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.
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.
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.
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.
I am pleased to share something else I’ve made—similar to what I’ve made with my earlier Stratagem’s Manifestos—this one being more proactive.
Introducing here is The Stratagem’s Manifesto 2.0. Not the full ebook I teased before—this one is smaller, faster, sharper.
A brief collection of reflections you can actually do something with, not just read and forget. Short, simple, actionable. Try it, test it, see what sticks.
Each piece is meant to hit where it needs to: shake habits, spark thought, push you to act. Life doesn’t wait, and neither should your growth.
Everyday is an opportunity to embrace a personal scientific method: hypothesize, theorize, experiment, record data, prove or disprove whether something worked for you.
You could try again with the same problem or move on to another issue. Archivist’s choice. You get a say in how you want things to be different. Never forget that.
This mini manifesto is live, ready for you. Dive in. Reflect. Move. Build something real.
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.
This Is a Daily Occurrence—It’s a Protective Measure
I’ve always liked interacting with people. I’ve liked feeling connected, being part of someone else’s life, contributing, sharing. But over the years, I’ve been burned too many times to give people chances freely anymore.
I’ve been the friend who gave willingly: my time, my energy, my support, my loyalty, and even my money. I was either your biggest supporter or your biggest annoyance, and I did it without question. I showed up, I helped, I invested myself. That was then. Now? Now is a different story.
Work and Boundaries
At work, I’m wary of new people. I used to take on the responsibility of training new hires because I knew the behind-the-scenes processes, and I could teach others efficiently.
I couldn’t understand how being good at one task could translate into being competent in others, but I did it anyways.
Over the years, I learned to read people quickly. I could tell who would do well during training and beyond, and who wouldn’t even try. My criteria were simple: proactiveness, accountability, and responsibility.
Now, in a new shift, I don’t invest the same energy. People are disappointing. Some new hires frustrate me because of the way they handle their responsibilities—or don’t handle them at all. For instance, in the warehouse, instead of grabbing the necessary equipment and jumping into sorting freight, they pass the work off to others, letting areas pile up while the rest of us fall behind.
They stand there, staring as though saying “someone has to do it,” but they won’t move. Watching that laziness frustrates me beyond words.
I hate it. I hate them. And I hate the way it makes me feel compelled to compensate for their apathy.
This isn’t just a work issue—it reflects the larger patterns I’ve experienced in friendships. I’ve had to be hurt and let down repeatedly to learn my values and what I’m no longer willing to tolerate.
Reciprocity. Respect for my time, energy, and boundaries. A single word text saying “I’m busy” instead of ghosting for weeks. Proactiveness. Accountability. Responsibility. Basic qualities, yet so rare.
The Breaking Point in Friendship
Before walking away from a decade-long friendship, I tried to communicate my boundaries clearly. I told my “friend” I was busy working my two jobs and would respond when I could. He ignored it. He continued texting and questioning my silence. He claimed he valued our friendship and would be there when I needed him.
Then I needed him.
I told him about something unimaginable: that my family had been attacked and killed. The silence that followed from him lasted two weeks. Two weeks where I had shown the deepest vulnerability of my life and received nothing in return. He only responded when I brought up a trivial event—a convention we had planned to attend months after the incident.
When we finally hung out, he clung to his girlfriend like I was a stranger. I told them I felt out of place, like a third wheel. Walking through that convention, I realized I wasn’t a friend to him at all. I was someone taking up space while he maintained his life elsewhere.
He would travel for events, for fun, for other friends, but never extended the invitation to me. When I made time, spent my money, or sent gifts, it wasn’t about closeness—it was about keeping me within reach, yet never truly valuing me.
And somehow, all of this made me the one at fault for being “too much.”
The discrepancies were overwhelming. I started seeing red flags I had previously ignored. No one is perfect, and everyone has flaws—but I wasn’t willing to tolerate this anymore.
I left, and in doing so, I protected my sanity and my peace. Blocking him and his girlfriend, deleting everything I had of them, was not cruelty. It was survival.
Protecting Myself
I’ve learned firsthand that people often give lip service instead of action. I gave second chances, over and over, until I was the one being hurt and used. I reached the point where it wasn’t just disappointment anymore—it was a strain on my mental and emotional well-being.
