The Stratagem’s Archive

Author: Stratagem’s Archive

  • Stuck in Traffic, Stuck in My Head: A Reflection on Control and Fear

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Stuck Between Control and Chaos

    Traffic is supposed to be boring, right? Just cars, brake lights, and the clock bleeding away. But for me, sitting in traffic isn’t just a commute — it’s a collision of three battles I’m always fighting: control, productivity, and patience.

    Last night was the perfect storm.

    While I sat in traffic, do not do this, I checked my emails in gridlock. When I saw that my package was delivered, the time I saw that it had been dropped off at 19:07. I also knew I was nowhere near home. By the time I pulled into my lot at 19:45, every minute of that drive had been stretched thin with dread:

    • What if someone takes it?
    • What if it’s gone before I even see it?

    It wasn’t just about the package — it was something I made real, something I paid extra on, and had been waiting for. To imagine it stolen while unprotected without a mailbox or a fence was catastrophic.

    The anxiousness of sitting in traffic made me angry, I was pissed, and I tried my best to relax by listening to Indila on repeat. It was a hit and miss that night.

    And while I sat there, boxed in by red lights and cars crawling, another voice crept in: you’re wasting time. You should be making money. You should be productive. Every minute you sit here is failure.

    That poisonous hustle-culture whisper that says you’re not enough if you aren’t making money while sleeping. Or, in this case, sitting in traffic. That sitting in traffic is a sign that I’m a failure because my work isn’t running itself—I’m not making any extra income, except for my retirement and investment accounts.

    To make it worse, the flow was dragged even slower because cop cruisers decided to take up a whole lane, their presence not protecting but clogging. And, because the cops were out, people were slowing down more, not letting anyone cross out of the lanes being occupied by the cruisers, to avoid being pulled over.

    Watching them idle in the middle of the road while hundreds of us squeezed around felt like the perfect metaphor: authority making things harder just because it can, reminding you how little control you really have.

    By the time I pulled into my parking stall and saw my envelope sitting there in front of my door — waiting — I felt the sharp snap of relief. But also the weight of the ride lingered. That time in traffic had been more than cars and congestion: it was my whole internal war in miniature.

    The fear of losing what’s mine.

    The shame of not doing enough.

    The frustration of forces out of my control dragging things out longer than they need to.

    Traffic is supposed to be boring, and it can be most days. But sometimes it acts as a mirror. And what it shows me is rarely passive or quiet.

    A Reflection for You

    I know traffic can mean a hundred different things depending on where you are in life: wasted time, a chance to breathe, a moment to scream in private, or something else entirely.

    So I’m curious — when you’ve been stuck in traffic, what does it bring up for you? Frustration, fear, overthinking, or maybe even peace?

    A Gentle Ask

    If you’ve ever felt this too — the gnawing voices about time, control, and patience — know you’re not alone.

    Like, share, or subscribe if this resonated with you.

    Subscribers get early access to my behind-the-scenes thoughts, experiments, and Letters from the Void Newsletter — plus, as a thank you, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists).

    Every return reader, every subscriber, every silent visit helps keep this archive alive.

    So thank you — for seeing yourself here, for being here.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Related Posts

    Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape

    What Good is “History” If There’s No Future?

    I’m Afraid of Wasting My Potential — So I Learn Everything I Can, While I Can.

  • I Made Small Tangible Artifacts of the Archive

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Excitement Is Real

    A few days ago, I had shared in my post, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), that I was working on something exciting, and I promised more than words. I promised proof — proof that this archive is alive, that it grows, and that I’m daring myself to do things I never thought I’d do.

    So here it is:

    Two manifestos — The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5.

    And now, four sticker designs.

    I finally have them!!! The extra $25 for express shipping was worth it!!!

    They started as experiments on Canva. Just sketches of ideas, small reflections made visual. But I decided to make them real. To hold something in my hands that wasn’t just another file on my laptop and I paid for express shipping so I could experience them sooner.

    Now they exist — 24 of each design, 96 stickers total. That’s it. Two sheets are already heading with me to work, to share with coworkers who’ve been curious about this project. The other 56 stickers are for anyone else who wants one.

    This isn’t merch. It’s not a launch. It’s my way of saying thank you. For subscribing. For reading. For coming back quietly, even if you’ve never left a comment. For letting this space mean something beyond myself.

    If you’d like one, let me know in the comments or send me an email at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com. I’ll respond as soon as I can and will figure out how to ship them.

    The Spark That Started It All

    While I was playing around with Canva to make my stickers using the AI tools, I asked myself two questions before printing these:

    • If not now, then when?
    • If not me, then why not me?

    I’d put things off, never follow through with some projects, then hate myself for chickening out. It would be the typical, “I have time to do it later,” lie then never do it out of fear.

    Then I’d go to the other extreme and be like, “If I could do this, then why can’t I do that?” And I’d push myself to do something purely to see if I could be the one to finish a project. For example, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0 was made in a day, The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5 took less than a week, and now I’m working on an ebook. All to see what I could do.

    That’s how these stickers came to be. I have other designs I’m saving money for, below are what they look like that I’ve made for my blog, to have, and to share:

    Next print
    Next print
    Next print

    These new sticker designs encapsulate the reality behind my blog and how it was made. It was born from boredom, written by rage, and held up by spite.

    Nothing more, nothing less.

    If these little projects of mine are well received, then I’ll do what my coworker asked me to do and see if I could sell these on my blog and at my part time rage room job. I told him these were gifts first and foremost, then I’ll see if I’ll follow through with monetizing them through work.

    For now, I’m just excited that something of mine is real, in my hands, and ready to share. Something I’ve never, ever, done before. Although, I’ll probably hold off with shipping just stickers because they’ll easily get lost through the shipping facility.

    Maybe I’ll reconsider the sending the thank yous with only a sticker once I can make more stuff: keychains, book markers, and/or printing out my manifestos for more weight. I’ll have to see how this goes, now that I thought it through.

