The Stratagem’s Archive

Category: Writing

  • When The Highs of Writing and Publishing Fade—How I’m Keeping The Stratagem’s Archive Alive

    Facing the Fade: When Creative Highs Decline

    Maybe I didn’t take enough time to truly listen to the void. Since publishing The Void Feels Like It’s Closing In and What If Everything Just Stopped? What’s Next for The Stratagem’s Archives?, I stepped away from writing for a bit—but not long enough.

    Back when I wrote from rage, spite, and stubborn determination, I had:

    • A goal
    • A sense of direction
    • A sense of accomplishment
    • A wealth of ideas to explore

    Now, the silence feels deafening. I don’t feel the same compulsion to write, and my mind struggles to find creative inspiration. It’s the shadow I’ve always feared: creative stagnation.

    Reframing Stagnation

    Creative stagnation isn’t failure—it’s a signal. It’s an energy shift and a call to evolve. The Stratagem’s Archive has taught me patience, consistency, and self-reflection. It’s a space where my words reached people across the void, across countries, and into the wider internet.

    Now, I need to face the new reality: keeping this blog alive while honoring my own creative energy, without burning out.

    Adapting: New Rules for Creativity

    Since I’m no longer fueled by rage alone, I’m making adjustments:

    1)Pause for planning: Instead of publishing for streaks, I’ll take the time to think about what to write, why it matters, and how it connects to my growth.

    2)Refocus energy: My attention goes to creating content that’s meaningful, not just consistent.

    3)Experiment and reflect: Using my downtime to explore new topics, styles, and formats to keep the archive fresh and alive.

    The goal isn’t perfection—it’s sustainable growth, just like I’ve applied to my life outside of writing.

    Growth Beyond the Void

    Writing this blog has been a journey of self-discovery, persistence, and reflection. Losing the compulsion that drove me at first is uncomfortable—but it’s also a chance to grow differently.

    The highs fade, but the archive remains, waiting for me to approach it with renewed perspective. The challenge now is curiosity, patience, and intention.

    Call to Reflect

    If you’ve ever faced creative burnout, writer’s block, or the fear of stagnation, remember: it’s not failure. It’s a reset. A pause. A chance to approach your craft with fresh eyes.

    Question for you: How do you keep creating when the passion fades? What small rituals, shifts, or reflections help you stay engaged?

    Share in the comments or connect with me through the archive—your insight might help someone else push through their own creative fade.

    Call-to-Action

    If this post resonated, hit that like button, subscribe for more reflections from The Stratagem’s Archive, or share it with someone who might need a reminder that creative fades are part of growth. Let’s keep leveling up together—IRL and in writing.

    More Posts to Explore

    Challenge Unlocked: Taking a 24 Hour Break From Writing (and My Blog Stats)

    The 24-Hour Challenge Aftermath—Something Unexpected Happened in Just One Night

    Error 404: Last Save Point Not Found—From 60 Consecutive Days Back to 1

    The Experimental Pride of the Archives

  • From Leveling Up in Games to Leveling Up IRL: What Elden Ring (and Soulsborne Games) Taught Me About Growth

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    How The Journey Began

    As a kid, I used to dive into video games not just for fun — but for escape. Video games were stories I couldn’t explore in real life. I preferred leveling up my characters, exploring epic worlds, unlocking new abilities, and compelling stories.

    It felt good to grow, even if it was only on-screen. What I didn’t realize back then was that I was building the blueprint for how I’d eventually grow in real life.

    Games like Elden Ring, Bloodborne, and Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice have done more for me than just fill time — they’ve challenged me, shaped me, and slowly helped me believe that I could grow, not just in-game… but as a person.

    My Childhood: Escape Was Growth

    When I was younger, I didn’t think I was smart enough, strong enough, or confident enough to handle the real world. Trial and error felt too risky in real life and criticisms felt like real physical damage—especially if personal resources weren’t aplenty.

    So I turned to video games as my main source of escape.

    In those digital worlds, failure was temporary, and effort was always rewarded. I could try, and I could improve — without judgment, fear of failure, and tools to increase EXP and skills faster than in real life.

    Games gave me what school, social life, and expectations couldn’t: a space where I could grow at my own pace.

    As silly as it might seem, I found something valuable from being a gamer that I didn’t bother to find in real life: tools and lessons in disguise.

    It took me over 10 years to see what I was blind to and, what I was doing in my games, I could have applied the same effort in real life.

    Adulthood: Facing Reality (With Gaming EXP)

    Fast-forward to the present — living on my own, juggling two jobs, exhausted and worn down as hell, but still alive and kicking. Then, suddenly, I starting to see it:

    The way I’ve been playing in Elden Ring, how it pushes me to improve and try again, in a small way, is how I show up in my own life.

    In Elden Ring, I do complain, I rage when my character dies — either I wasn’t paying attention, I died to a boss enemy, or got impatient and the game had to put me in my place — I make mistakes. While I did give up initially, I grew comfortable with the constant failures because I could try again — with a new approach.

    That’s not just a gaming mindset. That’s applicable to real life as well.

    Growth Lessons From Elden Ring and Other Soulsborn Games

    I used to hate how difficult Elden Ring was because it had no difficulty setting you could change it to. It punished those who would like to coast in the game. But now I appreciate it — because it forced me to learn, adapt, and evolve.

    Just like life does.

    And honestly? That’s been a gift. The game rewards me when I’m patient. It punishes me when I rush. It makes me earn every inch of progress — and that’s made every victory feel earned, not given.