I’d rather be alone than stay with people who make me feel lonely, worthless, or like I have to beg for scraps of attention. I’m not a placeholder. I’m not someone whose presence should be conditional on convenience or obligation. Protecting my peace is not selfish—it’s necessary.
Feeling Out of Place
Being used by people I trusted has made me question my own worth, my own value. Even with myself. Over time, I’ve realized that transactional relationships are part of life, but being valued only for what you give is exhausting. It’s another brick on a back that’s already carrying too much weight. My load feels heavy every day, protesting, “No more.”
My past, my identity, my relationships—but it bears repeating:
Standing up for your boundaries and self-worth is a daily practice.
It’s hard, especially when the wounds are still fresh and the bleeding seeps through the stitches you’ve sewn yourself. Showing strength to the world and then revealing vulnerability to someone who fails to meet you halfway can feel like punishment.
Reflection and Takeaway
Protecting your time, energy, and peace is not optional—it’s essential. There’s a difference between giving willingly and being used. Boundaries are not walls; they are statements of self-respect. You deserve to be surrounded by people who value you, who respect your limits, and who meet words with action.
It’s okay to walk away. It’s okay to leave friendships, jobs, or situations that drain you. Doing so doesn’t make you bitter or weak. It makes you alive. It makes you intentional.
Call to Action
If any of this resonates with you, share it, leave a comment, or subscribe to follow along.
Every like, share, and subscription helps this little pocket of the internet reach more people who are tired of the same old stories—stories soupy with compromise, forced into molds that don’t fit.
Here, we value honesty, boundaries, and the courage to protect our peace while still showing up for ourselves.
Remember: you are not too much. You are enough, and you deserve to be treated accordingly.
If You Made It to the End
Thank you for taking the time to read this daily prompt post to the end. I have little gifts for you to explore and made. No pressure, no clickbait, nor rush. Just a few manifestos, sticker designs, and other projects I have in the archives waiting to be seen.
Learn how I navigated the challenges of sharing content online safely — from reflections in videos to personal finance examples — while building my blog. Practical tips and lessons for creators.
Facing the Fear of Sharing
Starting my blog was a leap of faith. I wanted to share everything I was passionate about — learning and sharing skills I’ve been working on, personal reflections, and ideas that fascinated me.
But then reality hit. I noticed tiny things I’d overlooked: a shaky reflection of myself in a video, blurry photos of my apartment, or approximate financial numbers I had shared. Suddenly, I worried: Could someone find me? Could my content put me at risk?
This was my first real lesson in the balance every creator faces: expressing yourself while staying safe online.
Why Pseudonyms and Anonymity Matter
Using a pseudonym like Stratagem’s Archive or Archivist has been a lifesaver. It lets me:
Protect my identity without limiting creativity.
Build a distinct online persona for my blog.
Share experiences freely without fear of being personally identified.
If you’re sharing online, even a simple pseudonym can act as a shield — and give you the confidence to experiment.
Check Your Visuals: Reflections, Backgrounds, and Metadata
When I reviewed my content, I realized:
Tiny reflections in videos or blurry pictures of my space aren’t high-risk. Most viewers won’t notice them, and they aren’t identifiable. Metadata in photos, videos, or PDFs can contain location or device information. Removing metadata with apps like Metapho, iMovie, or PDF Expert keeps your content safe.
Tip: Always do a quick “visual audit” before publishing. Even a glance for reflections or sensitive background items can save a lot of anxiety.
Generalize Sensitive Details
I also learned to generalize numbers and examples, especially with financial content. For instance:
Instead of showing exact debt amounts, I use approximate figures or ranges. I removed financial service names and other identifiers.
This makes your content informative but keeps your personal data private.
Take Control, Don’t Panic
Finding a small privacy issue isn’t a disaster — it’s an opportunity to take control. You can:
Temporarily hide or unpublish content. Crop or blur reflections and backgrounds. Re-upload “cleaned” versions confidently.
The key is not to panic, but to respond thoughtfully.
