The Stratagem’s Archive

Tag: Is this another distraction

  • 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.

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

    Welcome — However You Found Your Way Here

    I Felt The Fire Burning

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

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

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

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

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

    The Cost of Anger Lashing Out

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

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

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

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

    Maybe the enemy isn’t a person

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

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

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

    The fight you’re feeling might be a compass

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

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

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

    Ways to turn the energy into movement (not punishment)

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

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

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

    You’re not crazy for needing this energy

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

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

    A small experiment

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

    Pause and write one sentence:

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

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

    If the heat is too much

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

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

    To the fellow archivists reading late

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

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

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

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

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    Reflection on Fire

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

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

    — Stratagem’s Archive

    My Brief Reflections

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

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

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

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

  • 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