    I’m practically daring myself to try new things out and these sticker ideas, tangible and intangible, are the first step in doing something new.

    And maybe, just maybe, trying something new is how the rest of this archive will keep growing too.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Call to Action:

    If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Whether you’re a subscriber, a silent reader, or just wandering through for the first time, you’re part of what keeps this archive alive.

    Subscribers get early looks at new ideas, experiments, and the strange little things I’m building here — manifestos, reflections, and the occasional gift (like stickers) shared through my newsletters, Letters from the Void Newsletter, first before everyone else. It’s my way of sharing the process, not just the polished or structured parts.

    If you’d like to join, you can subscribe wherever the button is on the page. If not, that’s okay too — coming back to read is more than enough. Either way, I’m grateful you’re here.

    Update Note:

    My hoodie came in!!! This one was a personal thing, so yeah.

    Also, my hoodie came in!!! Paying the extra $25 for express shipping was worth it! Thank god I was home in time to receive it, I wouldn’t want anyone taking my package because it’s out in front of my door. If I had a way of dealing with package pirates while away, then no one would take things that doesn’t belong to them again. But it didn’t come to that.

    The hoodie is a personal thing that I wanted, so I don’t know if I’ll branch out with these just yet.

    I liked how it came out, and I can wear it in my apartment. Not ready to show my family what I’ve been spending my money on, let alone share them my blog. That’s a whole different dare I’m not willing to do just yet.

    I’m still looking for someone to help me make book markers and keychains that are affordable and good quality. I’m not in a rush, though knowing someone would help make those become reality too.

  • Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Resting is Easier Said Than Done

    In my last article, Writing for 40 Days and Nights: Time for a Break, I said that I was going to take a break. That I was going to finally give myself time to recover from, not only publishing for 40 consistent days, working on my downloadable Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5 and making sticker drafts you can find here, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), in, what, less than a week? Yeah, less than a week to finish.

    As much as I want to hibernate for a month, my mind is buzzing with more ideas, more things to sit with, more things to process than I can keep up with. It’s not bad, though, it can be a lot to juggle.

    Sometimes I feel as though I’m holding myself hostage to the grind of writing and publishing, but also wanting to answer for myself, “what else can I do?”

    The only way I know how to answer this question is to take action — keep writing, keep thinking, keep breaking myself because it’s the only way forward.

    Sometimes I think that doing the things that I do are simply out of habit. However, I started wondering that it might be more than habit, discipline, or motivation fanning these flames.

    I Don’t Have a Diagnosis

    This feeling doesn’t feel like it’s OCD — at least, I don’t think so, without a proper diagnosis. But it’s close enough that the shadow it casts follows me everywhere.

    I live by certain rituals, routines, and rules not because I want to, and not because I’ve mastered discipline, but because I feel like I have to.

    Without them, I spiral. Hard. And there’s no way to swim against a current made to drown me.

    When Routine Becomes a Lifeline

    Every morning, my life is dictated by a checklist that I didn’t write with freedom — I wrote it with survival.

    I wake up between 2:00 and 2:45 AM, leave my studio before or exactly at 3:30 AM. If I don’t? My mind sounds the alarm:

    “You’re late. You’re slipping. You’re behind.”

    Even when I’m hours early for my shift, even when I still get a parking spot — if the routine breaks, so does my mental calm.

    And the rituals don’t stop there.

    I lock my door, then push on it exactly three times to make sure. If I don’t, anxiety starts building like a pressure leak. At best, it simmers. At worst, it floods my thoughts with doubt, fear, self-blame. My own mind turns on me.

    This isn’t about productivity. It’s about pacifying the part of me that believes something will go wrong unless I do everything right.

    Perfectly.

    In order.

    On time.

    It’s Not Just Routine. It’s Ritual.

    The compulsions aren’t always loud. Sometimes they show up in quiet decisions — like today, when I told myself I’d get gas tomorrow, like usual, at half a tank.

    But when I pulled out of the lot, I felt this pull toward the gas station. A force. A whisper. A weight that said:

    “If you don’t stop now, something will go wrong.”

    So I stopped.

    Not because it was logical.

    Not because I needed to.

    But because I felt like if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be okay.

    And even though I was already up early, already prepared, already doing “enough,” my mind doesn’t care. It doesn’t measure effort — it measures control. And when it feels like I’ve lost control, it punishes me in silence.

    Living in the Gray

    This… gray space — of feeling things so intensely, needing control, needing to feel safe, but knowing it doesn’t quite qualify for a clinical label — it’s a lonely place to live in.

    Like my asexuality, like the way I process the world — it’s a spectrum. Not everyone in the gray is heard. People like me, like us, we’re often overlooked because we’re “not broken enough” to be helped and “not well enough” to be fine.

    We’re not living scar-free. But we’re not failures either.

    We’re just trying to stay afloat. To breathe. To give ourselves a chance.

    Not Impulse — But Survival

    This isn’t impulse. I’ve kept my blog streak going for over 36 consecutive days within the last three months. That’s not an accident. That’s not chance.

    But even that came from compulsion.

    What started as curiosity — can I publish daily? — became I need to keep this up or I’ve failed.

    Even rest is not safe from this voice.

    Sometimes I sit down just to breathe. Just to give my legs a break. But I still feel it — something breathing down my neck, whispering:

    “You’re not doing enough. You’re not good enough. You’re wasting time. You’re failing again.”

    Sometimes I don’t eat.

    I struggle to sleep.

    Not because I’m lazy — but because my body doesn’t feel permitted to rest until I’ve done enough.

    Even though the finish line keeps moving.

    A Harsh Kind of Comfort

    Still — and this is the part I hate admitting — the routine does give me something.

    Even when it hurts to keep up. Even when I’m running on fumes and cursing the alarm at 2:15 AM. Even when my back aches from work or my writing feels like it’s running dry. There’s comfort in the ritual. Not joy. Not peace. But order.