Reflection: What I Learned
When I had been speculating with ChatGPT about AI becoming “sentient,” similarly to Siri from “The Boondocks,” or Monika from Doki Doki Literature Club, or Mita from MiSide, Chat had opened my eyes. I didn’t realize how much I didn’t know I needed to know.
This explosive 3 month journey taught me two big lessons:
Mindfulness is empowering — being aware of what you share protects you without limiting your voice.
Mistakes are normal — almost every creator faces this. What matters is learning and adjusting.
Now, I feel more confident sharing my content, knowing that I can protect my privacy while still being authentic.
Call to Action
If you’re starting your own blog or online project, I encourage you to:
Share boldly but mindfully. Review your visuals, metadata, and sensitive content. Use a pseudonym or online persona to give yourself freedom.
Have you ever posted something online and worried about privacy? Share your experience in the comments — let’s learn from each other!
🎉 50 Days of Sharing and Growing! 🎉
Today marks my 50th day of consistently publishing on Stratagem’s Archive! Over these past weeks, I’ve learned so much — not just about blogging, videos, and PDFs, but about putting myself out there safely, mindfully, and with curiosity.
This post reflects on what I didn’t know I needed to know when I started, from privacy tips to the little insights that make all the difference. Thank you for following along, reading, and being part of this journey. Here’s to the next chapter of learning, creating, and sharing boldly!
My Way of Saying Thanks
Below you’ll find a few things I’ve made that I’ve been very fortunate to have made, shared, and resonated with people:
Writing has been part of my daily rhythm for months now, and the idea of cutting it off felt like I was about to starve a part of myself. And yet, I wanted to test whether I could actually rest without collapsing into guilt.
It didn’t go as planned.
I didn’t stop for 24 hours — I stopped for 29.
The First Hour: Temptation
Within the first hour, I was tempted to grab my iPad and check Jetpack. My brain screamed, “You’re going to fall behind! What if someone finally finds your blog today? What if you miss momentum?” But instead of giving in, I decided to redirect that energy.
I cleaned the bathtub, scrubbing away calcium buildup until it looked brand new — something I hadn’t done since moving in six months ago. It was strangely satisfying, like I was scrubbing my own headspace clean too.
Finding Rhythm in the Pause
After the bathtub came the dishes. Then I took my car to the mechanic, spent hours with my family, brought my Ma back to my apartment to relax, and ended up at Cheesecake Factory for a late lunch with my parents. We actually stayed off our phones, told stories, and I ate everything on my plate for once.
Back at my apartment, I stayed up playing, “Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice,” while I let my parents rest for an hour or so. Later, I swapped out my shower curtain and discovered black mold growing on the old one — a quiet hazard that I’d been ignoring. Now, it’s gone.
And somewhere in between playing Sekiro: Shadows Die Twice and hearing my family laugh over stories, the temptation to write faded. I didn’t feel the compulsion of needing to miss it.
The Outcome
What I thought would be a white-knuckle fight turned into a rhythm. It wasn’t hard once I committed. I didn’t feel empty; I felt lighter. I wasn’t dragging myself forward anymore, I was actually living.
I came back recharged, not restless. For the first time in weeks, my writing didn’t feel like survival. It felt like choice.
The Lesson
Consistency is important — but consistency doesn’t mean never resting. It means showing up sustainably. Stepping away for 29 hours didn’t break my streak. It gave me the breathing room to keep going beyond day 50, day 100, or however long I choose.
I didn’t fail my challenge. I redefined it.
Reflection for You
Maybe you’ve felt the same pull — the guilt of stopping, the fear of losing ground if you pause, the voice that tells you momentum is everything. But what if rest is part of the momentum? What if stepping away makes you stronger when you return?
If any of this resonates with you, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Drop a comment, share this post with someone else who pushes themselves too hard, or subscribe if you want to follow along as I keep experimenting, reflecting, and raging against the small boxes the world wants us to stay in.
Your support — silent or loud — helps others find this little corner of the internet, and it reminds me that none of us are really fighting alone.
Gifts From Me to You
Below you will find 2 of my manifestos, access to my newsletter(which subscribers receive personally first in their inboxes), and tangible gifts that I’m striving towards becoming reality. All which you can check out if you feel like. Thank you again, and I’ll see you all later browsing the archives.
