In 2001, Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty arrived on the PlayStation 2 and quickly distinguished itself not merely by cinematic spectacle but by an ambition rare in commercial entertainment: to interrogate how information and narrative shape human freedom. Hideo Kojima, the game’s creator, wrapped philosophical questions about truth, power, and agency inside a popular stealth-action framework. What looked like a piece of mass entertainment turned out to be a speculative critique of a world on the cusp of epochal change.

This lecture treats MGS2 as a cultural text. The provenance of an argument, whether it appears in a policy memo, academic journal, or video game, does not determine its value. Kojima’s narrative anticipated many themes central to contemporary debates about media, politics, and technology: the economics of attention, the invisibility of algorithmic power, and the epistemic fragility created by abundant information. My objective here is to extract the game’s conceptual core and situate it within intellectual traditions and practical concerns relevant to the age of AI.

Historical Context: The Early 2000s and a World on the Cusp

Understanding MGS2 requires attending to the distinctive anxieties of the early 2000s. At that moment, the internet was transitioning from niche to ubiquitous. Search engines were learning to prioritise relevance; blogs and forums seeded the first public conversations beyond traditional media; mobile connectivity was expanding but not yet saturating daily life. Simultaneously, geopolitical events, most notably the aftermath of 9/11, intensified debates about surveillance, security, and the limits of state power. The era combined technological optimism with deep anxieties about information and control.

Kojima synthesised these trends not by predicting technical specifics but by dramatizing a more general risk: the collapsing of epistemic infrastructures under the pressure of rapid change. The game suggested that power would increasingly be exercised not only by overt coercion but by shaping the conditions under which meaning is produced and received.

Information Overload and the Loss of Truth

One of MGS2’s core insights is that abundance can erode certainty. The game stages scenes in which characters are swamped by competing narratives — rumor, spectacle, and curated truth all circulate freely — and the result is not plurality but fragmentation. This anticipates what media theorists term the “attention economy”: a marketplace in which attention is scarce and platforms monetize engagement. Content that provokes emotion, outrage, or sustained focus rises to prominence regardless of factual veracity.

Contemporary consequences are familiar: viral misinformation spreads faster than careful reporting; fact-checks fail to reach the same audiences as the claims they correct; and social media architectures reward repetition and velocity over deliberation. MGS2, therefore, serves as a parable: when every voice can publish, shared standards for verification become essential civic goods; without them, a polity risks fragmenting into mutually incomprehensible information spheres.

Agency, Control, and the Illusion of Choice

A second theme concerns the nature of agency. In the game, a protagonist discovers that what seemed spontaneous was orchestrated — moments staged, identities curated, outcomes engineered. This narrative device maps onto contemporary mechanisms of algorithmic governance. Recommendation systems and targeted persuasion do not physically force individuals to act; they narrow the horizon of perceived options, tune emotional responses, and accelerate certain behaviors. The result is a subtle diminution of freedom: people believe they are choosing, but those choices are shaped by invisible architectures.

The problem here is philosophical as much as technical. Michel Foucault’s work on disciplinary power and the shaping of subjectivity is a useful reference point: modern power operates through norms, categories, and infrastructures that render certain desires and actions intelligible and others invisible. Algorithms are a new infrastructure of normativity; they encode assumptions about relevance and value into the sequence of contents that define everyday experience.

Narrative Control, Surveillance Capitalism, and Real-World Case Studies

MGS2’s “Patriots” — shadowy custodians of information — prefigure what scholars have termed surveillance capitalism. Data extraction, behavioral prediction, and commercial optimisation converge to create systems that know us and nudge us in profitable directions. The parallels with real-world events are striking. Cambridge Analytica’s use of psychographic profiles to micro-target voters offered an early demonstration of how behavioral data can be marshalled to influence political outcomes. Platforms’ opaque ranking systems have also been implicated in prioritising engagement over accuracy, contributing to polarization and the erosion of trust in institutions.

These are not isolated incidents but structural outcomes of systems designed to prioritise attention. MGS2 dramatizes what happens when those structures are left unchecked: narratives harden into instruments of power, and public discourse becomes a terrain manipulated by actors who control the pipelines of attention.

https://youtu.be/-gGLvg0n-uY?si=fqf_j-rZ49E54M-B

The Age of AI: Deepfakes, Synthetic Media, and Accelerated Manipulation

Artificial intelligence intensifies these dynamics. Generative models now create realistic text, images, audio, and video — tools that can impersonate voices, fabricate events, or tailor persuasive narratives for individuals. Deepfakes erode the evidentiary value of visual records; language models can generate persuasive falsehoods at scale; automated bots can amplify messages across networks. In combination, these capabilities mean that misrepresentation can be produced cheaply and distributed widely, while detection and verification lag behind.

The ethical and political implications are profound. Election interference, reputational harm, and targeted disinformation campaigns gain new potency. At the same time, algorithmic bias and opaque decision-making threaten fairness in lending, hiring, and criminal justice. MGS2’s cautionary tale — about invisible architectures that shape reality — thus becomes a literal prophecy for an AI era in which the boundaries between authentic and synthetic experience blur.