    Life has a similar, uncanny innate mechanism to FromSoft’s games. You can try something, fail at it, or rise from the supposed failures life threw at you—just like The Tarnished, The Hunter, and Wolf do after every defeat.

    The rise again and we can do the same if we choose to.

    While I know that I don’t have a grand objective like these protagonists—become the Elden Lord, hunt monsters, or save my liege from imprisonment—the beauty of our lives is we get to choose our own objectives, lessons, successes, and how we approach failure.

    The Biggest Lesson: I’m Capable of Growth Outside of the Games

    For most of my life, I didn’t think I could improve. I thought that I was born a failure and that my lot in life was because I didn’t win the supposed “lottery” at birth. But these games showed me that I could — through persistence, strategy, and self-reflection—do and be better.

    I just have to apply the same methodology to everything else in my life:

    After work has finished and I’m safe at home, I take stock of what happened in the day. I do my best not to spazz out when things go wrong — I slow down and observe to the best of my abilities, and make due with what I have. Even if it’s not a success, as long as I wake up, I can keep trying again and again until I can’t.

    In life, I don’t fear failure the same way I used — I know it’s part of the process. It’s part of earning EXP. Even in writing this blog, I’m leveling up — using trial and error, not waiting to be perfect, but just good enough in my own eyes.

    In Conclusion – Call to Reflect

    Tell me, Fellow Archivists,

    • “What lessons have your favorite games taught you about life? How have you applied them outside of the screen?”
    • Which in-game failures taught you the most about resilience?”
    • “How do you turn lessons from games into real-life progress?”

    Level Up With Me

    If this post resonated, consider pressing “like” to unlock a little XP for the archive, subscribe to keep up with my ongoing quest, or share with fellow archivists who might benefit from these lessons.

    Every click, share, or follow is like finding a hidden item chest — it helps this little corner of the internet keep growing and reaching others leveling up alongside us.

    Games As IRL Preparation

    If you’re someone who’s ever felt like real-life growth was out of reach… I get it. I lived that. But maybe the hours you’ve spent getting destroyed by Malenia Blade of Miquella, failing to parry Genichiro Ashina, or escaping the nightmare streets of Yharnam weren’t a waste of time.

    Maybe they were preparation.

    You were learning how to fall, how to rise, how to be patient with your own evolution. That counts for something — maybe even everything.

    This space is for the weary, the wondering, and the wandering. I’m not here to teach—just to share what I’m learning, while I’m still in it. Read quietly, reflect deeply, or share if it speaks to you.

    Sharing opens the path to others like us to find this little pocket of the internet. No pressure. Just presence.

    You can check out my other video game inspired works down below:

    Learning to Pick Locks Like In Video Games

    Achievement Unlocked: My First Lock Opened

    The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    The Stratagem’s Archive: You Begin Here:

    Thank You For Reaching the End

    You can preview what fellow subscribers can get first in their inboxes before everyone else as thank you for reading all the way to the end, for spending some time here, and leveling up together.

  • Alzheimer’s Curse: How It Robs Memories From the Afflicted and Their Loved Ones

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Cruelty of Forgetting

    Forgetting your keys, your wallet, or even milk from the grocery store is frustrating. But watching someone you love slowly forget you—that’s a pain words can barely capture. Alzheimer’s and dementia don’t just steal memories; they steal the shared history that binds us, leaving the afflicted unaware and their loved ones carrying it all alone.

    It’s tragic and cruel growing up and living with someone with Alzheimer’s.

    My grandpa had Alzheimer’s when I was growing up. Sometimes he looked at me and saw a stranger, not the grandchild he once held in his arms. I didn’t understand why he would look at me like that.

    I hated it, didn’t understand as a kid, and I would cause trouble to my grandpa because of his Alzheimer’s.

    I wasn’t the only one who was suffering though.

    My grandma had to retire from work early to care for him, while my dad would rush home from work early to ensure he didn’t wander too far from his routines or get lost.

    Every day felt like a delicate balance between vigilance and heartbreak.

    Out of frustration, I used to lock the door when he was outside. He’d pull at it until you could swear it was about to come off its hinges. My grandma would yell at me to open it, and I would. He’d walk in as if nothing happened, past me like I didn’t exist.

    It was worse than being ignored.

    I remember sleeping over at their house as a kid. In the dead of night, something hit my head. In the dark, through bleary eyes, I saw my grandpa standing over me. He tapped my head three times, as though fluffing a strange pillow, and not hitting my head full force.

    Unnerving, yes—but I was tired, and I went back to sleep with a dull headache.

    My grandma told me he would call her “fat lady” when he forgot her. She would walk back into the room, then back to the living room, and he’d remember. He’d ask where “the fat lady” went, and she’d tell him she’d gone home.

    Moments of Lucidity

    Occasionally, there were brief windows of clarity. He would shower, eat, dress himself, and speak to my grandma as he used to. He always followed his routines: cleaning the yard, walking to McDonald’s for coffee, sitting at the tables, then walking back home.

    He would hum to himself, a simple melody without words. I can barely remember the tune now, but it reminded us he was alive, present, even when he wasn’t fully there.

    Those moments were fleeting, yet precious—tiny glimpses of the man we knew and loved. They were a cruel gift: the contrast between what he could remember in fragments and what he had already lost made every shared moment bittersweet.

    The Weight on Loved Ones

    Alzheimer’s doesn’t just affect the person with the disease. It reshapes the lives of everyone around them. My grandma, my dad, and I were constantly alert, walking the line between guiding him and letting him retain independence.

    Friends and neighbors understood the weight we carried. They knew who my grandpa was before Alzheimer’s took him—a presence lost, yet physically still with us.

