The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: blogging

  • Writing Through 30 Days and Nights

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    The Compulsion to Reach 30 Consistent Days

    I didn’t do this to go viral.

    I didn’t do this for praise.

    I did it because I had a lot to share and I wanted to see if I could do it.

    30 days ago, I made a quiet decision:

    To show up every day — no matter what happens throughout my day — and write.

    Not for perfection or validation — Just to write.

    To give myself the space to express what the world often ignores, in my opinion, and share it anyways.

    To build something from within the silence and put it out there.

    The Early Days: Lighting Candles in the Dark

    I started this project with uncertainty; Unsure if anyone would read and if I had enough to say.

    But each post, each idea, each sentence was another step forward.

    Not toward a finish line — but toward myself.

    I began this journey with questions, with frustration, with hunger and anger.

    I had something to say, even if it wasn’t always loud or pretty.

    Through Trial By Fire

    There were days I didn’t want to write.

    Days when life pressed down so hard, I wanted to collapse into the ground and stay there.

    But I kept writing. Even when it felt like shouting into a void.

    Even when I was tired, numb, or raging silently behind the screen.

    Not every post was polished. Not every word perfect.

    But they were real. And they were mine.

    What I’ve Learned (Without Realizing It)

    After 30 days, I see it after the fact now:

    I’m stronger than I thought — not because I didn’t feel pain, but because I kept going with it. I’m no longer looking to be saved. I’m building my way out. The silence after hitting “publish” doesn’t mean failure — it means space. For breath. For those who might find it later.

    The Work Still Matters No Matter Where I Am in Life

    I’m still not “free.”

    I still work two jobs that breaks my body physically and emotionally.

    I still write in the cracks between fatigue and survival.

    But now I’ve built something that didn’t exist before.

    That’s proof of life. Of my life.

    This isn’t the end.

    I’m not done.

    But I wanted to mark this moment —

    To say: I proved to myself that I did this. And I’ll keep going as long as I’m able to.

    I’m not trying to glorify this 30 day milestone has been the answer to my problems. It’s not. I’m exhausted, I’m feeling worn down, the voices in my head are screaming at me for how much of a failure I am. However, as much as I don’t believe it myself, I’m too stubborn to not want to see this through. So, seeing this through writing 30 days and nights I go.

    For Those Who Wander

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

    To those reading this — tired, wondering, still searching — this place is for you.

    I call it The Stratagem’s Archive — a place to rest, reflect, and remember that your story still matters.

    No matter how quiet. No matter how heavy.

    You’re welcome here.

    You’re Invited

    If something here resonates with you:

    Leave a comment or share your own experience. Like or Subscribe if you want to follow this journey. Doing so allows people on similar paths to find this space and call it their own too. Or just sit quietly and read. That’s enough, too.

    Thank you for walking with me — even for just a moment.

    We may not always know where we’re going, but if we’re still writing, still working, still getting up, then we’re still alive.

  • Burning the Candle at Both Ends… For What?

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    What’s It All For?

    There’s a kind of exhaustion that doesn’t just sit in your bones—it weighs heavily in your soul too.

    The kind that lingers after clocking out. After another post. After another attempt to build something—anything—that feels like yours.

    I’ve been burning the candle at both ends.

    Warehouse job. Part-time job. Training. Writing. Living. Driving. Sleeping. Socializing. Being human.

    And the fire still isn’t enough to light the way forward.

    Sometimes, I wonder: Is this blog another distraction?

    Another scream into the void disguised as “content”?

    Another attempt to feel less alone that goes unnoticed?

    I’ve published nearly 70 articles since June. Some get read and others not so much. I see the quiet readers—and I appreciate them, but I can’t help but wrestle with a deeper question that haunts my already overactive brain: What am I building towards?

    If not towards freedom… then what?

    These thoughts are familiar companions and they can bring up interesting things whenever I don’t think much about things. Letters from the Void Newsletter go into such thoughts, just to think and reflect, and the start of potential conversations too.

    The Illusion of Progress

    I feel like I’m in the Red Queen’s Race—running twice as fast, twice as hard, just to realize I’m still in the same place. Worst still, if the progress I’ve been making (with my blog) was another means of “taking my mind off of things in my life?”

    Saving, writing, training, surviving.

    My body is breaking down while my spirit tries to rise.

    This isn’t laziness. This isn’t a lack of passion.

    It’s just that when every direction still feels like someone else’s road, your own steps start to lose meaning.

    Fighting for Space That’s Supposed to Be Mine

    I have my own living space now.

    But I’m still on someone else’s schedule. Someone else’s payroll. At someone else’s mercy.

    So I ask myself every day:

    • Why do I keep pushing?
    • Why write when it feels like I’m invisible?
    • Why train when I’m already sore?
    • Why try when nothing seems to come of it?

    The answer is brutal, but honest:

    Because I don’t know how to stop.

    Because something inside me still believes there’s more than this.

    This Isn’t Just Hustle — It’s Survival

    I’m not a success story. Not yet. Or maybe not ever.