Why This Matters for Non-Gamers: Civic Literacy, Institutional Responsibility, and Education

If these arguments sound abstract, their consequences are not. Democracies rely on shared facts and deliberative forums; markets rely on trust; public health relies on accurate information. When those foundations are destabilised, everyday decisions — whom to trust, what to buy, how to vote — become vulnerable to manipulation. Therefore, the lesson of MGS2 should be translated into policy and practice. Civic education must include digital literacy; regulators must demand transparency and auditability from powerful platforms; designers and engineers must build systems that foreground human values over raw engagement metrics.

Practical Recommendations

1. Embed Media Literacy. Schools and adult education programs should teach verification techniques, the economics of attention, and the mechanics of algorithmic recommendation.
2. Mandate Algorithmic Transparency. Platforms that shape public discourse should disclose core elements of ranking and recommendation and be subject to independent audits.
3. Regulate High-Risk AI. Deployments with societal impact — political advertising, deepfake generation, automated decision systems — should face stricter oversight, provenance requirements, and clear accountability pathways.
4. Support Public Interest Media. Funding and legal protections for investigative journalism help preserve an evidentiary backbone for public life and counter the incentives that favour viral sensationalism.
5. Individual Practices. Encourage slow-down sharing norms, habitual source triangulation, and diversified information diets to reduce the spread of falsehoods and strengthen personal epistemic resilience.

A Call to Scholars, Artists, and Citizens

Finally, MGS2 reminds us that cultural production is itself a site of critique and foresight. Scholars should continue to study popular media as diagnostic tools that reveal anxieties and structural tensions; artists should be encouraged to craft narratives that make abstract systemic risks emotionally intelligible; and citizens should treat cultural artifacts as prompts for public conversation. The cross-pollination of scholarship, art, and civic engagement can produce a more reflective public — one less susceptible to manipulation and more capable of collective judgment.

Expanded Practical Measures

Beyond the five recommendations above, specific policy and design interventions merit consideration. Governments can require provenance labels for synthetic media used in public communication; international bodies can establish norms and rapid-response protocols for AI-enhanced electoral interference; funding agencies can prioritise research on algorithmic explainability, robustness, and detection technologies. Tech companies can adopt default settings that prioritise authoritative sources in moments of civic importance, invest in robust provenance systems, and support independent third-party audits.

Conclusion: Fiction as Forewarning, Responsibility as Response

Metal Gear Solid 2 is therefore noteworthy not for prognostication about specific technologies but for diagnosing structural vulnerabilities in information ecosystems. Kojima’s narrative compels us to see how cultural forms can reveal political risks and mobilise public imagination. The game’s lesson is severe: if information architecture is left to commercial incentives and opaque design, public life deteriorates.

Our response must be institutional, technical, and cultural. Regulation should enforce transparency and responsibility; designers should prioritise deliberative values; educators should build citizens’ resilience. Only through collective action — by policymakers, technologists, scholars, artists, and citizens — can we hope to navigate an age in which information itself is both the medium of life and the arena of conflict.

During the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, I wrote a piece titled The Essential Non-Essential Worker, where I reflected on how artists (creatives/creators), filmmakers, musicians, and storytellers helped the world grieve, laugh, and hold on during such a devastating and uncertain time, but were never seen as essential.

The irony, years later, is almost cruel. Today, even those who once sat at the very top of the “essential worker” list, our doctors, are facing a similar invisibility. They’re being told their worth is tied not to their training, sacrifice, or ability to heal, but to whether or not they have a job. In a world that confuses employment with purpose, both creatives and medics now occupy the same misunderstood space: essential to humanity, dismissed by the economy.

I’m from Lusaka, Zambia. My country is currently experiencing a severe recession in the employment of doctors. Many licensed doctors now volunteer their services simply to put their knowledge and skills to use, rather than sitting at home waiting for an elusive chance at official employment.

For most, this has gone on for years. Young men and women, trained to save lives, have offered themselves to one of the most emotionally, mentally, and physically demanding professions — without pay, without security. It is exhausting and demoralizing. Eventually, even the most committed volunteers begin to lose zeal. How can you give your full self to saving lives when you’re constantly in survival mode, worrying about rent or where your next meal will come from?

Earlier this year, resident doctors, through the Resident Doctors Association of Zambia (RDAZ), withdrew their voluntary services from public hospitals, effective June 2, 2025. Their protest pointed to unfair working conditions and the lack of formal employment. The state’s over-reliance on unemployed doctors to fill critical healthcare gaps has been a source of contention for years, but in 2025, the problem has only grown worse with no real or long-term solutions anywhere in sight.

As a creator who has freelanced for the past eight years, I can relate to this kind of uncertainty, stigma, and demoralization. Creators spend years honing their craft — perfecting that screenplay, polishing that album, refining a writing style, saving up for photography gear — only to be reduced to nothing when it’s time to get paid for the very thing people consume daily.

Artists deserve to be paid for their labor. How else can they survive, build lives, and continue producing the work the world feeds on? The same goes for doctors.

In Zambia, it takes seven years of tertiary education to obtain a medical degree. When all that time and sacrifice feel wasted, the result is heartbreak, depression, and alienation.