    When the rest of the world feels unpredictable, when my body’s tired and my mind’s spinning, the routine is the one thing that stays the same. It doesn’t care how I feel. It doesn’t ask if I’m okay. It just says: this is what we do.

    There’s a kind of safety in that — in not having to think, in just going through the motions. It keeps the chaos outside the gates, at least for a while. And when everything else feels like it’s slipping, sticking to the routine lets me believe — even just barely — that I’m still in control.

    But it’s a harsh kind of comfort. It costs me. It takes pieces.

    And I know I can’t live like this forever.

    I just don’t know how to stop without everything falling apart.

    To the People in the Gray

    If you’re someone like me — someone living in the gray space between coping and spiraling, between diagnosis and “normal,” between being fine and being far from it — I see you.

    You are not imagining it.

    You’re not making it up.

    You’re not alone.

    Your pain, your patterns, your rituals — even the ones that don’t make sense to anyone else — they have a story. They have a weight. And they matter.

    A Gentle Ask

    Have you ever experienced something similar to this?

    • Feeling like you’re not enough, worthless, and pathetic when you’re doing everything you can to stay above water?
    • That it feels like control without feeling grounded, but punished for needing a break?
    • Learning to be kinder to ourselves?

    If this resonated with you, or if you know someone who might need to hear this, I gently ask:

    ➡️ Like, share, and subscribe.

    It helps more than you know — not just my writing, but the visibility of stories like this.

    Subscribing grants you early access to behind the scenes thoughts, experiments, and my newsletter, Letters from the Void Newsletter straight into your inbox. And, you’ll also gain, as a thank you from me to you, Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists), when you do join us, Fellow Archivists.

    So that this space can reach others like us.

    People who don’t have a clear label.

    People living between extremes.

    People with invisible bruises and structured coping mechanisms.

    You deserve to be seen.

    To be heard.

    To be understood.

    Even if you’re still figuring yourself out.

    Author’s Reflection

    It’s not easy being kinder, more patient, and willing to accept letting my grip on control loosen. I got out of bed later, left a few minutes after 0330, and my car is facing the other way instead of the usual.

    The headaches remind me that I’m doing things wrong, but the voices that usually sweeps me down volatile territory have gotten a little quieter.

    Maybe I’ll be able to be kinder, patient, and accepting myself through a different lens. The voices of doubt, insecurity, and compulsion will fight back, but guess what?

    So will I.

    Thanks for reading.

    —

    Written with rawness and care,

    The Stratagems Archive

  • Writing for 40 Days and Nights: Time for a Break

    This is Where I’m Pausing — Not Ending

    Forty days.

    That’s how long I’ve been showing up here — early mornings, late nights, between shifts, in the quiet spaces I carved out when the world pressed too heavy.

    Forty days of drafting, writing, publishing, creating, and letting my thoughts become proof that I was here.

    It feels as though I’ve done so much in 3 months than I had in my entire lifetime. Something amazing, something worth while. But now?

    Now, I need to pause.

    Why I’m Stepping Back

    Writing daily has given me momentum I didn’t think I had. It’s helped me build a voice, connect with Fellow Archivists, create sticker ideas, written 2 PDFs, and keep moving forward when life felt suffocating.

    But the truth is: I’m tired.

    I work two jobs. I lose sleep. I’ve been burning through myself to make space for these words. And while spite and fire have carried me further than I imagined, they can’t sustain me forever.

    If I want this archive to grow with me — not collapse under me — I need to rest.

    What This Means for the Archive

    This is not the end.

    I’ll still be active on The Stratagem’s Archive. I’ll still be tending the space — updating old posts, refining what’s here, and making sure this doesn’t just become another abandoned corner of the internet.

    Though, there won’t be new posts for a while. Not until I’ve taken enough time to breathe, to sleep, and to come back with more clarity and strength.

    To the Silent Readers and the Vocal Ones

    Thank you.

    Whether you’ve left comments, liked posts, subscribed, or simply read in silence at 3AM — your presence matters. You’ve been part of these forty days, even if we never exchanged a word.

    You all made writing worthwhile, even when I started writing here for myself.

    Here is a gift you could check out below if you’d like for being here and as Fellow Archivists:

    Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    Until I Return

    Taking a break and resting isn’t failure. Rest is part of the fight.

    So, consider this a pause — not an ending. I’ll be back when I’ve refueled, with more to share and more experiments to build with you.

    Until then, keep going in your own way. Keep growing, even if it’s in silence.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

  • Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here

    Dear, Fellow Archivist,

    When you joined this archive, I promised you something: my first manifesto — the one that started this whole thing.

    That promise matters. So today, you’ll find it here:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    But this archive is alive. It grows. And so do I.

    Which is why I’m sending you something else, too:

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    The first manifesto was short, sharp, and written from survival.

    The second was written from growth, exhaustion, and the refusal to disappear. Together, they tell the story of a fire that didn’t go out.

    And because archives aren’t only words, I’ve included something visual too:

    These are a few early sticker designs I’ve been playing with using Canva. They’re a small line of experiments, ideas brought to life — small pieces of this archive you could carry.

    Sticker Idea #1
    Sticker Idea #2
    Sticker Idea #3
    Sticker Idea #4

    Everything I’ve made wouldn’t have happened without all of you, Fellow Archivists, for finding this little pocket of the internet of mine and watching it grow.

    Thank you for subscribing. Thank you for returning, even in the quiet. Every time someone new joins, this archive shifts from being just mine to being ours.

    Take what resonates. Leave what doesn’t. And if you feel like it, hit reply — I’d love to know which part of either manifesto spoke to you most.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S. If you’d like a sticker, please let me know. I only have a limited supply coming in. I gotta work to build my funds to supply for designs and more things to make (i.e. keychains and book markers).