    But I’m not a failure either. I’m building something out of broken pieces, from sheer boredom, from always asking myself year after year, “Is this it? Is this all life has to offer me?”

    So, I decided, after many years of doing nothing, I finally took action. Not to impress anyone, except maybe myself.

    But because I have to. Because I’d rather live with calloused hands and a tired heart than live as a ghost in someone else’s story. I’ve lived through this narrative long enough that it was time for a change.

    This blog, this life, this path—it’s not neat. It’s not polished.

    It’s scattered like the notebooks on my floor, the thoughts in my head, the aches in my body.

    But it’s mine.

    So What Am I Really Looking For?

    Maybe… not success.

    Not fame.

    Maybe just a little room to breathe.

    To be.

    To exist in a world that moves fast and rewards flash over fire.

    Maybe I’m just trying to prove that I can live without needing someone else’s permission.

    Maybe I’m not alone in that.

    To Anyone Else Burning Out Just to Stay Afloat

    If you feel like this too—this deep, quiet war between exhaustion and hope—I see you.

    You’re not broken because you feel too much.

    You’re not weak because you’re tired.

    You’re not lost because the road is hard.

    You’re still here.

    Still standing.

    Still building.

    And that counts for something.

    Keep the fire alive. Burn for yourself.

    Even if the world doesn’t notice—

    Even if it never claps or calls your name—

    You’re still worth every damn step forward.

    For the Wondering. The Wandering. The Curious. The Weary.

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re running twice as hard and still getting nowhere—

    If you’ve questioned what you’re building, or why you keep going—

    If you’re trying to carve out a life that’s yours in a world that keeps trying to define it for you…

    You’re not alone.

    This space welcomes you in.

    Not to fix you. Not to sell you answers. I don’t have any for myself.

    But to stand beside you in the dark while you light your own way.

    Read. Reflect. Rage. Rest.

    Whatever you need—come as you are.

    Leave when you’re ready. Or stay, and build with me, share this with someone who might be in a similar boat, and doing so allows other like us to find this little pocket of the internet.

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

    If You Are Indeed Curious

    You can check out my other articles or my newsletters just to see what else I talk about. Other than that, I’ll see you next time, fellow archivists.

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    The Stratagem’s Manifesto

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

    A Quiet Door I’ve Left Open Ajar

    When a Raise Feels Like a Golden Prison

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

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    “I ended a decade-long friendship, not out of hate, but from a quiet realization: what good is history if no one’s building a future with you? This is for anyone who’s ever been the third wheel in their own friendship — and finally chose to walk away.”

    A Heavy Passing Thought

    My head was throbbing, my body felt like it was burning from the inside out, and depressiveness pulled my mood down while I was at work today.

    I hated that most of my (younger) coworkers were standing around, talking stories, and letting work pile up without a care in the world. They were literally next to me — more focused on their plans, their activities, their friendships and relationships — something I wanted to do too. But, instead of working so we could go home at a decent time, we finished WAY later than hoped.

    Then, someone I knew briefly passed in my mind’s eye. Someone I thought mattered because of how long we knew each other, but only showed how little I mattered.

    I haven’t thought about him in two months.

    That’s how long it’s been since I chose to walk away from a decade-long friendship.

    Not quietly.

    Not with ease.

    But with the weight of years pressing on my back — years I thought meant something, until they didn’t.

    We had “history,” sure. But one morning, under freight that was too heavy for one person while the rest stood around laughing, I realized something:

    What good is history if there’s no future being built in the present?

    It hit me so hard, I wrote it down in the middle of my shift before I forgot.

    When the Scales Are Unevenly Tipped

    This friend — let’s just call him my “supposed best friend of 10 years” — told me he still cared. That our friendship mattered to him.

    But when my family was attacked during a typical gathering, and I needed him most?

    He vanished.

    Not a word.

    Until I reached out 2 weeks later, not about the pain, but about an anime convention we had planned to go to.

    And even then, when we saw each other…

    He clung to his girlfriend.

    Wouldn’t look me in the eye.

    Wouldn’t even walk beside me.

    I would walk ahead of them and then would had to slow down to let them catch up.

    But they always went at their own pace, and never did back their words up with any action. Not physically. Not emotionally. Not once. Just pretty empty words and the likelihood that I was going to accept them as I used to. Keywords: Used to.

    “Busy” Was Too Big of an Ask

    I was the one who initiated our texts about 70-90% of the time. Even when I texted after my friend was off from work, he wouldn’t reply for weeks or even a month later.

    I asked for one thing — a one-word text: “Busy.”

    That’s all. Just something to calm the storm in my head and not me assuming the worst.

    But I was told I was asking too much.

    Told I wasn’t imposing — even as I trailed behind like a ghost, forgotten and unacknowledged, yet in plain sight.

    I Burned the Bridge Because It Was Already Collapsing

    Let me be clear: I didn’t walk away because I was impulsive.