    We were caring for someone trapped in a body that refused to remember, and the emotional toll was relentless.

    My grandma made new routines for him: jumping on a trampoline, writing his name repeatedly on paper, practicing tai chi—anything to keep his body moving and give them both a shared activity. He enjoyed these moments, and they gave structure and connection amidst the chaos.

    A Brave Choice

    Alzheimer’s didn’t kill my grandpa. His medication did. In a rare moment of clarity, his doctor explained the medicine could help his Alzheimer’s—but it carried a risk of a heart attack.

    My grandpa chose clarity, fully aware of the danger. Tragically, my family wasn’t home when he passed. That night, he showered, ate, and talked with my grandma as himself. When he said he was “going home,” my grandma wasn’t prepared for how she found him the next morning.

    He went to sleep and never woke up again.

    His courage in the face of such risk was both heartbreaking and awe-inspiring—a final assertion of agency in a life stolen by disease.

    Yet it felt like a deep wound being shoved with salt: painful, deeply hurtful, and full of nothing but lingering regrets.

    Fragments That Remain

    All that’s left of him for me are his wedding band, his watch, his love for Nutter Butters (despite him not wearing his dentures), and snippets of the tune he used to hum.

    These fragments are sacred—they’re proof he existed beyond the fog Alzheimer’s created.

    The Ripple Effect

    Alzheimer’s ripples through families, friendships, and communities. It teaches grief, patience, and the value of presence. It forces us to treasure the small things: a smile, a remembered joke, a touch, a familiar gesture.

    Because once they’re gone, they may never return.

    Hold onto your loved ones, and hold onto the memories you create together. There’s no way to predict what will be forgotten or remembered—but every moment matters.

    Awareness & Action

    Alzheimer’s and dementia are cruel not just for the afflicted, but for everyone who loves them. Educate yourself, check in on your loved ones, and offer support to caregivers—you never know how deeply this disease can touch lives.

    If my story touched you, or helped you understand even a fraction of what it’s like to live with—or love someone with—Alzheimer’s, I invite you to like, share, and subscribe.

    Not just to support my blog, but to help raise awareness about this devastating disease that touches so many lives.

    June is Alzheimer’s & Brain Awareness Month in the U.S., and September is World Alzheimer’s Month globally.

    Use these moments to educate yourself, support caregivers, and advocate for those whose memories are slowly stolen away. Every action, every conversation, every shared story matters more than you could know.

  • Fighting on Your Own Terms: Debt, Defiance, and Building a Life That’s Mine

    Three months ago, I was in significant amounts of debt, wandering through jobs I didn’t like belong in, and trying to resist life’s pre-existing scripts. Today, I’m down by thousands and building a foundation for the life I actually want. Here’s the updates so far.

    Ainsi Bas Ma Vie: That’s How My Life Goes

    Three months ago, I wrote about the mountain of debt I accumulated before and after I started living on my own — over a huge deal worth of debt— and how it threatened to define my life before I even truly had a chance to shape it.

    Since then, I’ve chipped away at it, one payment, one decision, one stubborn move at a time. Today, the number is still daunting.

    It’s not gone. It’s still heavy. But it’s shrinking, and with every dollar, I reclaim a little more agency over my life.

    I’m terrified of debt because of how much it stops me from doing and experiencing things I want to do and try out.

    I never liked how all of my attention has to go to debt, it’s super draining, but at least I can see the near end of the pothole filled road I drove onto myself because of the choices I made over time. Though I’m slowly getting closer to smoother pavement. Just a little closer now.

    Choosing a Path That Feels Like Me

    Speaking of choices, growing up, I was told what my life “should” look like. Work in hotels — the backbone of our local economy. Join the family’s construction business. Learn Japanese. Take the safe route. Follow the script.

    I tried none of it. The roles didn’t fit me. I didn’t like crowds, didn’t thrive in certain structures, didn’t want my last name to carry me into someone else’s office. I wanted to forge my own path, even if I had no map.

    So I wandered through jobs and higher education—with how long I was in-and-out of school, I could have gotten my Master’s degree in something. Instead, I’m a University and community college “drop out.”

    I think I’ve written about how I don’t have a degree. Surprisingly, I have a Liberal Arts degree, but, to my knowledge, this degree hasn’t really helped anyone out.

    Plus, I don’t have the diploma framed, I don’t have it at all, so I don’t have that fancy paper saying I did go through higher education. Either way, to me, a Liberals Degree is useless, or I haven’t figured out how to frame this degree as useful, helpful, and to other people’s benefit. Oh, well.

    Anyways, the jobs I took were often in roles that others might dismiss, or outright scoff at: customer service, grocery work, fresh food — jobs without fancy titles or corner offices.

    Guess what? This is true to some extent, but this was my fault for barring myself from opportunities I could have taken when I didn’t bother looking for and applying to scholarships or internships to stick it out.

    The “Should have, could have, would have’s” of the world at play people, let’s hear it.

    These jobs weren’t glamorous, but they were mine. I was building a foundation with the tools I had, no matter how much I hated them and myself for working there.

    Rage, Rebellion, and Sanity

    Some of those jobs taught me one thing clearly: never put my sanity on the line for someone else’s frustration. People will take their anger out on the easy target — and I learned quickly I didn’t want to be that target.

    My current work — a warehouse job and a rage room gig — are dualities of that script.

    Work at the warehouse gives me so much energy to want to destroy things and want to break people, so much people piss me off, but I need to keep my cool here.

    In customer service at the rage room, people vent, but not on me. They break objects, not spirits. I get paid, they get release, and I keep my energy for building my future. It’s still work, but it’s aligned with my boundaries and my life philosophy.