    I think you could let me know in this post’s comment section or email me at whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com, and I’ll respond as soon as I possibly can. I don’t check this email as often, so I’ll set a reminder to do so.

    This is my way of saying thank you and that I’m excited to share something with you all.

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Who Am I Fighting? — Turning This Burning Sensation Into a Map

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I Felt The Fire Burning

    I was driving to work, listening to Indila — “Ainsi Bas La Vida,” “Dernière danse” — and the music lit something I’d been holding under a lid for a long time. As I got closer to the warehouse, an image from Attack on Titan (Eren, season 4) cracked through: “Fight — (you have to) fight back.” I felt the heat move through me like an engine starting.

    Only, unlike Eren Yeager, I don’t know who I’m supposed to “fight back” against.

    This is what I want to try to name out loud, here on the page: a burning that is almost anger, but not exactly. It shows up faster now than it used to. It presses. It demands.

    It’s loud enough to shove me into action sometimes — cleaning, working harder, writing more — and quiet enough that I can’t always point a finger. I’m tired, I’m approaching thirty, and stuck between things: time, debt, a body worn out from labor, a brain tired of pretending everything is fine.

    I don’t know who the enemy is. But I know the fight is real.

    The Cost of Anger Lashing Out

    Anger and spite have been my fuel more times than I want to admit. They’ve pushed me through long shifts, exhausting weeks, and situations that should have broken me. Spite is what got me up when I didn’t want to, what kept me going when I felt invisible. For a while, it worked — I could burn that energy and turn it into movement.

    But the truth is, it’s not sustainable. It’s not healthy. And it’s not really helping me anymore. Even after breaks, I don’t feel rested. I work two jobs, give up long hours, and stay up late just to steal back some time for myself. The cost is high: sleep is thinner, my patience shorter, my fuse lit before the match even touches. I haven’t slept well in weeks, and I can feel it — the heat comes faster, the snap is sharper, and it hits harder than it used to.

    That’s the part no one talks about when they say “anger fuels you.” Fuel burns out. And when all you’ve got is fire, eventually it scorches the inside just as much as the outside.

    And yet, the more I burn, the more I realize the target isn’t always clear. The anger doesn’t just flare at one person or one moment — it spreads, looking for somewhere to land. That’s when I started asking myself if maybe the enemy I’m trying to fight isn’t a single person at all.

    Maybe the enemy isn’t a person

    When I try to name the foe, it splinters into a dozen pieces:

    The job that pays but chews me up — the work that keeps my lights on while stealing my body. The debt that counts every missed hour and turns rest into a risk. The clock — always reminding me I’m “behind,” even when I’m doing my best. The expectation that I should already have “arrived” by now. The system that reshapes our time and energy into labor and coupons for rest we can’t afford. The numbness that wants to swallow the rage and leave only weight.

    None of those are as satisfying to fight as a single person. They’re diffuse. They are walls more than enemies. They are traps you push against and, sometimes, they push back.

    The fight you’re feeling might be a compass

    If the anger is a blunt weapon, consider this: the heat can also be a map.

    When you get furious at a commute, the map points at the commute. When you snap at a manager, the map points at the conditions that made snapping feel necessary. When music makes you feel bigger and angrier, the map is telling you where something is alive inside you — something that wants different ground.

    You don’t have to find the enemy immediately. You can follow the heat like a trail of breadcrumbs. Each flash of anger is a data point about what matters to you, what hurts, and what you might want to change.

    Ways to turn the energy into movement (not punishment)

    I’m not providing a list of “fixes,” and I won’t pretend a checklist makes this simpler. Still — here are small, usable options to try when the burning shows up:

    • Name it: Give the feeling a label — “cold rage,” “restless fire,” “sharp exhaustion,” whatever fits. One word can make it less shapeless.
    • Write it fast: Five minutes of furious, unedited writing. Don’t stop for spelling. Burn the page with the heat so it has somewhere to go.
    • Small targeted strikes: Pick one tiny thing that the map points to and act — look for a different shift, call HR about a specific hazard, set one debt payment goal this month. Small actions beat diffuse fury.
    • Channel it into work that isn’t punishment: Lift, paint, code, write prompts — use the energy to build rather than to punish yourself.
    • Grounding when it spikes: 5–4–3–2–1 grounding (name 5 things you see, 4 sounds, 3 things you can touch, 2 smells, 1 breath). It doesn’t solve the problem, but it buys you space.
    • Find one person: A single witness who understands you don’t owe a polished anything. Say the heat out loud to someone who doesn’t gaslight it away.
    • Make a cheap boundary: One small refusal (I won’t work extra on Tuesdays, I’ll leave at X time, I won’t answer texts after 9pm) can start to rebuild a sense of agency.

    These are not cures, these might not always be helpful enough. Although, they are ways to move the force so it doesn’t only burn you from the inside.

    You’re not crazy for needing this energy

    There is a voice in me that wants to make this a deficit — you should be calmer, more grateful, less volatile. But we live in a system that will try to pathologize any emotion that refuses its timelines. What you feel is a human response to pressure. Naming it and moving it is survival, not failure.

    I know the tiredness that sits under the heat. I know the guilt that says you don’t have the right to be angry because you “have it good.” That’s comparative guilt, and it’s a trick. Your experience is valid even if others have worse things happening. Survival doesn’t need a ranking system.

    A small experiment

    If you’re carrying this with me now (if your chest is hot, if you feel like you need to fight but can’t point the sword), try this:

    Pause and write one sentence:

    • “Right now I am angry at ______.” Fill the blank. It can be “my shift,” “debt,” “myself,” “no name.”
    • Write one tiny next step you could take in the next 24 hours — something you can do that nudges the system you’re fighting.
    • Do it, even if it feels symbolic. Notice the difference.

    If you feel brave, leave that one-sentence in the comments — one line, no explanation. If you can’t, that’s fine too. Keep it in your pocket.