    I walked away because I had already stayed too long in something that no longer respected me.

    Something that stopped including me.

    And once he got what he really wanted — companionship, a girlfriend, even among his already large group of successful friends and mentors and string of one night stands before meeting someone he wanted to build a life with — the friendship became an afterthought. A convenience. A placeholder.

    Just like I became.

    I don’t think he meant to hurt me. But he did.

    And me? I was just always there, even if we lived in different towns connected by texts and D&D Discord sessions. Until I wasn’t.

    Walking Away Hurts. But So Did Staying.

    It took me nearly two weeks after the decision to stop myself from reaching out.

    Another month to find the courage to delete both their numbers for good.

    And now, two months in, I feel the silence. Still. But I don’t regret my decision.

    Because silence from someone who once said, “You matter,” is the loudest answer you can get.

    I refuse to hold onto a friendship that wouldn’t hold space for me back.

    The Shift Was Clear and So Was My Choice

    Even before walking away, I started to rebuild — after I told him I was too busy working 2 jobs, getting little sleep each night, and I’d get back to him when I could. Until I didn’t.

    I was silent for 1 month, and in that time it was the most he ever reached out to me, asking how I was and how living on my own was. That was bothered me, he reached out when I said I’d get back when I could, but I ignored him and kept building my own future.

    It was when I started my blog, grieving alone in my apartment after burying my grandpa and being surrounded by family who wanted nothing to do with us when he passed, while my friend got to keep having fun, being surrounded by friends, while I kept to myself and my work.

    The final straw was when I confronted him when he and his girlfriend came to town for vacation. He only reached out to me because his girlfriend was hanging out with her own friends here, not because he wanted to hang out with me. I was the last resort that he reached out to and I wanted to crush my phone when I read his texts.

    I was livid, I was furious, and the words spilled all over the text when I confronted him, “what are we to each other?”

    He said he needed time to think and I told him he had every right to think things over and to have a nice vacation. I had his number on mute for a while, until that day arrived.

    2 weeks later, he texted back, saying that he still valued our friendship and that he still cared. I laughed so bitterly I couldn’t recognize my own voice. I gave him so many chances to show up when I needed him and he never did when it mattered.

    I never told him about my grandpa’s passing because of how his silence affected me prior to when I told him of my family’s assault.

    I refused to tell him about my blog because experience made me hesitate. He would put some of my work down because he knew someone better equipped and skilled, but I shared a part of myself and had it broken in front of me.

    So, I had enough and left. For good and without explanation.

    For Anyone Who’s Been the Third Wheel to Their Own Friendship

    You’re not crazy for noticing the shift.

    You’re not selfish for asking for presence, for reassurance, for basic care.

    And you’re not wrong for walking away.

    Friendship isn’t measured only in years.

    It’s measured in reciprocity. In effort. In being seen.

    Not with begging to be given scraps of attention, begging your supposed “friend” to include you or accepting that they tell you how you’re “too much” or “asking for too much.”

    After 10 years, and from other past friendships, I realized what I value most in a real friendship:

    • Clear and direct communication.
    • Reciprocity.
    • Respect (as an adult), of my time, efforts, and boundaries.
    • Self-improvement.
    • Authenticity.
    • Accountability of choices and actions.
    • Peace of mind.
    • Shared direction.

    So if you’re holding onto a “history” with someone who stopped showing up in your “now,” ask yourself what kind of future you’re building — and with who.

    Because if they’re not building it with you…

    Then maybe it’s time to start building it without them.

    If you’ve felt this before — the quiet end of a long friendship — this space is for you.

    You don’t need to shrink or explain it away.

    You’re allowed to grieve.

    You’re allowed to rebuild.

    And most of all — you’re allowed to walk away from the people who didn’t choose you, even when you chose them over and over again.

    For Those Who Wander

    To those reading this — tired, wondering, still searching — this place is for you.

    I call it The Stratagem’s Archive — a place to rest, reflect, and remember that your story still matters.

    No matter how quiet. No matter how heavy.

    You’re welcome here.

    You’re Invited

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

    Thank you for walking with me — even for just a moment.

    We may not always know where we’re going,

    but if we’re still writing, we’re still alive.

  • A Sanctuary for the Weary, Wondering, and Wandering

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    No Rest for the Wicked, Weary, and Wild-Hearted Who Just Keep Going.

    There’s no shortage of loud voices out there — telling you how to fix yourself, to work harder, numb certain emotions, workout 7 days a week, take cold plunges, or fit into something you’ve never belonged to. I’ve tried a lot of things.

    Maybe not everything, however, none of the things I tried from mainstream sources made me whole. I felt more fragmented, disorganized, disappointed, and left behind than when I started.

    This Blog Wasn’t Made to Go Viral

    It was built for those of us who are still here — despite the weight, the numbness, the anger, the tired bones, the cracked foundations we’re rebuilding with our own hands.

    If that’s you, then you already understand:

    It’s not weakness to keep showing up — It’s strength. It’s courage. It’s survival. It’s showing up when it counts and matters.

