Your mind at 3 AM is a hoarder's basement. That conversation from 2019 that went badly. The project you might start someday. Seventeen different versions of who you could become. The resentment you've been carefully maintaining for a decade. All forty-three items on your mental to-do list, including the meta-item "organise to-do list." You've Marie Kondo'd your wardrobe, but your consciousness looks like a storage unit where you've been throwing things for years without ever

Your meditation app sends a notification during the board meeting. The irony isn't lost on you—digital mindfulness interrupting actual presence. You've tried the 4 AM routine, but your toddler treats that as an invitation to start the day. The weekend retreat centre is booked solid for eighteen months. Meanwhile, enlightenment apparently requires a trust fund, a flexible schedule, and proximity to mountains. You're beginning to suspect the contemplative life wasn't designed f

You check your phone 96 times today. Not because you're expecting something important. Because your brain has been rewired to crave the micro-hit of novelty every six minutes. You know this. You hate this. You continue doing it anyway. This isn't weakness of character. It's the predictable outcome when Stone Age neural circuits meet Silicon Valley persuasion technology. Your attention mechanisms evolved to notice rustling bushes and track prey across savannas. Now they're bei