Stars We Can't See Yet

In Slow Motion, We Scroll

I've lost count of the number of times I've started at my computer screen, feeling like I'm stuck in some type of slow-motion skydive. It feel like you're watching yourself from a distance as you scroll though Youtube, watching endless videos on dogs, conspiracy theories and the latest internet trend. Before I know it, it's almost midnight and I have work tomorrow. I should be in bed, trying to squeeze in some sleep. But instead, I reach for my phone and instinctively open TikTok or Instagram and the endless stream of clips blur together through my eyes. 

On my worst days, I don't even get out of bed. I'll lie there for hours, not bothering to eat, brush my teeth, or take a shower. The idea of moving feels exhausting, and the thought of being productive is funny. I'll put on the same sad depressing songs I've been listening to for years and just let them play on repeat. It's like they're the soundtrack to my daily diary. 

But then, there are other days when I get this sudden spark of motivation. I'll make a YouTube video. I'll plan it out in my head, imagining all the things I want to say, the shots I want to take. But then, fear starts to creep in. I use to lost posting online and people watch me and have opinions about me. Now, it terrifies me. So, I close my laptop and let the idea fade away, another potential project abandoned before it even started.

Being at home too much fuels my boredom to the point where I feel like I might crawl out of my own skin. I get tired of watching reruns of some random show, the kind I start and stop halfway through because I lose interest. So I leave. I go to this small coffee shop in a tiny neighborhood I stumbled upon one day. I always order a random fruit drink, their specialty of the day. It's less about wanting the drink and more about me being generous because  I'm hogging their free WiFi.
I like to sit by the window, where I can watch people come and go. There's something strangely comforting about the constant flow of strangers, like watching the tide roll in and out. I'm a people-watcher but in a good way.  
I wonder if the people that come and go from my eyes  feel the same quiet desperation that I do. If they, too, spend their nights staring at screens, scrolling through videos they don't care about. If they lie in bed and let the hours slip by, listening to the same songs on repeat. Maybe they do. Maybe we all do. 

And maybe that's okay. Maybe it's okay to feel a little lost, a little alone in this world. It's okay to have days where getting out of bed feels impossible, where the simplest tasks become monumental. It's okay to order pizza instead of cooking the groceries you bought, to sit in a coffee shop with a drink you didn't really want just because it feels less lonely than sitting at home. Maybe it's okay to let the hours slip by, watching strangers come and go, imagining different lives we could be living.  Perhaps it's in these quiet moment—whether it's the lazies, the bedrock depression or the small daily tasks— that we find a strange kind of comfort. And maybe, for now, that's enough. Maybe for now, you can be enough. For now and for always, you'll be enough.