The stigma around being a creative is widely known worldwide. In Africa, it’s much worse. Imagine meeting your partner’s parents, and when the inevitable question comes up — “What do you do for a living?” — you respond, “I’m a musician” or “I’m a filmmaker.” Respect vanishes in an instant. There’s no honor for your work or your character. The unspoken question is always: How will you provide for my son or daughter?

What shocks me today is that one of the oldest and most respected professions, medicine, is starting to carry the same stigma. I’ve heard doctors say they no longer believe medicine will be seen as a prestigious career in the years to come. A friend once told me her father advised her against pursuing medicine altogether, suggesting she choose accounting instead because it was “more secure.”

I never imagined that a doctor would relate to me as an artist or that I would relate to them. Yet this year, after countless conversations with doctors in real life and online, I’ve realized just how much our struggles overlap — how alike we are in our commitment to saving lives, and how disheartening it is that finding success in our callings has become the hardest part.

Growing up, I watched prime-time shows like ER, which portrayed doctors like Dr. Doug Ross (played by George Clooney) as not only brilliant but also financially successful. Grey’s Anatomy did the same, with characters like Dr. Miranda Bailey (Chandra Wilson) and Dr. Meredith Grey (Ellen Pompeo) showcasing medicine as both prestigious and lucrative. These shows cemented the idea that becoming a doctor meant respect, stability, and prosperity, a concept that now feels more like a pipe dream for young people entering the medical field today.

Much of the uncertainty in medicine today stems from corruption and, in certain countries, from chronic underfunding, with war and defense often taking precedence over healthcare in national budgets. “It hurts to know people who graduated after me got jobs, not on merit, but because they paid someone in the Ministry of Health or at a hospital to put their name on the recruitment list,” one doctor told me. “Moving out of the country is expensive, too. You have to sit for licensure exams, which aren’t cheap. In the UK, for instance, you’d need around £8,000. There are two exams, plus IELTS, visa fees, flights, accommodation… and even then, passing doesn’t guarantee you’ll find work. People say medicine is about passion, but is it unfair for my passion to feed me?”

Corruption and gatekeeping aren’t new in medicine or the creative world. What’s frightening is the scale. Talent and hard work no longer guarantee opportunity.

This isn’t about broken people. It’s about broken systems. And when society dismisses those most capable of healing and those most capable of inspiring, it reveals something deeply unsettling: we’ve built a world where survival is valued over service, and profit over purpose.

Something good recently happened to me. A significant figure I’ve been chasing for a while finally responded to my messages — giving me enough time to drop an elevator pitch in their chatbox. So I threw myself in, taking it from the top: starting with a little re-introduction of who I am, a brief detail of my journey as a creative, and why I felt the need to ask this monumental figure out for coffee.

After sending several emails and WhatsApp messages to this person in the past that I watched vanish thanks to the disappearing messages feature on WhatsApp being active on their end. This last shot I took felt like the last straw. So I gave it my all — ignoring the insecurity of coming off as desperate after numerous attempts of trying to schedule a meeting in the past. Notice me, senpai. It felt like.

But none of this mattered at that moment. I had to try one last time, and that “last time” yielded me a positive response: “Well done on your journey. You’ve done well for yourself. I’d be delighted to grab a coffee with you.”

I had finally gotten the positive response I had hoped for. But there I was in my head, thinking of the perfect follow-up. And the most “perfect” thing I could conjure was, “Thank you. But there’s nothing to celebrate just yet…the work is not finished.”

I read my words back to myself and realized something wasn’t right. Why did I respond so brusquely? (At least that’s what it came off as in my head) Was I hoping to seem more ambitious by coming off that way? was this a way of showing that I’m not the complacent type? whatever that response was, It didn’t feel authentically me.

So I backspaced and re-thought my response, “Thank you for your kind words. I appreciate you taking the time to respond to me — I hope to share more about who I am, what I hope to achieve on my journey, and what I desire to learn from you from your vast years of experience in your role as…” by the time I was done typing, I was content with what I had written and hit send.

After chasing for what felt like an eternity, I was elated that I had finally managed to set up a meeting I had been dreaming of for a long time. Despite the jubilation that I felt, there was a lingering confusion within me that arose. Why was my first instinct to respond so dryly?

The answer: Kobe Bryant!

About 13 years ago, Kobe Bryant uttered the words “What’s there to be happy about? Job’s not finished…” during a post-game press conference when asked by a journalist why he looked unhappy when his team, The Lakers, was leading the series 2-0 after winning a game with 29 points over their opponents.

https://youtu.be/fY7l2pcxdHM?si=4sBmmhYfMdaLrd_4

Somehow, that victory didn’t warrant a smile for Kobe, who felt there was still a lot of work to do before he could crack a smile and even consider celebrating.

While I’m a huge fan of Bryant’s for his legacy and everything he achieved through the sport of basketball. I can’t exactly say I’m an avid follower of the sport, and that interview is one I only came across sometime this year via a friend’s WhatsApp status (they call them updates now), one I assume every avid basketball fan might be familiar with.

The first time I watched that interview, I found it very inspiring. And I still do. Kobe’s response teaches us to stay hungry and focused on our goals. It teaches us that there’s always room for growth.