    One Step, One Victory at a Time

    Like the protagonist in Indila’s Ainsi Bas La Vida, I’ve resisted a world that wanted to define me. Instead of picking someone to love who isn’t socially acceptable, I’ve walked a path that was messy, even if it’s slower, less glamorous, and full of obstacles.

    And, like Indila’s story in Ainsi Bas La Vida, there’s always risk, judgment, and uncertainty — but also the thrill of making choices that are truly mine.

    Every payment toward debt, every post, sticker, hoodie, manifesto, and careful decision is a brick in the foundation of the life I’m building. One that I own. One that I’ve fought for.

    The debt still exists, but it’s become manageable. Not gone. But every number represents resilience, agency, and the refusal to fade quietly because of someone else’s expectations.

    I don’t know when the journey will end, or if I’ll ever feel fully “done” with it. But I do know this: I’m choosing my fights, protecting my mind, and constructing a life that’s mine — piece by piece, step by step.

    Reflection

    If anything here resonates, I want you to take a moment and honor your own fight.

    Maybe you’re battling debt, following a path others don’t understand, or just trying to carve space for yourself in a world that wants to keep you small.

    Every little victory matters. Every decision that aligns with your values is a rebellion worth celebrating.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Building One Brick at a Time

  • One Foot in the Grave and a Christmas Tree in My Face

    2026 is Fast Approaching, Fellow Archivists.

    We Didn’t Get Through the Other Holidays Yet!!!

    My pet peeve went off during my morning shift yesterday and I was already in a bad mood; I was trying to sleep in my car before my shift started and someone was revving their damn car, blasting heavy bass and rap music through their speakers.

    I woke up pissed because I just wanted to rest a little while longer and my alarm was about to go off in 5 minutes.

    I yelled from the inside of my trunk for whoever that was to shut the fuck up, but there was no way anyone could have heard me with how loud, and how shitty the music playing, it was.

    I struggled to sleep in my studio the night before—my mind was playing tricks on me because I kept seeing a shadow by my couch and clean clothes basket I didn’t fold yet from the corner of my eye. My mind was already tense from reading a, well I think it’s a really good story, WebToons called, “44th Period: Survival Class,” by sangC.

    With how far I read and the types of monsters: how they were written, drawn, and trying to figure out what school rule was twisted into a monster, my mind kept reeling back to the parts where each monstrosity was encountered.

    (Trying not to spoil too much, even though I doubt anyone who reads my stuff would read WebToons, but I’m just sharing enough to be sure. Also, I’m not affiliated with this comic or the creator, but I really like how fresh the ideas in this suspenseful, survival, horror story it is. Anyways, back to the reflection).

    My mind kept racing and I kept a light on to keep the dark, and my thoughts from diving too deep into what I thought I was seeing.

    So, What Bothered You This Time, Archivist?

    So, what happened was, after I woke up ready to flip whoever’s car that woke me up on its head, work started. I was one of the people responsible to separate and push the freight to the appropriate destination.

    Today wasn’t as hectic as it usually can be. HOWEVER, the thing that triggered my pet peeve was this: this month is October.

    What happens in October? Halloween. My favorite holiday, even as an adult. Since it’s spooky month, I saw something on the conveyor belt that made me lose my shit more.

    A damn inflatable Christmas tree.

    My Christmas Tree Rant

    I followed the box a few feet and was tapping my fists against the box while ranting in rhythm to my fists tapping the box.
    A CHRISTMAS TREE!!!

    WE HAVEN’T GONE THROUGH THE OTHER HOLIDAYS YET! WE DON’T NEED TO SEE CHRISTMAS YET!!!

    Then, I walked back to my post and forgot that the Christmas tree existed. Already having gave the box a thing or two of my mind was enough and it was back to work.

    That’s Why You Were Losing Your Mind Over?

    Yes, I was losing my mind over this is pretty reasonable. Like, I get people don’t know that people might be sleeping in their cars, so they just blast their bass to the absolute max, and my alarm was gonna go off in five damn minutes when I was rudely waken up.

    But the worse of it was seeing that stupid Christmas tree. Like, “damn, we didn’t even get to Halloween or Thanksgiving yet, and people already want Mariah Carey to thaw early this year?

    Nope. No thanks. Let me have my spooky month without the other holidays, and being reminded of the new year, getting in the way.”

    Why can’t we all just take a breather and appreciate each holiday without having to rush to the next one? You know what else we’re rushing towards if we don’t stop this bullshit? Our graves.

    Yup. We’re already one foot in it, so let’s back peddle real quick, huh? I sure as hell don’t want to listen to, “All I Want for Christmas is You,” on a loop from hell.

    People. Why Are You Running to 2026 Already?

    I can’t get it through my head why people just want to rush through the (major) holidays like a speed run in video games. Is rushing to the next year really going to help you achieve whatever goal you struggled to get this year? Like, damn people, let me enjoy my discounted Halloween themed chocolates before you shove me with you.
    The only time where I would like to speed up is when I’m working.

    I just want to go home to write, reflect, play video games, stare at my tv because I died. Again. Cook me food, or just listen to music because work won’t let us play music again.

    Other than that, seeing how we’re not safe from time’s continuous march forward, I hate how even the holidays are being rushed, like a kid blowing out a birthday cake not theirs. Those frustrate me too, but I digress.

    Can’t we just appreciate the days as they come—no future prepping for things ahead of time, no kicking the month’s holiday off of it’s pedestal before it even got a chance to sit down—and be like, “man, time is moving pretty fast. What have I been doing this whole time?”