    Maybe you’re looking for answers to your own questions — I’ll be honest and say that you wont find any here. I’m not an expert, I don’t have any answers, and I made this a place that doesn’t demand you to perform or pretend. Just be.

    A place to feel something real.

    To feel a little less alone in the noise of our lives and the expectations we face.

    That’s What This Blog Is

    Not a solution. Not a soapbox. Not a funnel.

    A quiet kind of fight. A refuge. A story in progress. Everything is built while in motion and with little rest.

    You don’t have to comment, like, or subscribe, though doing so helps others like you and me find this place where we can be.

    If something here speaks to you, I hope it reminds you that you’re not alone — even if the world makes you feel that way.

    The weary are welcome here.

    The curious, the angry, the soft-hearted, the heavy-limbed — all of you.

    This is for us, The Fellow Archivists..

    The ones still wandering — but never lost.

    You Heard Me Whisper — And That Means Everything.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    Do You Ever Feel Like You’re Writing Into A Void?

  • A Quiet Door I’ve Left Open Ajar

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Fear Grips Me, But I Won’t Let It Win

    Hey there, fellow archivists,

    I wasn’t going to share this yet, however, with how things have been going on this side of the screen, I had nothing to lose, so, I made a page called Open to Collaboration, quietly in the background.

    This isn’t a sales pitch and I’m not pretending that I have everything together. If you’ve read any of my posts prior to this, I don’t have my self situated with.

    It’s just a page that says: here’s what I’ve been building, and if it speaks to you, let’s talk stories— or not. That’s fine too.

    As a fellow archivist myself, I wanted to share a few things, if I haven’t mentioned it already:

    • I’ve never had any credentials.
    • I’ve been told my work wasn’t good enough.
    • I’ve been afraid of sharing, asking, or “advertising” myself in ANY capacity.

    Speaking of which, I’ve also been writing non-stop for a few months now, and something in me said, “maybe it’s okay to try something new and open another door of possibilities”.

    So this is me saying: the door’s open.

    If you’re a reader who’s connected with any of what I’ve written — this is where I am:

    Open to Collaboration

    And if not? That’s okay too. I’m still writing. Still here. Still fighting for my own little space in this life.

    If this spoke to you, leave a comment — I actually read them. They remind me I’m not alone in this either. Sharing helps others find this space too. That matters more than you know.

    Thanks for reading — as always.

    P.S. If you’ve been afraid of putting your work out there, I get it. I was afraid to hit publish for this post and page, but clicked it anyways. This post is for you too, to say, “let’s do it anyways.”

    You’re not invisible, even if it feels that way. I can see your own light across the void, even if I can’t hear you yet.

  • It’s All Perspective: On Writing, Struggle, and Using the Tools That Keep Me Going

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Experience Comes From Trying and Learning

    There’s something I’ve come to realize lately — not from books or courses or advice I didn’t ask for — but from surviving, from showing up, from trying to keep a piece of myself alive while everything else demands more than I have to give:

    It’s all perspective.

    That phrase has sat with me for a while now, especially as I try to write every day — even while juggling two jobs, physical pain, emotional exhaustion, and a gnawing voice in the back of my mind asking, “Does any of this even matter?”

    Some days I barely have the mental bandwidth to string thoughts together, but I still want to write.

    To say something real. To feel like I still exist.

    So yes — I’ve turned to AI for support.

    Not for shortcuts.

    Not for followers.

    But for structure — for help when my brain feels like scrambled code and my mind is too full of fog to hold up the weight of full paragraphs. Even a sentence is difficult a lot of the time for me to come up with on my own.

    What People Know VS What I Think

    There’s a lot of noise out there.

    People talk about AI like it’s the death of creativity.

    Like using any tool that doesn’t come “purely” from your own brain is some kind of cheat code.

    But I don’t see it that way.

    I’m not giving up my voice.

    I’m not handing over the wheel.

    I’m collaborating with something that helps me keep the engine running on days I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone write a post that feels clear, coherent, and worth sharing.

    It’s not perfect.

    But it’s honest and it has helped me share the ideas swirling around in my head, even after working literally all day and commuting between jobs.

    And if someone wants to judge that from their high horse of energy, time, and privilege?

    Let them.

    They don’t know my hours.

    They don’t live my life.

    Perspective Is a Lens, Not a Law

    It’s wild how much meaning shifts depending on how you look at something.

    A break can be seen as quitting — or as healing. A tool can be seen as cheating — or adapting. A slow pace can be seen as lazy — or as deliberate. Asking for help can be seen as weakness — or as strength that refuses to drown silently.

    Perspective isn’t fact — it’s just the angle you’ve been taught to look from. And if that angle doesn’t serve me anymore, I have every right to shift it.

    I’m Still the One Holding the Pen

    Here’s the truth:

    When I use AI to help build a draft, I still have to read it, cut it, reshape it, rewrite it to match the truth in my chest.