But if we’re not careful, it can also teach us to go through life serious-faced about everything which is a problem. A hole I realized I was about to fall into when I almost responded the same way Kobe did.

There I was, being complimented for my hard work and tenacity by someone I have a great deal of respect for. Someone who wouldn’t say those words unless they saw great potential in me that warranted such a response. And I was about to downplay it like it was nothing.

This is a trap many of us find ourselves in. Whether it’s to appear meek or non-complacent, we downplay our small victories leading up to the goal, choosing only to celebrate the goal itself.

But a great part of the journey is not just the destination but what we learn and experience along the way. While it’s important to stay focused and driven, it’s also important to enjoy the process as we navigate the path to our desired goals.

Many people don’t permit themselves to appreciate the journey while it's happening cause they think they might jinx it or believe they don’t deserve to pat themselves on the back for their little efforts while striving toward something great. There’s nothing wrong with smiling along the way and acknowledging our progress. Success is a series of small wins that help us build momentum that fuels our steps.

The small wins give us the power to keep going, and today's little joys and wins are the pieces that add up to make the big picture. Don’t be so enamored with results that you forget to enjoy the process. It’s okay to take time to smell the flowers as you make your way to your destination.

If you found this article insightful, please share it with your friends, co-workers, and on your socials. I’d greatly appreciate it if you also gave it a clap. Until the next one. Cheers.

We’ve all been sad that something didn’t go our way — disappointment is a feeling we’ve all experienced in some form or another in our relationships with friends, lovers, and family, in our academics, or in our careers; disappointment is something best to be experienced early on in life, that way it’s never seen as a personal attack that we have to suffer, but a ubiquitous part of all our lives that we have to make peace with.

While disappointment lives with us, so does hope. Humans, we are full of hope. Some can argue that hope gives life meaning, as having something to look forward to whether it’s a piece of art, a meal at the end of the day, a phone call with a lover, a business deal going well, or a dream being realized keeps us going…it’s that drive for something that gives us optimism. Hope gives us a reason - it gives us a purpose.

Our favorite success stories usually have setbacks and failure somewhere in the middle because, in the end, the big punchline is that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Think about Charlize Theron, one of the biggest stars in Hollywood today. At nearly age 19, Charlize was living in L.A (Los Angeles) barely scraping by - living in a pay-by-the-hour hotel with barely enough food. One day while at the bank trying to cash her last check, the bank told Charlize they wouldn’t accept the check because it was from a different state. This was disheartening for Charlize to hear, cause not cashing that check meant she’d have no food and nowhere to spend the night. Despite her best efforts pleading and begging, the bank said no. Until a gentleman who worked at the bank kindly stepped in and helped resolve the issue.

After filling out a ton of paperwork, Charlize was finally able to cash her check. On her way out of the bank, the gentleman who helped her, John Crosby, approached her and revealed that he was a talent agent and offered her representation. This changed the trajectory of Charlize’s career.

Or Kharby Lame, the biggest TikTok star alive today. The Senegalese-born former Italian factory worker who lost his job in 2020 at the start of the Covid-19 pandemic pivoted to making videos on his phone on the Chinese-founded app to help keep himself occupied despite urgings from his family that he get a “real” job. Kharby stuck it through and continued to make videos until he eventually grew a fanbase. His silent mockery of overcomplicated life hack videos would propel him to superstardom. Today, the 24-year-old’s net worth is estimated at $16 million.

It’s only natural for us to gravitate towards such stories where something good comes from a setback or something accidental happening - as these are the stories we want for ourselves; stories where our tribulations turn into triumphs. Our mishaps into something happening. Stories that have rejection or failure allow us to place ourselves at the scene - because rejection and disappointments are things we can all relate to to some degree.

This is where the Burnt Toast Theory comes in. Coined by TikToker Ingrid (@Offthe_grid) the Burnt Toast Theory suggests “-if you burn your toast before work and it adds five to 10 minutes to your trip, it’s actually saving you from something catastrophic. Maybe it’s saving you from a car accident, maybe it’s saving you from running into someone who you don’t want to run into,”

The whole takeaway from this theory is that setbacks or inconveniences in our lives are either saving us from a worse fate or pushing us in the direction that we need to go that we might not otherwise have taken had the setback not occurred. That’s what makes this theory so compelling.

“-the idea that inconveniences in our lives, or when something releases us in the universe, it’s either saving us from something more detrimental or pushing us in the direction that we need to go in. Of course, you won’t know what the burnt toast saved you from, but that’s not the point; the point is to allow you to accept things in life that are completely out of your control.” Explains Ingrid.

The Burnt Toast Theory can also serve as a reminder that when you burn your toast, you can always put more bread in the toaster and start again. Something I learned when my first business failed early last year. At the time, it was a crushing blow that haunted me for a while. Only months down the line did I realize that I needed to jump ship and pivot to what is now not only the thing that makes my heart sing but an incredibly lucrative pursuit that has afforded me many successes and an immense amount of growth as a storyteller.

Had my business succeeded, I would not have been forced out of my comfort zone, a move that led me to head in the direction I now believe I was always meant to head in but was too obstinate and scared to pursue sooner due to imposter syndrome and not fully understanding my purpose. Instead, I would have remained stuck in something incredibly repetitive with very little room for growth. It was only when I decided to shut down my operations in order to not lose any more money that my call to adventure presented itself.