    We’re one foot in the grave already — so why are we sprinting to the next holiday, the next year, the next thing?

    Slow down. Smell the pumpkin spice. Listen to the creak of your haunted decorations. Time isn’t going anywhere, but you are.

    Don’t let that slip from your mind or, by the time you know it, you’ll really be fully in your grave.

    Let’s Wrap It Up, Everyone.

    Even in the chaos of blaring music, misplaced holidays, and life racing ahead of us, these moments — small irritations, fleeting frustrations, and midnight reflections — remind us to slow down and notice where we are.

    They’re part of the archive too, a record of our minds, our lives, and the little battles we fight just to keep standing.

    Maybe it’s a reminder that amidst the noise, we can still carve out space to breathe, to reflect, and to exist on our own terms.

    If this piece spoke to you, resonated in some way, or even made you smirk at the absurdity of rushing through life: like, share, or subscribe.

    Take a moment to sit with this reflection — thank you for spending part of your day here in the archives.

    You’re always welcome, Fellow Archivist, and your presence matters in this quiet, unfolding record of life as it is, not just as it’s scheduled to be.

    Other Reflections

    I’m Afraid of the Finality of the Night

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0: A Companion Ebook

    From Financial Pursuit to Connection: How Plans2Action Became The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Rage Against the Spirit That Wants to Fade into the Night

    “Don’t go quietly into the night.”

    I’ve been hearing this phrase lately, a persistent spark at the back of my skull. Not a voice, not a command — just a constant pull. A reminder to keep pushing, keep fighting, and to flash as brightly as possible in a world that wants me to fade into the mundane. To become another statistic of our world.

    Living Loud in a World That Wants Silence

    I can’t control how my story ends. But I can control how I live the chapters I still have. I can choose to exist boldly, irritate the people around me simply by refusing to shrink into someone else’s version of “acceptable.” And I can’t do that if my life suddenly ends, right?

    I choose to fight — literally, figuratively, however way I can, every way I can. And maybe someone would have to stop me while I blast Indila’s Parle à ta tête in my earbuds.

    Why “Parle à ta tête” Hits Deep

    youtube.com/watch

    I’m not blasting it because it’s angry. It’s reflective. Honest. Funny in parts, deeply emotional in others. Indila dares to want something, to reach for life as brightly as she can — not fade away like so many people’s whose flame dies unnoticed.

    And that hits me hard. That’s the kind of fire I want.

    Real.

    Silly.

    But, ultimately, mine.

    Refusing the Mundane Exit

    I don’t know how long I have. But I refuse to let my exit be ordinary.

    • Not through drinking
    • Not through drugs
    • Not by letting life’s endless lines of trouble dictate the terms, even though these feel insurmountable at times

    I want to live on the edges, yes, but define my path myself.

    Leaving Proof Behind

    Even if I go out tomorrow, even if life finally throws its last strike and I miss, I will have left behind proof:

    That I lived as brightly as I possibly could with the time and resources I had.

    That I refused to fade quietly.

    That I raged. That I shone.

    The Proof I Existed

    I Made Small Tangible Artifacts of the Archive

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0: A Companion Ebook

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    Reflect Here

    Have you ever experienced your own version of not going gently into the night? Share a thumbs up in the comments below or directly with me at: whatimtryingoutnow@gmail.com.

    If my words connect with you, consider liking, subscribing, or sharing this post. Every share helps others who feel stuck, unheard, or underestimated find this little corner of the internet — a space to remember that it’s okay to rage against the world’s expectations while building the life you truly want.

    Keep raging. Keep experimenting. Keep building. Keep shining.

    Other Reflections

    If you liked this reflection, then consider checking out other ones where the pull to extinguish my flame prematurely is strong, but I fight against it anyways. No matter how anxious, desperate, or hopeless I feel.

  • Where Do Frameworks and Tools End and Our Thinking Begin?

    Tools Are Supposed to Help Us, Right?

    I’ve tried just about everything in the name of “self-improvement.”

    Apps, challenges, journals, lessons — all promising clarity and control.

    But after all that effort, nothing in my life was actually changing.

    I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t unmotivated. I was simply outsourcing my thinking.

    The Mighty Network Experiment

    I joined The Daily Stoic’s Mighty Network app for their Spring Forward Challenge 2025 — a two-week program to clean up every part of your life. Room, car, home, phone, even your habits. I was excited to finally join a community, to do something that felt constructive.

    And for a while, I did enjoy it. I joined the “Tame Your Temper” course too because, truthfully, I have one. I wanted to be a good student of Stoicism. Then, like a light switch, I stopped.

    The app just sat there on my home screen. I’d scroll past it daily, but never felt the need to open it again. I wasn’t avoiding it — I was just… done.

    At first, I thought that meant I’d failed. But something deeper was stirring in the background. I wasn’t burned out. I was waking up.

    The Realization

    The challenges and courses weren’t bad. They were designed to guide me — to give me structure and show me a path. The problem wasn’t the tools. The problem was how I used them.

    I was following instructions without questioning whether they fit my life, my habits, or my values. I’d become a student again — memorizing, not learning. Regurgitating, not applying.

    It’s a familiar pattern, isn’t it?

    When Learning Becomes Substituting

    I moved on to other self-improvement apps — like The Alux app, which focuses on the “five pillars” of a good life: finances, emotional health, intellect, relationships, and physical well-being. The lessons were solid, but they all shared one flaw:

    They told me what to do, rarely why, and never how to think for myself.

