of those in power, but the apathy of those watching from the sidelines. We scroll, we sigh, we shrug. We treat erosion like entertainment. We accept dysfunction as inevitable. But at what cost?

When one branch asserts dominance without consequence, when the judiciary becomes politicized, when the legislative body is reduced to tribalism and performative noise, what is left of the republic we claim to uphold?

I worry that we've become numb to the gravity of what's happening. That the storm is still gathering, and we’ve convinced ourselves the weather is fine.

We don't have to agree on every issue to agree that democracy demands care. It’s not self-sustaining. It requires effort, vigilance, and above all, humility. The kind that reminds us we are all, citizens and leaders alike, responsible for this fragile experiment.

We need fewer slogans and more listening. Less winning, more wisdom. Less noise, more accountability.

This isn't about left or right. It's about whether the foundation is still holding. And if it's not, then we owe it to each other to fix it, not for power, not for legacy, but for the possibility of something better than this.

We are not helpless. But we must choose to be engaged.

And that starts by staying curious, not judgmental. Even now.

Especially now.

There’s a moment in every life when we’re faced with something unfamiliar, another person’s belief, lifestyle, pain, or joy, and we’re given a choice: to judge it or to try and understand it. In a world increasingly quick to label and divide, curiosity is becoming a rare and radical act.

I’ve been reflecting lately on the way belief, especially belief in a higher power, is used. Faith, in its purest form, should unite us, expand our perspective, and humble us. But all too often, belief is bent inward, reshaped to serve the self instead of the whole. Scripture is selectively quoted. Dogma is wielded as a weapon. The supposed moral compass becomes a mirror reflecting only personal gain.

Those who twist belief for power or control may truly think they’re devout. But I wonder, don’t they sense it? That what they’re doing isn’t selfless, but self-serving? That their so-called righteousness is just a form of masked judgment? Deep down, perhaps they do. The human subconscious is powerful. It can bury truth, but it rarely silences it completely.

This is where curiosity must take the lead.

Instead of judging others for how they believe, or don’t, what if we asked more questions? What shaped their view of the world? What pain have they endured? What are they searching for when they pray, meditate, or simply breathe?

We each live inside our own reality, stitched together from memory, experience, and emotion. No one’s path is the same. But if we’re brave enough to stay curious, truly curious, we begin to see the invisible threads that connect us. We find empathy. We find compassion. We find possibility.

And in that shared space of open minds and open hearts, we begin to evolve, not just spiritually, but collectively. It is in that space that true prosperity begins. Not wealth. Not status. But peace. Understanding. Community.

So be curious. Not judgmental. It might just be the first step toward something greater than yourself, and all of us.