    I delete what doesn’t feel right and what isn’t true for me. Then, I add what only I can say.

    And sometimes I just stare at the screen for a while, exhausted, and let the structure be enough until I can fill it with more.

    That’s not giving up.

    That’s surviving the storm while still finding time to

    write a sentence, or ten, or none at all.

    Keep Showing Up, However You Can

    If you’ve ever felt like your creative spark flickers under the weight of your job, your body, your past, or the expectations placed on you — I get it.

    I’m in it too.

    But don’t let anyone shame you for using whatever tools, habits, rituals, or support systems you need to stay in the fight.

    I’ve seen enough of it through PVP — Player versus Player games like, “Elden Ring”, where certain players think using the tools IMPLEMENTED IN THE GAME is considered “cheating” or “ruining the game.” (If you know, you know).

    Whether that’s AI, notebooks full of scribbles, or writing at 2AM when the world is quiet enough to think — it’s yours.

    Your voice doesn’t become less yours because you get help shaping it.

    This isn’t about perfection. This is about persistence.

    And if perspective changes everything, then maybe it’s time to stop looking at yourself through the lens of people who never tried to understand you in the first place.

    Did any part of this sit with you?

    If you’ve ever felt the same — or even something close — you’re not alone.

    I’d love to hear what came up for you, if you feel like sharing. Whether it’s a quiet “me too,” a story of your own, or just a thought you’ve been holding, the comments are open — and so am I.

    No pressure, no performance. Just space

    Whether you write by hand, by heart, or with a little help — I see you.

    If you’re using tools to stay afloat, what helps you show up in your work or creativity?

    Share your thoughts in the comments, or keep them to yourself — either way, I hope you keep going.

    Fellow Archivists, welcome, as always.

    If you’d like to see the inspirations of this post, check out my other articles on what I think about AI below.

    Learning to Work With A.I. — Not Let It Think For Me

    A.I. Was Taking Over My Writing Life — I Had to Pull Myself Back

    Quarantine Life: In The Confines of Comfort: Idea #1:

    Otherwise, if this spoke to you, leave a comment — I actually read them. They remind me I’m not alone in this either. Sharing helps others find this space too. That matters more than you know.

  • Trunk Logic: Thoughts From the Pre-Shift Void

    “Reflections from the trunk of my car, before work: Is life just a social experiment we never signed up for? Thoughts on change, rebellion, and small comforts.”

    — The Stratagem’s Archives

    P.S:This post was originally shared with my (newsletter) subscribers first.

    If you’d like to get these thoughts directly (and occasionally earlier), you can subscribe through my blog — no spam, no pressure, just quiet dispatches from wherever life finds me to your inbox.

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Is Life One Huge Social Experiment We Didn’t Know We Consented To?

    I’ve been sitting with a question lately — the kind that shows up uninvited when the world goes quiet.

    Does being alive — and being human — feel like a massive social experiment no one remembers signing up for?

    Because, to me, sometimes it does.

    Like every day, we’re thrown into a loop of expectations, roles, metrics, and mantras.

    “Go with the flow.”

    “Stay positive.”

    “Work hard. It’ll pay off.”

    But… what if none of this is flowing? What if we’re all silently breaking under the same pressure but pretending it’s fine because we think it’s just us?

    We have the opportunity to experiment every day — with our choices, ideas, preferences, energy, moods, hopes, the topics we write about and how, with anything really. Maybe not with as much leeway or legroom as we’d like.

    Believe me, I’ve been sleeping curled up in my car for 2 years now and finally decided to try something new.

    However, rarely do we change what matters. We tend to stick to habits, even when they no longer help us in any way, because they are familiar. We don’t always shift the experiment to our liking and, while not always on purpose, I’m convinced that everyone is the control group of this experiment.

    If we don’t try something even slightly different, then we wonder why the results we get are never changing.

    A Small Personal Experiment

    Before my shift today, I tried something different — not profound, just practical. I brought my iPad with me to work on my blog more, I’ve stayed up longer than normal where I’d usually be napping, then I laid down in the trunk of my car with my legs stretched into the main body of the vehicle.

    It’s not poetic. My trunk is full of junk. I’ll probably hit my head when I sit up.

    But this was more comfortable than curling up in the back seat or sleeping with my legs towards the trunk instead.

    Plus, this was more private too.

    And, for a brief moment, it felt like I had control over one small part of my day. Like I had outsmarted the discomfort in a world that tells me to just deal with it.

    I don’t want to keep “dealing with it.”

    That tiny act of rebellion — of laying differently, of doing what worked better for me — reminded me:

    Even when we don’t control the experiment, we can still change how we respond to it.

    If You’re Reading This…

    You don’t have to sleep in your car trunk to know what I’m talking about.

    If you’ve ever asked yourself:

    • Why does life feel like a loop I didn’t choose?
    • Why am I so tired of trying to “stay positive” when nothing’s changing?
    • What small thing can I try today to feel a little more like a person instead of a cog?

    Then you’re already running your own experiment. You’re already adapting and resisting in quiet ways.