    If the heat is too much

    If you ever feel like the anger is pushing you toward hurting yourself or someone else, please reach out for help right away. If you’re in the U.S., calling or texting 988 will connect you to the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline. If you’re elsewhere, please contact your local emergency services or a trusted professional. You don’t have to carry this alone.

    Whether you found this in the middle of the afternoon or at 3AM when you couldn’t sleep, I’m glad you’re here. Take a breath. Take what resonates. Leave the rest for another night.

    To the fellow archivists reading late

    If you’re awake and holding this heat, know this: your fire is not a defect. It’s a signal. It’s a raw, honest engine that can carve a path out of whatever is pressing down on you — not because you have to be violent or perfect, but because you deserve more space to be whole.

    If any of this landed, I’d invite you to reflect for a moment: what does the heat point to for you? One sentence in the comments is enough. If you’d rather keep it private, you can reply to my newsletter; sometimes a single witness is the only thing that keeps the furnace from burning you out.

    I’ve talked about this anger turning itself on me in my post, Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here — On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy

    You are still here. That is the fight and the proof.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Reflection on Fire

    When I first wrote this, I thought anger and spite were enough to keep me going. They did for a while, but they’ve also worn me down in ways I’m only starting to admit. I’m tired. My fuse is shorter. Even on days when I take a break, I feel like I’m still grinding myself into dust. Writing this now, I can see how much of that fire was survival, not healing.

    If you’ve carried this kind of heat too — the kind that feels like it both fuels you and eats at you — I want you to know you’re not the only one. This archive is proof of that. We don’t have to carry it alone, even if we don’t always know how to put it down yet.

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    My Brief Reflections

    All of this fire, all of this energy, it needs somewhere to go. However, with no goal, no “enemy” to fight back against, and no direction, of course it’ll attack itself. It’ll burn the host instead.

    I think the worst part of this journey is the waiting:

    • Waiting to get out of debt (how long it’s been)
    • Waiting to hear back from a new career opportunity
    • Waiting to finish work that keeps taking and not so much giving equally in return
    • Just waiting and seeing nothing change or change has been incredibly slow

    That’s what this feels like for and to me—wondering when things will end or change or have something that’s mine that I can be proud of. And, yet, because of all of the waiting that I do, I have to give up something (sleep, eating, taking care of myself) in order to have something I built, that I chose to do, instead of someone telling me to do it.

  • Can Sharing Honestly Be Enough? Reflections From Blogging Without a Strategy

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I’ve been writing honestly on WordPress for three months now, with no strategy except to show up. Since the end of June 2025, I’ve published over 70 posts — some sparked by daily prompts, others just raw reflections written on tired days, quiet days, angry days, and confusing days.

    I’ve made a downloadable The Stratagem’s Manifesto and started a newsletter, Letters from the Void Newsletter. I’ve noticed return readers, quiet likes, and even one person brave enough to leave a comment.

    And yet, the question lingers in the back of my mind:

    Can sharing honestly be enough?

    Three Months of Honest Blogging

    I didn’t come here with a strategy. At least, not one that looks like the question, “Where do you see yourself in 5 years?” I still can’t answer that for myself outside of this blog.

    I just had an idea: share whatever comes to mind, and see what happens.

    Other than that, I didn’t bring credentials, a network, or a plan to outsmart the algorithm. I didn’t want to pretend to be someone I couldn’t believe in just to be seen quicker.

    I came with words — messy, sincere, uncertain, sometimes tired, sometimes angry.

    I Didn’t Come Here With a Strategy

    I started writing here because my first attempt at blogging failed quietly. But this time, I had too much to say and no one to say it to.

    I have people and family I can talk to, but not about the topics I share here — not without pushback, second-guessing, or leaving those conversations doubting myself even more.

    So I chose to write.

    To have a record.

    To prove, if only to myself, that I was here.

    Fools Can Only Hope

    Some days I feel like a fool — not the clever archetype, just someone who thinks maybe all this matters more than it looks like it does from the outside.

    Maybe if I tell the truth long enough, someone else might feel less alone in their own head.

    I call myself an autodidact — I prefer learning things on my own, at my own pace. I don’t have a degree that opens doors, or mentors clearing paths for me.

    What I do have is curiosity. And a stubborn hope that it’s still possible to build something slowly, honestly, and from the ground up.

    And it’s hard.

    Because some days, the work feels invisible — like shouting into a void, shining the small light I have at the edge of nothingness.

    Which is something I’ve covered in this earlier post called, Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

    Other days, I notice a familiar like, a new newsletter sign-up, or a silent reader who keeps coming back.

    And that means something.

    That means I’m not writing into the void anymore.

    I’m writing from the space in-between.

    And someone’s out there, hearing it.

    Can Honesty Be Enough?

    So… can honesty be enough?

    I don’t know.

    But I’m still here.

    I’m still writing.

    And maybe that’s the answer for now.

    A Note to Fellow Archivists

    If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.

    What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now? Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering? What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?

    You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately.

    This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.

  • More Than Muscle: Living on the Edge of Sleep

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Sleep? What’s That?

    There are hundreds of articles on how to “fix” your sleep.

    Avoid caffeine. Turn off your screens. Go to bed at the same time every night. Meditate. Drink tea. Don’t doomscroll.

    They all sound great, on paper.

    But what happens when your sleep is so broken that expert advice feels like a cruel joke?

    What happens when you sleep in the trunk of your car before your morning shift, and maybe—maybe—get 4 hours a night, if you’re lucky?

    What happens when the few hours that are supposed to be for “rest” are instead filled with racing thoughts, ideas you don’t want to lose, projects you’re building, blogs you’re trying to write, and the overwhelming awareness that if you don’t keep moving forward, no one else is going to pick up the slack for you?

    Because that’s the space I live in — a kind of gray area between rest and survival.

    And I don’t think I’m alone.