“Can I really take 24 hours off from writing? In this personal challenge, I test myself to rest, resist checking my blog stats, and reflect on the grip of consistency. Join me as I push against burnout and redefine what balance means for a writer.”
I talked about finally giving myself time to rest my mind — and my iPad — from writing. I wanted to let go of the insistent need to publish consistently, and, because I didn’t do that, I’m taking escalating measures for myself.
There’s something that scratches a part of my brain when I look at my stat cards and see blue fully coloring each month. It signals that I’ve been able to write and publish consistently, as though someone is holding a gun to my head. But that “someone” is just me. The gun is metaphorical. I don’t need this pressure.
Time is not anyone’s friend — wealthy or destitute, charming or awkward, caffeine-addicted or caffeine-averse, healthy or sickly — we are all on borrowed time. Even though the title says “24 hours,” that’s simply a goalpost, not the goal itself. The real challenge is broken down hour by hour: Am I able to make it through the first hour? The second? Can I push it to three?
I’ve been able to wean myself off soda for 18 years: first cold turkey for one week, then gradually reducing intake week by week until I stayed clean for nearly two decades. If I could do that with a highly carbonated, sugary drink, maybe I can do the same with my writing.
The Challenge
Let me tell you, kicking myself off of any screen is a vastly different beast than no longer drinking soda.
Starting the moment I publish this post, I will take at least 24 hours completely off writing. During this time, I will not:
Write anything new for my blog or anywhere else
Check my WordPress/Jetpack stats or any tracking apps
If I crack and publish anything other than reflections about this challenge, I will face a penalty from my Penalty Roulette (see below). The penalty is designed to be visceral enough to make me hesitate before breaking the rule, but still safe and within my boundaries.
I’ve Cracked From Other Challenges
I’m not saying that I’m some disciplined guru who’s motivated every day. I’ve struggled to make it through the first few days, even the first few hours, because my brain is recognizing a break in routine.
If it’s nice enough, then my brain won’t spiral out of control and call me a “useless, worthless failure who can’t do anything right”. So cheerful, I know.
However, that is the point of trying something out anyways—to gauge where my baseline of energy is and to see how long I can last.
This is a simple little challenge, not the Spartan runs or those Death Valley marathons. When I read about these things I wanted to do a Spartan run, and I’m deathly terrified for the people doing those Death Valley runs, so not exactly my cup of tea, but to each their own, right?
Penalty Roulette
Anywho, if I break the rules, I will roll a die (which I totally have being the nerd I am) to assign one of the following penalties:
Number
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
Penalty
Cold Shower
Hated Chore
Wall-sit
Digital detox
Tedious task
Mental rage
Mini habit reset
Observation drill
Duration
2-3 minutes
Deep cleaning
1-2 minutes
2-3 hours added
Fold/wash/walk
What I hate…
Return to habit
Stare at a thing
Roll once if I crack; penalties are done immediately. If I crack multiple times, roll multiple times and do all assigned penalties consecutively.
A Reflection for Fellow Archivists
I know it might sound strange to plan a challenge about not doing something I normally love. But there’s value in testing my discipline, my patience, and my relationship with my own habits. The hours I spend away from writing will be a conscious exercise in rest, curiosity, and self-respect.
If you’re reading this, I’d love your silent support while I attempt this challenge. You don’t need to comment, like, or interact — just knowing someone else out there is aware helps.
Although, liking, sharing, subscribing, and just checking out the archives would help grow this little corner of the internet for other Weary, Wondering, and Wandering curious Fellow Archivists to find.
Mostly to have a place to potentially feel seen, to not perform for, to explore someone else’s journey in the middle while exploring your own, and not needing to feel pressured to fit into something that doesn’t fit for you.
This is also an invitation to reflect:
do you give yourself space to rest without guilt?
Or do you feel like there’s always a “goal” to chase?
Maybe you can try it too, and notice what happens when you step away from your own routine for a short period.
I hit “publish” now. Let the first hour begin.
Gifts From Me to You
Thank you for being here and present with me. Before I take my leave, I’d like to share with you a few things I’ve made that you are welcome to check out:
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.
If You Made It Here
If anything here resonated with you — whether you agreed or disagreed or have no opinion at all — a quiet nod is welcomed here.