In fictional storytelling, there’s usually a pattern that the main character (aka the hero) follows on their path to “success” or enlightenment. This pattern is what American writer Joseph Campell coined as The Heroe’s Journey. But much like fiction, a lot of the themes and patterns in The Hero’s Journey can be metaphorically applied to our own lives.

The Hero's Journey has 12 steps. And the first one is the call to adventure. The call to adventure is usually the part in the story where the hero (or you) is faced with an event, conflict, problem, or challenge that propels the hero to make a decision that will help them put in the work that will lead them to their purpose or greatest desire.

Note that your call to adventure doesn’t always need to be something devasting, like losing a job or having your business shut down. It could simply be a passion that’s gnawing at your heart day and night — consuming your every thought. The fact that something can ring so incessantly in one’s heart means that it deserves one’s attention.

The second step is the refusal of the call. This refusal happens for a myriad of reasons. A lot of the time, it’s due to the fear of the unknown — due to the uncertainty of what might await us on the other side if we choose to make a jump. But the truth is, if we don’t take chances (especially on ourselves), we’ll never really know. As scary as pivoting can be, It can also be life-transforming if we take the risk. But where there’s no risk, there’s no reward.

I absolutely love HBO’s Insecure from writer, director, and producer, Issa Rae. Like really, I do. After Better Call Saul and Breaking Bad, it’s probably the one show that I’ve seen more times than I can count. This show has a warmth and familiarity that keeps me coming back for more; its characters are quirky, flawed, and relatable and their struggles are everyday struggles. It’s my comfort show ( God bless Issa Rae for this show, truly, she deserves all the success from it. )

Seeing Issa Dee (the main protagonist of the show) navigate the intricacies of adult life, such as sex, romantic partnerships, paying bills, and trying to navigate the struggle of living in pursuit of her dreams is something deeply relatable for any millennial winging this life thing with no clue of how to get it right. On some days, I get those eureka moments that often seem like I have it figured out, and on other days, I find myself dropping the ball be it in my job, friendships, or romantic relationships just like Issa.

And just like Issa, I’m glad I have close friends by my side to help me navigate this life thing; which makes it so much easier, as I couldn’t possibly do this life thing by myself. Or at least not as effectively as I do now lol.

I revisit a lot of my favorite episodes of this show through different stages of mental and emotional states. Sometimes I just want a good laugh, other times to self-soothe when I’m really stressed or going through a depressive episode. There’s one episode In particular that I always keep finding myself coming back to the most: S4 Ep8: “Lowkey Happy.” Written by Natasha Rothwell who plays a character named Kelli on the show. This is in my opinion arguably the best Insecure episode, and there are a lot of amazing Insecure episodes (Especially in S2, which is in my opinion the best season,) but this one exceeds them all.

Lowkey Happy sees Issa going on a date with her ex, Lawrence, where they muse over aspects of their 5-year relationship, good and bad; as they try to gauge their current feelings and perceptions of one another in hopes of maybe building a platonic relationship or reconnecting and exploring more.

This episode follows Issa and Lawrence through different stages of their “date night," as they first start out in a noisy and overcrowded bar, which they ditch for a nice restaurant that Issa previously visited with a hookup. The best part of the night is an art walk downtown, where the two share some of the best moments of the episode: playing a fun game that involves some wordplay as well as exploring different works of art, before ending the night at Lawrences' new apartment, where Issa ends up staying the night after telling Lawrence she doesn’t want the night to end just as Lawrence was about to call it a night when he tells Issa her cabbie might get upset if she makes him wait too long.

It’s all this: the beautiful writing, wardrobe styling, cinematography, lighting, and color grading that make this episode so memorable and magical. There’s great chemistry between actors Issa Rae and Jay Ellis that brings out the full extent of the love and friendship between their characters, who despite having gone their separate ways and done life without each other for a time; are still incredibly connected and fond of each other; and every time I see this, I can’t help but want it for myself; something I know a lot of people can relate to but are probably just too afraid to admit. (Seriously, kudos to every single person that worked on bringing this amazing show and episode to life, cause what y’all did on “Low-key Happy" can’t be undone. This episode is a masterpiece.)

I know closure can sometimes be a scam and that in the real world, things don’t play out like a TV show or the movies, but I still can’t help but long to be Lawrence, and that Issa, could be my ex; sitting across from me at a restaurant, making jokes, asking each other questions, unpacking the many different aspects of our relationship: The things that made us work and the things that didn’t; before heading out to an art gallery and ending up back at either one of us’ place, where we’d drop the act, come clean about how much we’ve missed each other before dropping our clothes to the floor and navigating the familiar parts of each other’s bodies with our lips, tongues and fingers. What would happen after this, I couldn’t possibly predict. But it’s something I’d want in a way that goes beyond it just being a “what if" or closure fuck.

I know this episode isn’t realistic, and it sells a lot of dreams, but that doesn’t stop me from wanting “this,” with this specific person that I’d call my Issa. And even though the show is ongoing (at the time of my writing this) we don’t know how things end for Issa and Lawrence. I can’t help but hope it all pans out for them despite everything they’ve gone through together and apart. If they can find their way back to each other, why can’t we ( my ex and I) do the same? Why can’t we get our beautiful TV episode?