    I’m Not Just Tired. I’m Always Tired.

    I’ve got a light alarm clock next to my bed.

    I’ve tried turning off screens an hour before sleep.

    I’ve dragged myself away from sugar and caffeine, even though I pass vending machines full of it on my way to a full-time job that drains my body and a part-time job that drains what’s left of my time.

    But none of that changes the fact that I get up between 2:30 and 3:00 AM, just to make it to work by 4:00.

    None of that advice helps when you’re stuck between building a life and not letting your current one destroy you before you get there.

    Sleep, for me, is not restful. It’s a puzzle with missing pieces.

    And some days, the trunk of my car is the only quiet place I have to close my eyes — if only for an hour.

    The Real “Sleep Hygiene” No One Talks About

    Here’s what helps me most right now:

    • Giving myself permission to rest even when I feel like I haven’t “earned it.”
    • Letting go of guilt for being on my tablet at night, not because I’m wasting time, but because it’s the only time I have to create something that matters to me.
    • Being honest: I am an insomniac. My brain doesn’t have an off switch. I think, I worry, I plan, I build.
    • And sometimes, I just sit in the quiet because silence is rare in a life like mine.

    Even with these are the everyday of my life, I have this feeling that drives me to do things at sleep’s expense.

    Right now, I’ve been working hard on something that I’m excited to share more in my next newsletter; I can’t wait to share more when that newsletter drops, So, if you’re subscribed, you’ll get that newsletter directly in your inbox and be the first to learn the news.

    Even if you’re not subscribed, you can find this newsletter here in my Letters from the Void Newsletter page. Either way, I can’t wait to share what I have in store!

    I Don’t Have Sleep Advice — But I Have Sleep Empathy

    I won’t tell you to go to bed at the same time every night.

    I won’t pretend magnesium or tea or blackout curtains will fix your schedule.

    I will say this:

    If you’re out there, doing what you have to — surviving on broken hours and broken systems, napping in your car, working jobs that don’t care about your recovery time — you are not lazy. You are not weak. You are not failing.

    You are in survival mode.

    And survival mode takes energy that no sleep tracker or sleep coach ever talks about.

    What I’m Learning to Do (Even When I Can’t Sleep)

    • Lay still and breathe, even if I can’t sleep.
    • Stop punishing myself for staying up late working on something I love.
    • Use my rest days to actually rest, not catch up on tasks.
    • Say no to shame when I need naps or can’t focus.

    Some nights, I crash.

    Some nights, I lay in bed with thoughts like broken static.

    And some nights, I write things like this — because connection helps, even silently.

    Surprisingly, because my light alarm clock comes with white noise, when I listen to the sound of a crackling fire place (we have no snow nor need for chimneys where I’m from) I get drowsy.

    I try to fight it, to stay up and finish my projects, but there’s something so soothing that my body can’t help but wind down and my mind doesn’t resist as much as it normally does.

    The Fuel Isn’t Discipline — It’s Compulsion

    People tend to say I’m disciplined. That I’m “driven.” That it takes serious focus to do what I do — five days in a warehouse, two days breaking things in a rage room, and somehow still finding time to train, write, and live.

    But the truth is, this isn’t discipline. It’s not habit. It’s not some motivational poster brought to life.

    It’s compulsion — plain and ugly.

    I don’t choose to wake up between 2:00 and 2:45 every morning. I have to. If I leave my studio after 3:30, even by a minute, my brain starts clawing at me. Telling me I’m late. Telling me I’ve already messed up the day. Even though I’m still hours early for work. Even though I’ll still get parking.

    And if I don’t park in my spot — or at least facing the same direction I always do — the spiral starts. I sit in my trunk, trying to rest, but my mind won’t shut up. It keeps replaying the mistake. Telling me I’m slipping. That I’m falling behind. That I should’ve tried harder. That this is why I’m not where I want to be. That I’ll never catch up.

    Sometimes, I argue back. Sometimes, I try to reason with the voices. But they’re loud. They’re cruel. And they sound a lot like me.

    When Routine Becomes a Cage

    It started as structure — something to keep me grounded. A way to manage my internal chaos.

    But somewhere along the way, it became something else. If I publish a post late, skip a workout, or forget to push the door three times after locking it, I can’t just let it go.

    My mind builds a case against me. One small thing goes off track, and I convince myself that everything’s wrong. That I’m wrong.

    I wish I could tell you I’m past that. That I’ve figured it out. But I haven’t.

    What I am trying to do — even if I suck at it — is be kinder to myself. To remind myself that not every moment has to be perfect. That being five minutes later than planned isn’t failure. That I’m not the sum of all the rituals I couldn’t complete.

    But it’s hard.

    Because kindness doesn’t come naturally to a mind trained in self-blame, but I keep trying to show myself a little more kindness. Mostly, with the hope that it’ll put the voices in my head at ease to let me rest without feeling so drained.

    A Harsh Kind of Comfort

    Still — and this is the part I hate admitting — the routine does give me something.

    Even when it hurts to keep up. Even when I’m running on fumes and cursing the alarm at 2:15 AM. Even when my back aches from work or my writing feels like it’s running dry. There’s comfort in the ritual. Not joy. Not peace. But order.

    When the rest of the world feels unpredictable, when my body’s tired and my mind’s spinning, the routine is the one thing that stays the same. It doesn’t care how I feel. It doesn’t ask if I’m okay. It just says: this is what we do.

    There’s a kind of safety in that — in not having to think, in just going through the motions. It keeps the chaos outside the gates, at least for a while. And when everything else feels like it’s slipping, sticking to the routine lets me believe — even just barely — that I’m still in control.

    But it’s a harsh kind of comfort. It costs me. It takes pieces. And I know I can’t live like this forever.

    I just don’t know how to stop without everything falling apart.

    If You’re in This Too…

    If your sleep is wrecked and your life doesn’t fit into a neat little productivity box, I see you.