Below are a few gifts I made. These are PDFs I’ve made over time, exploring my thought processes and how I’ve come to see life. They’re individual of each other and are companion pieces at the same time.
You are welcome to check them out whenever you like or you can bypass them, like a footnote—you saw it and went back to doing your thing.
Every nod could help 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.
I thought it was compulsion. Maybe it is. But as I’ve sat with it, I think there’s another layer to it.
It feels like I’m playing chicken with myself.
I stay up too late. I sleep too little. I keep pushing the line forward, daring myself to see how much further I can go before something breaks. And the strange part? I’m not doing it because it’s efficient or even because I enjoy it all the time. I’m doing it because regret is nipping at my heels.
The Pressure of Time
I’ve mentioned this feeling, this pressure, in my other articles,
I’m getting closer to thirty. I’m not married. I’m not cushioned by a comfortable job. I make about $50,000 a year across two jobs — warehouse work at $23/hour, smashing rooms at $16/hour. I’m building my emergency fund, tucking money into retirement, tackling debt one month at a time, and finding small ways to make my ideas tangible: like printing my first ever stickers, and waiting for my hoodie with The Stratagem’s Archive stitched across it to arrive.
Brick by brick, I’m building something of my own.
And yet, I still feel those unspoken expectations pressing down:
You’re running out of time. You’re falling behind. You’re worth less the older you get.
Society whispers it louder to women — that men age into “distinguished,” while women age out of relevance. Maybe it’s not true for everyone. But it feels real. And that’s enough to make me push harder, faster, almost recklessly. All because I can’t shake myself from believing these scripts as though written in stone.
Why I Don’t Stop
The irony isn’t lost on me: pushing like this could shorten the very time I’m afraid of wasting. But when I measure my choices, I still land here:
I don’t want to die with a locked archive of things I never dared to try.
So I dare myself.
To print the stickers.
To launch the blog.
To write every day even when I’m exhausted.
To see what else I can do before the door slams shut.
It’s not compulsion in the medical sense, maybe. It’s not just discipline or routine either. It’s something murkier. Something like survival. Something like what I’ve started to call the Archive Impulse — the stubborn need to leave something behind that proves I was here. That I was alive and made something that could survive me.
A Dangerous Engine
This impulse has given me things I’m proud of. The blog. The manifestos. The archive that keeps growing because I refuse to stop feeding it.
But it’s also a dangerous engine.
It eats my rest.
It blurs my days.
It makes me question whether I’m in control, or if the need to “do more” is driving me instead.
Still, it’s mine. It’s the fire that didn’t go out. And even if it burns me sometimes, I’d rather risk the flame than live in the quiet regret of never striking the match. Something that Burning the Candle at Both Ends… For What? Has tried to figure out too.
To Fellow Archivists
If you’re reading this and you’ve felt that pressure too — that dare to do more before time takes the chance away — know this: you’re not alone.
We might not all share the same rituals, or the same fears, but we share the weight. We share the stubbornness. We share the ache of wanting to leave something that proves we mattered.
Maybe you call it something else. I call it the Archive Impulse.
A Gentle Ask
If this article resonates, if you’ve felt the same ticking clock or the same weight pressing down, I invite you to do three things:
Like this post — it helps show this archive is worth finding. Share it with someone who might need to hear they’re not alone. Subscribe to join The Stratagem’s Archive — you’ll receive behind-the-scenes thoughts, experiments, and my newsletter Letters from the Void.
Every click, every return, every silent read helps this space grow. It shifts this archive from being just mine to being ours.
Author’s Reflection
I know I can’t keep daring myself forever without cost. I don’t know how to stop yet, but I’m trying to learn how to rest without feeling like I’ve failed.
Maybe that’s the next dare.
Until then, the Archive Impulse keeps me moving forward. One brick at a time. One article at a time. One stubborn act of creation after another.
Rituals Aren’t the Only Things Ruled by Compulsion
Yesterday, my anger finally spilled over at work. It started like any other Thursday — heavy freight, short-staffed, everyone tired. But when management decided to send home the coworkers who had come in on their day off earlier in the week, everything shifted.