To tell you the truth, my ex and I didn’t end on a devastating note. Quite the contrary — just a bunch of life stuff that came in between. And we did come together even after we called it, but I have to respect her decision for us not being together; yet I can’t help but long for this thing, this possible romance that lies on the other side if only given a chance.

I see lots of people still friends or at least cordial with their exes, and me and mine do have a decent-ish relationship. We’re incredibly close. But romantically, we are strangers. Wish we could just drop the act. Why can’t we be lowkey happy? I’d be lying if I said it didn’t bother me it does. I’m literally writing about someone who moved on from a version of an “us.” It’s been some time now since it happened, and all we ever do is dance around each other all the while possessing an undeniable love and affection for each other. Time has passed and we’ve both seen other people, slept with other people, and done a whole lot of life along the way and are now probably too different to recognize the people we used to be to and for each other to think it could work out. Maybe we are too different now to gravitate towards each other.

Even though I might not get my Lowkey happy episode, I remain eternally grateful that I know what it’s like to feel Highkey happy having had a person I could do life with to that magnitude. Our season/show may have ended indefinitely or forever, but I’ll always have my favorite episode: “Highkey Happy." Cause that’s always how I felt when I was with her😊

The beginning of August is always exciting as it marks the start of the Zambian Summer. But all the major summer events don’t start until September and October when the weather is at its warmest. Which means, short shorts, sun dresses, legs out, designer shades, and an overabundance of food and music festivals to wash off the winter shivers.

Septoberfest, a music festival that started out as a celebration of three friends’ birthdays that fall on the same day — has grown to be one of the most awaited summer events. Though still relatively new on the scene, Septoberfest will be no exception as one of the most exciting festivals making a return in 2023.

Unlike its counterparts, Septoberfest is unique in the sense that it’s currently the only summer music festival in Zambia that has a focus on EDM (Electronic Dance Music) in an age saturated with piano and other genres outside of the electronic music scene. Over the last couple of years, EDM has grown exponentially in Zambia as more people are opening themselves up to the sub-genre that’s now slowly catching on as mainstream.

The genre still has a long way to go before it can be considered household in Zambia, but it’s become increasingly evident by a few EDM sundowner events that there’s an emergent desire for it, and a good assertion of this would be the “first” Septoberfest held last year that saw a crowd of over
200 EDM music lovers show up for the festival. After the modest success the festival managed to achieve last year it’s no surprise that 2023 would anticipate another Septoberfest — which the organizers are teasing to be more ambitious in every way.

“Electronic music is the type of music a lot of my friends and I enjoy — so it came naturally that we picked EDM as our focus…,” Mukuma Mark Musenge, one of the minds behind Septoberfest shares when asked why his team set out on a festival focused on the genre. “I remember joking with a friend this one time that if you wanna enjoy EDM at any club in Zambia, even the most prominent ones, you’d have to go to the club around 7 pm. Which makes no sense, cause’ who’s really going to the club at 7 pm? Septoberfest was born as a result of the struggle to find the kind of music and environment where we can vibe to the kind of music we like with a community outside of our friend group. We wanted other people to be able to experience EDM in the way that we do.”

The event started out as a birthday tradition between friends of booking an Airbnb each year or camping out in the wilderness in order to have a place they could escape to where they could go and celebrate their September 27th birth date with drinks, lights, and extremely loud electronic music was an instant hit amongst the intimate crowd they’d invite to join them in their festivities. The group of friends saw the potential of turning their revelries into something bigger than what they were and slowly worked towards making it a circuit party event focused on community celebrating art and expression through music, “We got to a point where my friends and I became synonymous with raves to the people who attended our chills,” Mukuma shares. “the positive feedback we received made us realize we were meant to do these parties for a larger audience — that’s when we put pen to paper and decided to embark on making Septoberfest a thing.”

In 2022, Mukuma and his friends decided it was time to open the raves up to the public, and the first official Septoberfest was held on the 24th of September 2022, themed: Black Light for its glow-in-the-dark emphasis. The event featured a lineup of some of Zambia’s best EDM DJs such as Astro Invader, Credos, Magic Mars, Mdl:tso, and SHE Spells Doom. Some of these are confirmed to be making a return to the decks this year with a few new additions to be expected to funk things up!

This year Septoberfest will be even bigger as the team is switching things up by introducing a Tropical theme. Fans can expect neon paradise décor, neon-tropical photo booths, tropical-themed foods, UV-reactive tropical drinks, chillout zones, and of course, a fusion of tropical electronic music and the glow-in-the-dark vibe that has become a staple.

“We’re really trying to make the experience bigger and better this time around. We’re not just trying to focus on the DJs alone…but on making the entire event a memorable experience,” Mukuma shares. “We’re taking everything into account from the bathroom experience, food, lighting…these are a lot of things people struggle with…so we’re keeping everything at the back of our minds. Some people get so caught up in the artists that they forget that there’s more that goes into making an event unforgettable than just artists alone. For us, the goal is to make the experience enjoyable in every possible way.”