    Want More Like This?

    This post started as part of my newsletter, where I share things that don’t always make it to my blog — the stranger thoughts, the in-between reflections, and the moments written in silence before work.

    If that sounds like something you’d want more of, then I’d like to invite you to click subscribe wherever you see the button.

    No pressure, no spam. Just one fellow archivist sending notes to another.

    Some Reflections to Consider

    If life is a social experiment — what kind of subject would you want to be?
    Someone who repeats the patterns they were handed?
    Or someone who quietly tweaks the design, even if no one’s watching?

    You don’t have to comment.

    You don’t have to share.

    But it does help other people find this space; I’m slowly building from the ground up and make it a space for the weary, angry, wondering, and wandering souls out there.

    Final Thoughts

    “Maybe life is a social experiment going insane, but that doesn’t mean I have to go insane too.”

    Thanks for reading,

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

  • Thoughts From the Trunk of My Car

    “I’m lying in the dimly lit trunk of my car before work, I question if life is just a social experiment we didn’t agree to — and why trying something different matters.”

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    Is Life One Huge Social Experiment We Didn’t Know We Consented To?

    Hey, fellow archivists,

    I was sitting in silence earlier — not meditating or anything deep, just letting the silence stretch on the drive to work. Sometimes, that’s when the most unexpected thoughts show up.

    Here’s one such thought that landed in my head that I wanted to share:

    Does being alive — being human — feel like a massive social experiment no one knew they consented to?

    Because it does to me.

    Every day feels like a trial. A simulation. A repeat of variables. Everyone sticking to some script handed to them, but didn’t realize they got, while expecting new results.

    Meanwhile, life keeps throwing us curveballs and saying: “Adapt. React. Cope.”

    And the weirdest part?

    We can try something different… but when was the last time we tried something different?

    We are a habitual creature — we wear the same pain. Repeat the same patterns. Stay in jobs we hate to survive. Perform the same “I’m fine”s. We don’t realize something needs to change — but we’d still want life to feel different.

    Today, my “trying something different” was weird, small, and personal:

    I simply changed the way I sleep in my car before work.

    Yeah — still sleeping in the car, but this time I tucked my upper body into the trunk with my backseat pulled down, my 2 small fans running and the street lights shining into my car, while I let my legs stretch out in the body of the car.

    It’s not poetic. I’ll probably hit my head later. My trunk’s full of junks I never took out or organized better. But I’m more comfortable than when I curl up in the backseat.

    And weirdly, this small adjustment made me feel like I had some control over my comfort. Like I outsmarted the box I was given.

    Sometimes, trying something different doesn’t look like starting a business or moving across the country. Not always at least.

    Sometimes, it’s laying down in a new position.

    Or letting yourself ask strange questions that seem to suddenly appear in silence.

    Or writing down your thoughts with a dim car light and a keyboard glowing in the dark.

    If you’ve ever felt like you’re stuck inside a life you didn’t design, just know — you’re not imagining it.

    But maybe there’s still room to adjust.

    To experiment.

    To find a better way to lay down, or stand up, or stretch out into something that feels like yours.

    Thanks for being here.

    More soon,

    Letters from the Void Newsletter

    — The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S. If this resonated with you, you don’t have to reply — but maybe try something small and different today. Just to remind yourself you still can.

    If you’re subscribed, thank you. These newsletters are where I put the thoughts that don’t always make it into my blog — the quieter ones, the stranger ones, the ones that live in the dark before shift.

    This newsletter isn’t about updates — it’s about documentation. The kind that matters when no one’s looking. The kind fellow archivists might recognize in their own lives too.

    P.S: If you subscribed but haven’t received anything yet, there may be a hiccup with WordPress/Jetpack. Emails might land in your spam or promotions tab — or sometimes it just doesn’t send (frustrating, I know). But I promise I’m still writing, even if my words take the long way to reach you.

    “Maybe life is a social experiment going insane, but that doesn’t mean I have to go insane too.”

  • When a Raise Feels Like a Golden Prison

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    A 30% raise sounds great—until you realize you’re giving up your body, sleep, and peace just to keep the job that’s breaking you.

    Has anyone really calculated how much their work is worth to them when their lives: body, soul, mind, recreational activities, relationships, and personal projects are taken out of the equation?

    — The Archivist

    How Much of You are Giving Up in Exchange?

    We had another work meeting today.

    Like in most of those meetings, I wasn’t fully paying attention. Not out of disrespect, but just pure exhaustion and never eating breakfast because I have to choose between sleep or food. Yeah, this isn’t a sustainable habit, but it’s been one I’ve known for most of my working life.

    Anyways, I’m barely half-listening to what’s being discussed while trying not to mentally spiral over how tired I am or what tasks are going to break my back next. That is… until one of my coworkers asked me about the 30% raise said to be scheduled to happen this October.

    This immediately got my attention. I thought to myself; “30%? Since when are we jumping from single digit raises and into the double digits?”