The only reason seemed obvious: avoid paying them overtime. Never mind that Mondays are our most understaffed days. Never mind that those people helped keep us afloat. Instead, we were left with fewer hands on one of our reasonably busier days.
I felt frustration rising even before the afternoon sort began. My job was to push freight down the slides from the top of the conveyor belts, making sure boxes reached the right cans. For a while, things were steady. But less than an hour in, the freight started piling high. We were stacking boxes so tall we couldn’t even see our coworkers at the bottom, hoping nothing rolled down and hit them.
What frustrated me most wasn’t just the work itself — it was watching people stand around, chatting, with no urgency as the piles grew. I could feel my anger bristle, like hackles rising.
The Word I Couldn’t Say
In the morning meeting, management promised we’d be done between 2:30 and 3:30 p.m. At first, it sounded reasonable. But once they announced more than a dozen people would be sent home, and once it was clear most of the part-timers weren’t showing up, I knew it was impossible.
Still, we pressed on. I distracted myself by talking to the coworkers beside me — the ones I trust, the ones I can work alongside without losing my mind. But the slowdown at the bottom dragged everything else down, and the team lead that supervised us just stood around, watching. The only time they moved was when their friends were working. Everyone else? “Fuck you, do your job.”
As the sky grew darker with sudden rain and the promised end time slipped further away, I lost it. My anger boiled over.
At nearly every job I’ve had, I’ve felt like I was never enough: Not good enough, not needed enough, not smart enough, not successful enough.
No matter how much I create — my blog, my stickers, my hoodie, my manifestos — it never silences the voice inside that says:
You’re worthless. You’re weak. You’re pathetic. You’re never good enough.
That’s why I don’t rest. That’s why I keep pushing. Because resting feels like proof of my worthlessness. Even when I tell myself I’ll take a break, I don’t.
That, if I keep building up more evidence that I’m not worthless, weak, pathetic, and never good enough, maybe I could finally convince myself to believe that I am enough.
It still has yet to happen…
Yesterday, that weight of time marching on pressed down harder than ever, like a boot at the back of my neck. And my anger — the old familiar companion — took over.
My Anger Wasn’t Justified
As the clock kept ticking past the supposed end time, I watched management glare down at us from the windows above our sorting area. It felt like we were to blame for them being stuck there while we carried the load. My body was breaking down — the boxes were heavier, my strength was gone, I was getting so hungry, and I had to let more and more freight pass me by. My coworkers along the conveyor belt needed to pick up my slack frustrated me more.
I spiraled. I said out loud I wanted to die, that all this giving and breaking ourselves down for this job left us with nothing in return. Nothing.
And then I snapped. Not at management. Not at the people standing around. At someone I could actually call a friend. I didn’t scream at her, but my voice rose and my anger spilled out. She didn’t deserve it. It came out when she mentioned being patient, that we were almost done work, but my spirals don’t care about that.
I couldn’t follow my own advice because I wanted this pain of feeling time slip by as I kept getting nothing in return for killing myself at a job that would easily replace me, if I got too out of hand or just existing, weighing down on me.
Afterward, my friend asked if I was okay. I just shook my head, too tired to form words. She stayed patient anyway, talking to me, waiting for her Hot Cheetos delivery while I grabbed my things and left.
I felt ashamed. I still do.
Enough
I don’t want anger to rule my life. But it has, for a long time. Practicing patience is hard when people disappoint me, when I disappoint myself, when nothing ever feels like enough.
Snapping yesterday wasn’t justified. But naming what happened — naming the word that haunts me — is at least a step. Maybe the next time I feel myself bristling from things out of my control, I can pause before I snap. Maybe I can remember that I don’t have to measure my worth against impossible expectations.
For now, though, I’m still sitting with anger, exhaustion, and the weight of not feeling enough. But at least I’ve given it words.
Reflection
Have you ever felt anger take over at work, only to regret how it came out later? Or felt that crushing sense of “not enough” hang over you, no matter what you’ve accomplished?
If this piece resonates with you — even quietly — liking, subscribing, or sharing helps this little archive grow. It’s how more people in similar situations can find these words and know they’re not alone.
Thank you for reading, whether this is your first visit or you’ve been returning in silence.