“I can’t say enough how proud I am of myself and my team for coming this far…as it stands, we don’t have onboarding partners — the event is fully funded and organized independently by my friends and me. This is intentional, however, as we want to focus on perfecting the type of experience that we want to bring to the audience that we serve before bringing more people on board,” Mukuma elaborates. “Part of creating and sustaining something that works is curating whom we partner with. We want Septoberfest to be a massive festival that sees people from outside traveling into the country to attend. That’s where we want to take our event in the future and making sure we remain true to the vision is of utmost importance.”

Septoberfest 2023 is set for 23rd September at a venue to be disclosed soon. So keep your eyes on their socials @Septoberfest and mark your calendars, gather your squads, and get ready to experience a fusion of music and fun.

Click the link below to secure your tickets.

https://qkt.io/rGS1pT

How the Grind is slowly making you lose sight of the Importance of the Unwind.

After trading in the seemingly-charmed life of a gentleman for one of a swashbuckling buccaneer, Stede becomes captain of the pirate ship Revenge. Struggling to earn the respect of his potentially mutinous crew, Stede’s fortunes change after a fateful run-in with the infamous Captain Blackbeard. That’s the synopsis of Our Flag Means Death, a romantic period comedy-drama about real-life pirate Stede Bonnet’s escapades with legendary pirate, Blackbeard. The show was released in 2022 on HBO Max to critical acclaim.

The show boasts a charismatic cast of actors such as Rhys Darby, Con O’Neill, and Taika Waititi. But I’m not here to give you a deep-dive about the show’s cast, writers, directors, or its showrunner, David Jenkins, the latter who’s widely known for creating the TV show People of The Earth. So you’re probably wondering, what’s the connection between Pirates, Taika Waititi, rest, and productivity?

It’s not uncommon for a lot of my articles to be influenced by the media I consume, be it movies, books, video games, or tv shows. In one article, I wrote about how Silent Hill (Yes, the survival-horror video game) inspired me to explore things outside of my comfort zone and taught me the importance of travel. In this article, I want to share how Our Flag Means Death reminded me of the importance of doing nothing.

In episode 2 of the show, subtitled ‘Damned Man,’ Captain Stede Bonnet gives his crew a day off — allowing them time for a vacation. To his surprise, Captain Bonnet learns that his crew does not know what a vacation is. To give you some context of the show, Captain Bonnet is not a great pirate! In fact, he is a terrible one. He is to piracy what Ted Lasso is to soccer (Football.) After having a mid-life crisis that saw him abandon his wife and children to pursue his childhood dream of becoming a pirate, Stede Bonnet finds himself leading a gang of misfits on a pirate ship known as the revenge. Stede isn’t very experienced at being a captain or being a pirate. If he were, he’d understand that pirates don’t take vacations.

This, for me, was the part that I found most interesting…that when given a day off, Stede’s band of misfits didn’t know how to fill their time as they had no idea how to relax and enjoy some downtime.

This, is a common theme I see in many people today. Outside of work or school, we rarely ever know how to fill our time. We haven’t taken the time to define who we are outside our occupations so we end up feeling restless when afforded some free time that we find ourselves doing work on days when we’re supposed to be off — cause’ that’s all we know how to do. It’s what we’ve been accustomed to that taking a break feels foreign and even illegal to a degree.

We feel we constantly have to be productive or our lives are meaningless. Our self-worth has become rooted in how productive we can be on a particular day. But when did life become all about work that we forgot how to cultivate quality time for ourselves?

I think anyone who sees this particular episode of Our Flag Means Death will most likely say something in the lines of “Could never be me” in regards to showing up for work after an employer or your hustle/business/ School has afforded you an opportunity to take a day off. We have fantasies of sleeping and soaking in a bubble bath on our off days, but I’m willing to wager 8/10 people fall into the trap of continuing to work even when they absolutely do not need to. If we do find time to lay in bed or soak in the tub the notifications don’t go off. We still see “Kind regards” even in our sleep.

When was the last time you spent an entire weekend invested in yourself that you didn’t touch your work during your you or family time? I’ve always hated that we only get to “live” on the weekends, but even the weekends do not belong to us anymore; they belong to our hustles and the people we work for as Sunday-Sunday we are at the beck and call of the grind-slaves to the rat race.

How we spend our time is a reflection of our priorities, I believe. But it seems most of us rarely spend our time making room for growth, healing, personal development, and entertainment outside of consuming recreational drugs and alcohol to take the edge off. This is a testament to the fact that a lot of us do not prioritize ourselves — but exult the grind above all else.

I know people who live in constant fear of a none-existent red devil with horns, a pointy tail, and a pitchfork waiting to poke at them any time they aren’t being productive. This red devil doesn’t want them taking spa days or sitting at home watching Netflix on the couch, a couch and Netflix they had to work for in order to pay for, mind you. But now, we can’t even enjoy the fruits of our labor cause’ the fear of not being productive has us shackled like a ball and chain. We don’t realize that the need to constantly be productive is slowly sucking at our souls — killing us slowly. Sometimes it’s not that we don’t realize this, we actually do, we just don’t allow ourselves the grace to do what we know we should do in order to rejuvenate our minds and bodies to curb the burnout and fatigue, which is, relax!