    Then, one evening during a quiet five-minute meditation — right before my alarm (fittingly called “Thunder Bringer”) went off — it hit me:

    The real work doesn’t happen in an app.

    It doesn’t live inside someone else’s framework.

    It happens here — in the silence, in reflection, in the moments when you ask:

    “Does this even make sense for me anymore?”

    Frameworks can guide, but they can’t think for you. They can’t teach discernment — only experience can. Once you learn enough from a tool, the real challenge begins: knowing when to put it down and trust your own judgment.

    That’s when growth stops being theoretical — and becomes real.

    Practicing Autonomy with Money

    One framework that truly helped me was Ramit Sethi’s “I Will Teach You to Be Rich.”

    It taught me how to manage my money and start building my version of a rich life.

    I’ve been aggressively paying down debt, investing consistently, automating my finances, and slowly rebuilding my emergency fund. I don’t follow Ramit’s percentages to the letter — I adjusted them to fit my situation.

    I prioritize paying off debt first. My “guilt-free spending” comes from simple pleasures: home-cooked meals, protein shakes that don’t wreck my stomach, donating to my local animal sanctuary, or treating family to dinner.

    That’s the key difference now: I learned from the framework, then made it mine.

    When the lessons became habits, I didn’t need the framework anymore.

    And if Ramit ever finds this — thanks. You taught me to stop chasing financial perfection and start living intentionally.

    What’s Next Now?

    Am I saying we should stop learning? Of course not.

    Some lessons take years to reach us, others appear only when we’re ready.

    But I noticed something important after stepping away from all the apps, videos, and podcasts.

    My life was still the same on paper: same full-time job, same debts, same exhaustion. I still hate how draining work feels, I still get angry and worn down, and I still fight with my own thoughts.

    But the difference is — I’m not looking outside myself for permission to change anymore.

    Philosophy and self-improvement didn’t teach me my values or boundaries. I learned them through hurt, betrayal, ghosting, and years of being a placeholder in other people’s lives.

    No course told me to stop drinking — I did that alone in 2018 when I realized alcohol wasn’t numbing anything, only amplifying it. That’s when I started listening, not to experts, but to my own silence.

    So, Are Frameworks Worthless?

    No. They’re not.

    They’re useful — until they’re not.

    Every framework has a shelf life.

    Use it, learn from it, but know when to outgrow it.

    Because if you’re just keeping a daily streak alive, or checking boxes to “stay consistent,” you might be moving — but not necessarily growing.

    Take a Step Back and See What Happens

    The question is: When was the last time you stopped following a system and started thinking for yourself again?

    This is my challenge to you — especially if you’re deep into the world of self-improvement, philosophy, or productivity hacks.

    Take a step back. Pause.

    Put the app down, skip the next lesson, and just think.

    Ask yourself:

    • What have I actually learned from this?
    • What can I apply without guidance?
    • What can I let go of now?

    You might find, like I did, that the noise starts to fade — and your own voice starts to return.

    I still hate parts of my life. I still get angry. But that anger taught me to stop tolerating bullshit. That exhaustion taught me that my effort matters. That loneliness taught me how to stand on my own.

    No app could’ve taught me that.

    Only life, and my willingness to really learn, could.

    Reflection for Readers:

    If you’ve been chasing self-improvement for years but still feel stuck, maybe it’s not because you’re failing — maybe it’s because you’ve learned all you can from your current framework. The next lesson might not be in a course or app. It might be waiting in your own reflection.

    If this resonated with you — or if you know someone who’s caught in the same cycle — share this post with them.

    Like it, subscribe, or pass it on to someone who’s ready to start thinking for themselves again.

    Subscribers get access to my Letters from the Void Newsletter before everyone else, behind-the-scenes looks into reflections and projects and progress, and access to my two manifestos.

    You could check them out here with this link for a preview of what it would be like becoming a Fellow Archivist below:

    Two Manifestos + A Gift (For Fellow Archivists)

    I’m glad you took the time to stop by and sit with me a while. It really means more than I could ever express with words. I’m working hard to provide physical stuff to give as a thank you. It’s going to take time, and I’ll let know when they’re ready.

    Start Here With Other Reflections:

    If you liked this article, then you can check out the first post reflecting how self-improvement imprisons us, and how experience shapes us more than “habits and lessons” ever could empower us, in these posts below:

    Or you could check out the archives by clicking on these links below. I’ll see you all there later. Thank you.

  • From Financial Pursuit to Connection: How Plans2Action Became The Stratagem’s Archive

    The Shift Started With a Name Change

    Three months ago, when I first started my blog, it was originally known as “Plans2Action.” I don’t know how I got it in my head—maybe because I realized that every day I sat in traffic, I wasn’t getting paid passive income outside of my retirement and investing accounts—but I had the great idea that, when I created my first ever blog, it would help bridge that passive income gap.

    At the time, it was an idea that got me to write whatever came to mind and hit publish.

    I had no service, no book, no merchandise to sell, so this was pretty ambitious for someone starting at ground zero. I had no idea how I was going to bridge this elusive money gap, but that wasn’t going to stop me from trying.

    The Persona I Started With

    In the beginning of this journey, I stopped myself from trying to figure it out…

    “Plans2Action’s” persona that I tried crafting it around was the “villain hiding in plain sight.” I was using Google Gemini to help me and I was struck with inspiration to write like a villain laying out their plans of chaos, routine, and being an inconvenience to everyone.

    I hated it.

    I know that I’m not a hero type, but calling myself a villain or a mastermind in training would turn my mood foul. It grew stronger when I made it through my first week of writing and I wasn’t getting much views, likes, subscribers, or shares.