    Naturally, the question everyone started asking was: “Is this for just the higher-ups or for us too?” Because for the last 4 years, most of us on the warehouse floor usually got between 3-6% raises each October, if we’re lucky it went through. And those felt generous at the time—until now, when we’re suddenly dangling a much bigger number.

    I did the math. If it does apply to me, I’d go from earning $23/hour to about $29.90/hour. Those earning $20.53/hour would jump to around $28.12/hour.

    Sounds good, right?

    More money means more security and more opportunity to pay off debt faster, build my emergency savings, contribute to my Roth IRA, support causes I care about, buy things I want just because, or buy something for my family.

    Except… I didn’t feel excited. I felt numb. I got suspicious. What was the catch? That was the question my mind was leaning into, even though my coworkers all sounded excited and buzzing around me. I felt like the odd one out, but you can’t blame me for not sharing their excitement.

    You want to know why I wasn’t including myself in the excitement? Because the truth is, I’m not sure I can keep doing this — raise or not.

    Update:

    It was too good to be true; seemed that enough of my coworkers heard 30%, but it was the usual 3% raise instead. A lot of people were VERY disappointed, but the numbers are no longer absurdly high, and all is right again.

    What Am I Giving Up By “Earning More”

    I’ve been at this warehouse job for 4 years now and I’m turning 29 this year. And while I’ve gotten stronger and smarter in some ways, I’ve also gotten tired. Not just sleepy-tired where a good 8+ hours of rest could remedy. No, not that kind.

    I’m Soul-crushing-tired.

    • I’m sleeping in my car before shifts just to get parking at work.
    • I’ve seen the physical trainer at work more times than I want to admit because my body is starting to show the cracks.
    • I can’t sleep peacefully anymore. I wake up already drained.
    • My back hurts to the point pain shoots down my left leg like electricity is coursing through my veins.
    • My energy is non-existent. My mind doesn’t stop spinning, even when I try to rest.

    And the things that make life feel worth living? They’ve started falling away.

    My hobbies. My curiosity. My ability to try new things. Maintaining my relationships with my family, that kind of thing. While typing this post, I’ve caught myself resting in front of my iPad keyboard now and again, trying to force myself awake and staring at the clock screaming at me that I’ll be getting less sleep. Again.

    Even basic rest is being sabotaged despite my efforts. Everything I called my own is now pushed to the side so I can keep showing up, day after day, for a job that’s breaking me in slow motion.

    More Money = Less Me

    Here’s the thing: I know that money is important, I get that part intimately. I have debt. I have future plans. I’m not allergic to the idea of stability. But lately, I’ve started to wonder:

    What’s the point of more money if it comes at the cost of myself?

    I’ve already lost time. Lost parts of my health. Lost entire evenings and weekends to fatigue and dread. How much more am I supposed to give?

    How much is my body worth?

    How much is my mental clarity worth?

    How much of my potential am I supposed to sacrifice for the illusion of being “secure”?

    A Choice That Doesn’t Feel Like One

    At one point, our job’s big boss once said during a personal meeting with her some weeks ago:

    “If we(frontline workers) choose to stay with the company, great. But if we choose to leave, that’s up to us too.”

    That’s easy to say when you’re on the other side of the floor.

    Sure, it’s “my choice.” But when you’re trying to pay rent, get out of debt, save for emergencies, and survive in a world that gets more expensive by the day — is it really a choice?

    It feels more like a corner I’ve been painted into. One where the door says freedom, but it’s locked by bills, fear, and exhaustion.

    The Part-Time Job I Don’t Want to Lose

    I also have a part-time job at a rage room and I actually enjoy it: this job makes me feel like a person, not a machine. I’ve been given a $1/hour raise within not even a few months since starting by my own merit, not out of obligation like a lateral raise. One where one of the owners told me, with certainty, that he doesn’t see me quitting or being fired any time soon.

    But with the increasing demands of my full-time job — the possibilities of earlier start times, later end times, and higher volume in my work future — I might have to quit that part-time job just to keep up. And I hate that.

    Because in trying to “do the responsible thing,” I’m giving up something that gives me energy and meaning. Again, the tradeoff doesn’t feel fair and I hate it with a passion.

    I Don’t Want to Climb the Corporate Ladder

    Some people might suggest I try to move up the ladder in my company and aim for a better paying position.

    But I’ve looked up that ladder — and I don’t want to.

    More responsibility. More hours. More expectations. More sacrifice. Same machine. Different uniform.

    I’m not trying to climb higher into something that’s already draining me.

    So, Now What?

    Honestly, I don’t know.

    I’m stuck in the same mental loop a lot of working people are in:

    “I need this job… but I’m not sure I can survive it.”

    A 30% raise sounds great. But it’s still a prison if I can’t live fully. If I can’t be well. If I’m giving up everything that makes me have to pick work over my life just to earn more, then I can’t be the only one feeling like this is crazy, right?

    So maybe that’s the real question:

    What are we working for if we’re too broken to enjoy any of it?