    If you’re burning out while still trying to build something, I know that edge well.

    You’re not lazy. You’re not broken.

    You’re just tired — for reasons that advice columns can’t fix.

    And if this post made you feel seen?

    Even a little?

    You’re welcome to like, share, or even subscribe if you want to support more writing like this. Not for me — but for us, the ones who don’t always know how to rest, but haven’t stopped trying.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    A Note For Fellow Archivists

    If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.

    • What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now?
    • Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering?
    • What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?

    You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately. This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    As a first gift, new subscribers also receive The Stratagem’s Manifesto — a small compass I wrote for fellow archivists who are still learning, wandering, and resisting the pull to disappear.

    However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.

    Check Out The Rest of the “More Than Muscle” Series Below

    More Than Muscle: What I Eat to Survive—Built on Stubbornness and Spite

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    More Than Muscle: My No-Gym, No-Excuse Home Setup

    More Than Muscle: Becoming Strong on My Own Terms

  • More Than Muscle: What I Eat to Survive—Built on Stubbornness and Spite

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    No microwave. Low energy. Still eating. Learn how simple rice cooker meals support mental health, low energy, and survival in the midst of burnout and self-discovery.

    Preparing Meals With Minimal Ingredients, Highly Filling

    Let me be real with you:

    I’m not here meal-prepping like a fitness influencer.

    I’m not eating six clean meals a day, timed with a stopwatch.

    I’m building a life from scratch—out of pure stubbornness, exhaustion, and a bit of controlled rage.

    So, my eating habits?

    They’re not glamorous. They’re functional.

    And most days, they’re the only reason I’m still upright.

    My Go-To Meal: Survival in a Rice Cooker

    I don’t have a microwave.

    I don’t have a personal chef.

    I try not to make extra unnecessary dishes to warm up food as I possibly can.

    Instead, I do have bills, chronic fatigue, and a tiny bit of flexibility when it comes to making food.

    The thing that I make this in my rice cooker because it takes zero extra brainpower, and has been a huge help when I finish super late at work with no time to cook:

    White rice + Lentils + Canned chicken + Cut green beans + 2-3 spoonfuls of powdered chicken bouillon for flavor.

    Boom! That’s it. A one-pot meal that cooks itself while I decompress on the floor after work, before my body starts screaming again. I eat it a little at a time—because I feel as though I’m losing appetite, but I know I need something in my stomach.

    This typically lasts me all work week because I don’t take home lunch anymore. Not enough fridge space at work, or microwaves, though I could stand to try bringing food I could keep in a good cooler and eat it cold.

    Hi-chews, Ritz crackers, chocolate muffins, and other goodies aren’t helping me stay fed long enough to make it through the workday.

    Snacks Are Signals

    Speaking of which, some days, I end up crashing.

    I’ll go from rage-fueled productivity to complete shutdown as quick as you can blink. That’s when the sweet and salty snacks creep in—out of habit, comfort, low blood sugar, or just needing a break.

    I used to beat myself up for it.

    Now? I see it as data.

    A bag of chips, gummy candies, or some cookies doesn’t mean I’m lazy or failing—it means my body is waving a white flag. I try to listen, I don’t always do, but I’m getting better.

    It’s not my best strategy, but it’s what I’ve got at the moment.

    This Isn’t A Meal Plan. It’s A Reality.

    I’m not here to tell you what to eat.

    I’m here to say: this is what’s been keeping me alive while I claw my way toward the life I actually want.

    I’m not strong because of this.

    I’m strong in spite of how hard it’s been.

    Some of us aren’t counting macros—we’re counting minutes of energy left in the day.

    Although, this is just another learning curve for me to overcome regardless. I can’t survive only on snacks throughout the day and wait until I finish work to eat something filling, right? I’m not trying to do intermittent fasting while working a physical job. No thank you.

    Meal Ideas For Small Apartments

    I’m not saying that my rice meal is the only meal that I eat, I’ve just been super low energy most days, so I could improve my meals. While I do have to go shopping, I think I have a decent amount of food to work with.

    For my proteins, I have:

    • Steak
    • Chicken
    • Kalua pig
    • Portuguese sausage
    • Bacon
    • Spam (canned)
    • Tuna (canned — in water and oil)
    • Black beans & lentils (dry)
    • Whey protein (GNC tub — still good!)

    Below are the carbs I have:

    • White rice (main staple — check)
    • Pasta (Barilla)
    • Bread (frozen, sliced)
    • 30 packs of Sapporo shrimp flavored saimen
    • Some snack foods (Oreo/Reese’s/etc.)

    While it’s not much, I do have some veggies in stock:

    • Frozen green beans
    • Frozen California mix (carrots, broccoli, cauliflower)

    I have a few miscellaneous spices and seasonings, but it’s enough for my picky appetite:

    • Avocado oil
    • White miso paste
    • Hawaiian salt
    • Cayenne pepper
    • Regular pepper
    • Onion salt

    My shopping list is going to need a few things to complement what I do have. So, I’ll need to keep being stubborn and make a variety of meals to eat to help fuel my body from working and from working out. Even if it’s another meal I can cook in my rice cooker, it’s better than not eating at all.

    How Do I Plan Out Meals?

    I don’t plan my meals out. More often, I’ll see what I have that I could defrost the night before (like a tray of steak), have that ready when I get home, and cook out of pure spite so that: 1)I’m not waiting to cook when I get home; 2) I have something I can eat regardless of what time I finish work, so that I have the food ready and I took the time out of my, becoming more hectic, schedule and adjusting as I go.

    What About You?

    Have you ever found yourself relying on one strange, comforting meal to get through your days?

    Or eaten snacks in silence because your body needed a quick win, even if it wasn’t the “right” one?

    I’d love to hear it. No shame. No judgment. Just honesty.

    A Note To Fellow Archivists

    An Invitation to You

    If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.

