I woke up this morning and, for the first time in a while, I didn’t want to roll over and go back to sleep. There was no overwhelming sense of dread pulling me under the covers, no mental debate about how much I could get away with delaying. I just… got up. It was strange.
I took a cold shower. Normally, that kind of thing would make me feel like I’m being stabbed by tiny needles. But today, the cold didn’t feel like an enemy. It was just water, hitting my skin. I stood there, letting it happen, feeling it but not feeling anything about it. And that was that. I stepped out, dried off—alive, not overwhelmed.
When I left the apartment, the day unfolded in this unusually calm way. I walked at a clumsy pace toward the station, yet I still managed to catch the train. Once seated, I opened my laptop and got to work. The usual pile of tasks waited for me, but none of it felt overwhelming. There was no struggle to focus, no urge to procrastinate. I just moved from one email to the next, one task after another, in a steady, almost serene rhythm.
Around lunchtime, I wandered over to the cafeteria, as I always do. Normally, I scan the room for the quietest spot, the table furthest from the noise, where I can sit and eat without the chatter driving me to distraction. It’s like my body automatically seeks out a corner, somewhere to escape the clatter and hum of people talking, laughing, existing all at once. But today, as I looked around, I realized something surprising: I didn’t need to hide from the noise.
The cafeteria was just as loud as it always is. People talking over one another, trays clattering, the usual din of too many voices in one space. But none of it felt like it was crashing down on me. It wasn’t suffocating. The noise wasn’t killing my ears. It was just… there. A background hum, like the sound of the city outside a window, or a distant band playing in park.
I picked a table, not the quietest one, not the most secluded. I just sat down in the middle of it all. And for the first time in a long time, the noise didn’t bother me. I didn’t feel the need to escape, didn’t feel like the world was pressing in on me. I just sat there, ate my lunch, and watched people go about their day. It was peaceful, in a way I didn’t think was possible in a place like that.
As I finished eating, I realized how strange it was to feel so calm in the middle of everything. Normally, I’d be rushing through my meal, eager to get away from the noise and back to some quiet corner where I could breathe. But today, I didn’t need to. The noise didn’t need to be shut out. I didn’t feel like I had to protect myself from it.
…
The rest of the day passed in a similar way. Tasks came and went. I sat through them, took notes, did my part, and didn’t once feel like my mind was racing ahead or falling behind. Everything just moved at a steady pace.
By the time the day ended, I packed up my things and walked out the door, feeling – fine. Not exhausted, not drained, not like I have just survived some grueling battle. It was just another day, and yet, it wasn’t. There was something different about it, something almost eerie in its simplicity.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I was fighting against the world. I was just moving through it. And that, more than anything, is what made today stand out. Not because it was remarkable, but because of how incredibly normal it felt.
Radical Human 