    Yeah, I know, sounds delusional, right?

    I felt my soul getting crushed by another outlet outside of my mind-numbing job and the expectations of what “success” is supposed to look like.

    I wanted to quit. I had quit a lot of things before:

    • wrestling after a knee injury and fear of my “teammates,”
    • supporting the Invisible Children program,
    • quitting BJJ due to finances being tight and a back injury from working too much and poor lifting mechanics,
    • and I had been a job hopper after staying for 6 months to 3–8 years with each job.

    Every time I stopped something, I grew numb that I’d never stick with anything, and I hated myself for being a quitter.

    “Winners never quit and quitters never win” hammered into my head until it was engraved as my default mode of thinking.

    I’m a quitter. I’m a loser. I can’t do anything right. This blog is already a failure because I am a failure. What evidence do I have that says otherwise?

    With writing? Even though no one was reading my early work, I realized I was publishing from a desperate lens, not an open or welcoming one.

    This had been the wake up call that slapped me awake that I didn’t realize had whacked me to widen my eyes and thinking.

    From Desperation to Curiosity

    Somewhere between my first and second month, something shifted. I stopped trying to make my blog sound like a performance and started letting it sound like me.

    I stopped writing to “capture” attention and started writing to connect.

    That’s when Plans2Action stopped feeling like a name and started feeling like a costume I didn’t really like wearing.

    I wasn’t laying out villainous plans; I was recording my life, my observations, my frustrations, my curiosities, and my hopes.

    This wasn’t about action for action’s sake anymore. It was about strategy, thought, and reflection — not just “plans” but the archive of someone actively becoming something more than they ever were.

    Why The Stratagem’s Archive

    I can’t remember how I came up with The Stratagem’s Archive as my new name. I wanted to have “archive” in it, though I guess Plans2Action was lingering when I discarded it. Even though this sounds like some Helldivers fan page, it became something I ran with and grew.

    And it sounded cool to me.

    Eventually, the name clicked because it gave me permission to treat my blog as a living library rather than a sales funnel.

    It gave me the space to be messy, vulnerable, and honest without forcing everything into a neat conclusion.

    And ironically, when I stopped chasing clicks, the writing became easier, the posts more authentic, and the small but steady growth began to happen naturally.

    Takeaway

    This blog has become my record of showing up — even when no one was watching, even when my stats plateau, even when it would be easier to give up.

    It’s proof to myself that I can build something slowly, imperfectly, and on my own terms.

    And maybe that’s the real shift: not just rebranding a blog, but rebranding how I see myself. Not as someone who quits, but as someone who’s still here, building a portfolio, proof that I was done with letting fear rule what I did and didn’t do.

    A Gentle Ask

    If you’ve made it this far, thank you. Truly. Every like, share, or comment helps this little corner of the internet reach more people who are tired of cookie-cutter stories and want something real.

    If this resonated with you, consider subscribing or sharing this post with someone who might need to hear it.

    New subscribers get direct access to my newsletter, “Letters from the Void”, access to my manifestos, and behind-the-scenes projects I’ve been working on from the trunk of my car and in the dead of night.

    When others are typically asleep, I’m awake in the stillness.

    You’re not just reading words on a screen. You’re part of this archive, too.

    Other Reflections Below

    I’ve reflected on other things regarding finances, feeling worn down, and never enough in these posts below. Exploring them will show you more of the archives, and potentially help you articulate something you might have had trouble thinking on.

  • What Would Life Be Like Without Music? A Thought Experiment

    If music vanished tomorrow, would we even know what we were missing? Explore this thought experiment with me.

    What would your life be like without music?

    Music has been a constant thread in my life. I grew up surrounded by musicians, dancers, and artists. For me, imagining life without music isn’t difficult to do— it can feel as though exploring new territory. But what if music had never existed at all? What kind of people would we be?

    The question reminds me of an old story I once read about the Egyptians, who believed all human beings originally spoke Egyptian. To test this, they kept babies in isolation, without hearing human language, hoping the children would eventually speak Egyptian on their own. But when those children grew older, they couldn’t form words or sentences at all.

    Without music, I think humanity would be just like those children.

    The Egyptian Experiment: Babies Without Language

    That Egyptian story has always stuck with me. It highlights how humans aren’t born fully “formed” — we’re shaped by the sounds, rhythms, and cultures around us. Language is one of them. Music is another.

    If music had never existed, I imagine we’d grow up with something missing. Not a hole we’d notice, but one we’d feel if sound suddenly entered our lives. Like the Egyptian children, we wouldn’t even know what we were missing until it was too late.

    Would We Freak Out? Or Adapt Like Adora?

    This also makes me think of the Netflix She-Ra series. Adora grows up in the Horde, cut off from the wider world. When she finally leaves, she’s suddenly surrounded by new experiences, colors, and people. She adapts quickly — almost too quickly for my liking.

    It made me wonder: did the Horde give her something similar so that she wasn’t completely overwhelmed? Or was she just unbelievably adaptable?

    If I had never heard music, I don’t think I’d adapt like Adora. I’d freak out. It would be overwhelming, maybe terrifying, like suddenly stepping into a new reality.

    Music as a Matrix Breaker

    The closest metaphor I have is The Matrix. Imagine being unplugged, seeing the real world for the first time. That’s what it would feel like if someone introduced music into a life that had never known it.

    Rhythm, melody, harmony — all of it would shatter the quiet order of a soundless existence. It wouldn’t just be “something new to enjoy.” It would be something that rewrote the very structure of reality.