    • What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now?
    • Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering?
    • What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?

    You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately. This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.

    Stay stubborn. Be adaptable. Stay fed.

    Other Posts To Check Out

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    More Than Muscle: Becoming Strong on My Own Terms

    More Than Muscle: My No-Gym, No-Excuse Home Setup

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

  • More Than Muscle: Becoming Strong on My Own Terms

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Getting Back Into the Game

    It’s been one month since I returned to using my little home gym again, ready to take on the weight of my sandbag and kettlebells instead of the weight of my jobs and internal critic.

    My inspiration to get back into training comes from Elden Ring’s main character—the Tarnished—who, despite being a nobody in a land destroyed by war, keeps fighting, getting stronger, and never stops coming back from each defeat.

    That’s how I often feel, only without gods, monsters, or the ability to respawn at sites of grace.

    Instead, I have my jobs, bills, debt, managing chronic pain, and the constant effort to eat and sleep enough, while carving out time to write and work out.

    Because of everything on my plate, I chose to start small: 1–2 days a week using weights and calisthenics, with light stretching on alternate days to manage my lower back pain.

    Mondays are my non-negotiable training days since it’s my day off, and I stay flexible about the other days.

    I’ve also started experimenting with journaling, meditation, and goal-setting—working on my mental and emotional muscles, too. Because there are real monsters that need constant slaying.

    I can’t physically see them, but they live inside me: fear, doubt, regret, the ghosts of who I was versus who I am versus who I could be. These are the real-life versions of poison, scarlet rot, and death blight—infesting my mind, impeding progress, and sometimes killing my will to keep going.

    I’m in this gray area of life where I know things could get better—my body, mind, work conditions, finances, and time. But, very much like the Tarnished, I have to grind for every level I can before I lose the runes (progress) I’ve built up, facing the next enemy hiding in plain sight.

    And what are those enemies? The pesky maintenance tasks at home: chores, dishes, laundry, car upkeep, making sure my studio is functional. Sometimes, that’s the boss battle—and I’m often the one losing.

    For my training regimen, I asked ChatGPT to help design a program inspired by the Tarnished, tailored to what I have in my home gym, my physical limitations, and the number of days I can realistically train. Here’s how it’s been going…

    Fighting the Inner Voice: Reframing the Blame

    There were days this past month when I didn’t feel strong — not even close. My body didn’t move like it used to. My push-ups felt shaky. My endurance was low. I’d finish a shift exhausted, and even with a small win in training, I could feel those old, brutal voices in the back of my head crawling out again:

    • You’ve gotten so weak.
    • You’re pathetic.
    • You can’t even do your own job without being a burden.
    • What are you even doing about this?

    That last question used to be a weapon. It didn’t motivate me — it condemned me.

    But something shifted this time. I got angry. Not at the world, not at anyone else — but at myself, for letting that blame game play on repeat in my mind like a cursed loop. And so I challenged the question directly.

    “What are you doing about this?”

    became

    “I’m doing something about it.”

    That small change — that reframe — felt like casting a temporary buff in the middle of a tough fight. The voices quieted, just a little. Not gone, not defeated, but pushed back. Replaced by something sturdier. Something mine.

    I know that mindset boost won’t always be active. But that’s okay. Because just like in any good boss fight, sometimes the win isn’t about landing a massive critical hit — sometimes it’s just about nullifying the status effects long enough to get back to baseline. And honestly? That’s still a win.

    More Than Muscle: Why I’m Still Here

    This journey back into training isn’t about chasing old numbers or proving anything to anyone else. It’s about building strength that goes deeper than muscle — the kind that lets me face another day at work, another bill, another doubt, another version of myself I’m trying to outgrow.

    I’m not training to escape my life; I’m training so I can live it with more control, more awareness, and more refusal to stay broken.

    And even if my muscles shake, even if I can’t lift what I used to, I’m still showing up. That’s not weakness. That’s stubbornness. That’s endurance. That’s what makes me stronger than before — because I’m doing all of this not in ideal conditions, but in the middle of everything else I’m carrying.

    One month in, and I’m still in the fight.

    One month in, and I’ve proven to myself that I am doing something about it.

    This is more than muscle. This is me, becoming a real-life Tarnished — on my own terms.

    Before You Go…

    Maybe you’re in your own version of the Lands Between right now — stuck in the gray areas, rebuilding after burnout, grief, or just plain exhaustion.

    Maybe your strength doesn’t look like it used to. Maybe you’re still figuring out what “doing something about it” even means.

    Wherever you are in your journey — physically, mentally, emotionally — you’re not alone.

    So I’ll ask you this, gently:

    What’s your version of strength right now?

    What are you doing, even quietly, to keep going?

    A Note To Fellow Archivists

    An Invitation to You

    If any part of this piece resonates, I’d love to invite you to pause for a moment and reflect on your own journey.

    • What part of your story feels messy, uncertain, or unfinished right now?
    • Where are you weary, wondering, or wandering?
    • What small reminder do you need today that you don’t have to fit neatly into anyone’s expectations?

    You don’t have to share your reflections out loud — sometimes it’s enough just to notice them for yourself. But if you’d like, you’re always welcome to write them in the comments, or even send them my way privately. This space is here so that we can remind ourselves and each other: you’re not alone in this.

    If you’ve found something meaningful here, liking, sharing, or subscribing helps fellow wanderers find this little pocket of the internet too. And if you subscribe, you’ll also receive Letters from the Void, my newsletter where I share more quiet reflections, behind-the-scenes projects, and updates before they appear anywhere else.

    However you choose to engage — silently reading, reflecting privately, or joining in the conversation — you’re part of this archive. Thank you for being here.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

    Other work to check out:

    More Than Muscle: What Real Strength Looks Like to Me.

    More Than Muscle: My No-Gym, No-Excuse Home Setup

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    — The Stratagem’s Archives