    One and All Who Made it Through

    If you made it this far — thank you.

    Whether this is your first time here or you’ve quietly read my posts before, just know this: I see you. You don’t have to comment. You don’t have to share. You don’t have to explain anything about where you’re at in life right now, unless you want to.

    If you’ve ever sat alone in a parking lot before your shift, traded your energy for a paycheck, or wondered if surviving is all there is — you’re not weird, broken, or too much.

    You’re human. And you’re not alone here.

    Thanks for reading.

    If someday you feel like speaking, you’re always welcome to. I read and respond to every comment whenever I can, and sharing helps other people find this space too. But if today all you have is quiet recognition — that’s more than enough.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

    The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

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

    Feel free to also check out my newsletter (Letters from the Void Newsletter) or my downloadable PDF (Thank You + Free Download) here as a thank you from me to you.

    Until next time, I’ll see you all later in the archives.

  • The Moment I Stopped Waiting for Permission

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    When Did You Stop Playing It Safe?

    Or are you still waiting for someone, other than yourself, to give you the green light?

    It hit me in the bathroom — the kind of thought that slips in when the world is quiet and you’re standing there, catching your own reflection in bad lighting. I thought back to my situation and asked:

    “Why did I stop playing it safe?”

    I had my own reasons for betting on myself and permit myself to build something from nothing.

    I used to think I couldn’t start anything: No degree. No polished resume. No mentors. No fancy title or job that would validate me.

    I wasn’t a writer, but I was just someone with a lot of feelings and nowhere to put them. I thought I had to earn a voice before using it.

    I Played It Safe For Years

    And then one day, I got tired of my own silence.

    No big lightning bolt. No overnight transformation. Just… the simmering realization that no one was coming to rescue me or hand me a permission slip. So I stopped waiting.

    I started this blog not because I had a plan or a niche, but because I had nothing to lose. I was angry. Tired. Fed up with life passing me by while I sat on the bench, hoping someone would pick me for their team.

    I picked myself instead.

    This Isn’t Happy Hour — It’s 2AM Hour.

    My blog isn’t curated for “happy hour” energy.

    It’s not the shiny, filtered, “I’ve got it all figured out” performance people put on at networking events or in the comment sections of self-help threads.

    This space is for 2am honesty.

    You know the kind — when your defenses are down, the mask slips off, and someone finally says,

    “Actually? I’m not okay. I don’t know what I’m doing. But I’m still here.”

    If this blog is a bar, I’m the bartender. I don’t drink, and I’ve never worked in a bar — but I’m here, wiping the counter down with stories from a life I didn’t think anyone would want to hear about.

    The bar’s mostly quiet.

    A couple of regulars lurk in the corners, reading without saying much.

    The jukebox is broken.

    But I keep talking, just in case someone walks in needing to hear something you only say when the lights are low and nobody’s performing.

    I Don’t Have a Niche — I Have a Pulse

    I’ve written and will write about:

    • What it’s like to work in a rage room while living in a body full of pain.
    • Paying off $15K in debt working two jobs, while trying not to let my jobs own me.
    • Learning to code again after a decade of shame and bad experiences.
    • What happens when my inner critic gets too loud to ignore.
    • Trying to trust AI to help me build, without losing my voice to it.
    • Taking life advice from video games more than self-help books.
    • And much more.

    I don’t have clean answers. I’m not here to teach or preach. I’m just writing to remember that I’m alive — and to see if anyone out here feels the same things I do, even if they call it something different.

    So I’ll Ask You:

    When did you stop playing it safe?

    Or maybe a better question is —

    What would you do if you stopped waiting to be ready?

    Would you finally start that blog, that painting, that email, that messy first draft of something you’ve been hiding behind “someday”?

    Would you speak up, even if your voice shakes?

    Would you stop waiting for someone to crown you and say, “Okay, now you’re allowed to exist out loud”?

    You don’t have to reply back — even silently nodding along is good enough because you’ve been in this strange in-between as I have.

    I don’t know who’s going to read this. Maybe no one. Maybe just a handful of quiet people passing through like ghosts.

    But if you’re here, if you’ve made it this far…

    This is your invitation to stop playing it safe.

    You’re allowed to be messy. To begin. To exist on your own terms.

    You don’t need credentials to tell your story.

    You just need to be brave enough to speak — even if it’s only to yourself at first.

    I lit a flare, wondering if there’s anyone else who see’s.

    If you see it from across the void, I see you, and you are welcome here anytime.

    —

    The Stratagem’s Archive

    P.S: Hey there. If you’ve missed my other posts, you can find the newer ones here down below. Or, if you’d like, you can check out my newsletter Letters from the Void Newsletter, here or check out my little PDF manifesto, Thank You + Free Download, here as a thank you for making it here to the end.

    Otherwise, everyone, I will see you all later in the archives.

    Have You Fully Met Yourself in the Silence?

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

    The Whisper of a Far Off Promise — of Freedom, Choice, and Rest.