    Why Music Shapes Who We Are

    I can’t separate who I am from music. From the start, I’ve been surrounded by it — not just songs, but the energy of people who live for it. Music taught me to feel, to reflect, to connect even when I didn’t want to.

    Take it away, and I wouldn’t just lose entertainment. I’d lose a language of emotion. A way of making sense of the world. A way of imagining myself.

    Imagining Life Without Music Isn’t Just Hypothetical

    Of course, music does exist, and it always has. But imagining its absence makes me realize just how deeply it’s tied to being human. Without it, we’d be incomplete — like those isolated children, or like living in the Matrix without ever knowing there’s another world waiting.

    So, what would life be like without music? For me, it wouldn’t be life at all.

    Reflection & Call to Action

    If anything here resonated with you — whether it sparked memories, ideas, or emotions — I’d love for you to engage. Share your thoughts, reflect on your own experiences with music, or even explore a few of my past daily prompts.

    You can also check out some gifts I’ve created for readers who want to explore their creativity or inspiration alongside my writing.

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.0

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto 1.5

    Every share, comment, or reflection helps others in similar situations find this little corner of the internet — a space to reflect, imagine, and resist the quiet pressure to fade.

    Keep exploring. Keep imagining. Keep letting music, creativity, and your own curiosity shape your reality.

    Other Daily Prompts Below

    Do You Really Want to Know?

    Leveling Up Exploration Skill IRL:

    The Hum and Grind of Metal and Rubber

  • Thoughts From the Trunk of My Car—Again

    A Reflection

    Where Did Things Take a Turn

    Lately, I’ve been finding myself thinking in my car more often. In fact, I spend more time in my car than in my studio. My studio has become little more than a place to shower and leave my things: no resting, no downtime, no hobbies or new pursuits. Nothing. Most days, I nap for an hour or two, grab what I need for work, and end up sleeping in my car before my shifts.

    After publishing my recent post, “Bound by Compulsion: When Anger Got the Best of Me at Work,” I noticed how my blog has shifted. What started as a space to share what I was trying and learning has become filled with venting—anger, sadness, compulsion, feelings of worthlessness and never being enough. Even my writing feels like it has taken a turn.

    I Feel Like the Punchline of a Joke I’m Not Telling

    In another post, “Could We Talk About Relationships?” I listed a few personal requirements I want to fulfill before pursuing a relationship:

    • Have my own place, so no one can tell me what to do.
    • Earn enough money to support myself—and maybe someone else—if needed.
    • Make sure my job doesn’t consume my personal life: time with family, friends, a potential partner, or my own projects.

    So far, I’ve only managed the first one. The other two dangle in front of me, taunting me, like I’m the butt of a joke I’m not telling. And that’s the joke—I’m still here at this job, even though 70% of the time I don’t want to be. (It depends on how loud the voices get that day.)

    Every time I think I’m making progress, I’m reminded I’m not. The proof is scattered all over my blog:

    • Could We Talk About Relationships?
    • Stuck in Traffic, Stuck in My Head: A Reflection on Control and Fear
    • Bound by Compulsion: The Hidden Cost of Rituals We Can’t Escape
    • Who Am I Fighting?—Turning This Burning Sensation into a Map
    • Can Sharing Honestly Be Enough? Reflections from a Blog with No Strategy
    • Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy
    • I’m Afraid of Wasting My Potential—So I Learn What I Can, While I Can

    Ninety articles in, and my main stress—my full time job, the exhaustion, the anger—is still the same. My body hasn’t had real rest in months, and part of me still blames myself for that.

    Can’t I Do Something About This?

    The simple answer is yes. The complicated answer is also yes—but finding another job that pays over $23/hour, offers benefits, and treats me like a human being has been brutally hard. Applications go out. Rejections or silence come back.

    The silence is always worse.

    Meanwhile, my current job devours my time. I regularly choose between sleeping or eating. I’m so tired I can’t fall asleep peacefully, and nightmares jolt me awake. Some days I fight myself: the part that wants the pain to end against the part that still wants to live.

    And yet—something tells me to keep going. In my earlier post, “Some Days I Don’t Want to Be Here—On Surviving When Everything Else Feels Heavy,” I wrote that living is the best form of revenge. To keep living, to turn things around, to let the people who doubted you suffer the fact that you’re still here.

    I want to be treated like the work I do matters. I want to believe I’m not expendable, worthless, pathetic, or failing at everything. But that’s the script that plays in my head every single day at work, and it’s exhausting.

    I’m Not Sure How Long I Can Keep This Up

    My anger, frustration, and patience are fraying at the seams. I want to work on my blog. I want to rest for more than two hours at a time. I want to go home at a decent hour and feel like my life belongs to me—not to debt, work, a chaotic sleep schedule, or constant self-doubt.

    I’ve been fighting systems and expectations for a long time. I’ve tried to define for myself what a rich and successful life does look like, giving the things I don’t believe in the metaphorical middle finger. But I’m so tired. I worry I’ll eventually become someone I hate: compliant, small, willing to accept scraps.

    For now, all I can do is push through my shifts, pour what energy I can into my own work, and try to carve something out of this mess. I don’t have a map. Every time I make one, Life throws another curveball.

    But as much as I hate being alive sometimes, I keep living—not out of pure hope, but because my presence in this world is an act of defiance.

    Closing Note

    If you’ve ever found yourself in a similar place—caught between exhaustion and the stubbornness to keep going—I’d love to hear how you’ve navigated it. Leave a comment, share your own story, or pass this along to someone who might need to know they’re not the only one still fighting.

    And if this reflection resonated with you, liking, subscribing, or sharing helps my work reach more people who might need to see that they’re not alone either.