In the game of chess, there’s a move called Zugzwang. A simple definition I can give of Zugzwang is to do nothing! A slightly more fleshed out way to define Zugzwang is when a player is put at a disadvantage because of their obligation to make a move. I’m here to tell you that in this game of life, you don’t always need to make a move. That could be a disadvantage to your physical and mental health, as well as your personal relationships. It’s okay to step away from making moves and just rest and relax.

I first came across the term Zugzwang in the 2009 Sci-Fi film Mr. Nobody. In one particular scene, 118-year-old Mr. Nobody, the last mortal on earth, references Zugzwang to a journalist interviewing him. Mr. Nobody mentions to the journalist that each path in life is the right one. The context of each path in life is the right one is a lot different and far more complex in the scene, but I will still use it here to drive my point that both productivity and relaxation are good! Both have their place in our lives - but society has glorified the former over the latter when sometimes the best move is not to move.

So while productivity is great, remember, that not moving is also a viable option. You don’t constantly have to be in motion. It’s okay to slow things down and enjoy life outside of school/work. If anything, you become a lot more efficient at doing work after taking some time to rest and relax, as stressed work is rarely ever your best work.

Men’s mental health month, and Pride Month, all happen to fall in the same month, June. And to a lot of many of my readers’ surprise, I did not write any kind content around either two. Though allyship and mental health advocacy remain very important to me.

“Why’s that?” is the question I’ve been getting a lot when I tell people I’m not writing much these days…and the answer, to be honest, is that I am currently in a very weird relationship with writing. I know I’m a writer even when I’m not producing any work, but the joy of thinking about writing and following through by sitting down at my desk and typing away at my keyboard has not been there for a while.

Sure, I’m big on inspiration finding me working. My philosophy isn’t to only write when you’re in the mood but to write without ceasing even when you aren’t particularly inspired to create a constant flow of ideas… this space I’m currently in is something else entirely. It’s not simply a lack of motivation, It’s me not knowing my place in the world as a writer.

Questions of where my voice fits in the world’s conversations right now are what’s bothering me. And a lot of it has to do with the state of the world and the writing industry. To be more specific, the state of being a writer in an age of A.I.

If you surf the internet, you’ll come across 1000s of articles on AI, but this particular piece isn’t about AI in the same way most content around AI is. This is an account of how I’m personally affected by AI.

I remember last year, sitting in a room with a bunch of people over a few glasses of wine, talking about how the way we do work is going to be forever changed by the ascendency of AI. And I remember how vehemently I disagreed with a lot of opinions flying around the room that for me felt like they came from a place of privilege from people who are neither creatives nor whose jobs were not on the line in the short term with the introduction of AI.

“If you’re afraid of losing your job to AI, maybe you’re just not good enough,” One person said. Fortunately, my facial expressions tend to be stoic, which meant I didn’t give away the fact that I found that take to be profoundly stupid. Had my true feelings been visible on my face, the energy in that room would have shifted drastically for the worst. But, I kept my cool. And listened to these bad takes as they kept coming.

Sentiments like “…maybe you’re just not good enough,” feel like someone calling you lazy for staying in bed when you’re going through a depressive episode. They lack empathy and come from a place of privilege. Nobody chooses to have an imbalance of chemicals in their brain that leads to depression. In the same way, nobody chooses to lose their livelihood to A.I. They’re so many brilliant and talented writers out in the world that will lose jobs/opportunities due to A.I. In my eyes, I see this as a greedy thing and less of a lack of talent.

Truth is, people will do anything to save a buck. Even if it means paying an AI assistant for AI-generated content over hiring talented and qualified individuals to create content with actual human emotion behind it. Believe it or not, that human emotion is what adds that extra Oomph to all the art we enjoy and resonate with. Whether it’s the grammatical errors or the heart, there’s something that comes from a human that feels different from what AI aids generate. Heck AI tools still require human input to function.

As one WGA striking writer put it on their placard: “Chat GPT doesn’t have childhood trauma.” That was, for me, one of the best things I read from the picketing writers currently striking across the USA. While tools like Chat GPT are great and revolutionary resources that can be very helpful, they can never truly replicate or replace the human element of creativity. They can’t replicate the passion, pain, euphoria, and trauma that all add zest to art to make it feel raw and authentic.

So while that person who thinks “You’re not good enough” for feeling apprehensive about AI coming for your job continues to enjoy a stable salary in a job that isn’t immediately threatened by AI. (because let’s face it, shortly all our jobs will be threatened by AI in some capacity) people like myself, who work in the gig economy, are already feeling the effects of the surge of A.I when people and corporations go the cheaper route by paying for AI resources, instead of hiring humans to do the work.

Now more than ever are writers forced to find other ways to make ends meet than before. It’s not like life was dandy prior, writing is a very difficult career path to make a living off of, especially here in Africa, but that’s not to say it’s an impossible path. I’ve been making a living off my writing since 2018. And even though I’ve had to deal with a lot of cheapskates, a lot of worrying about where my next paycheck will come from, having other sources of income to supplement as a freelancer, and seeing jobs I hoped for not fall through, I’m still a testament that it is possible to make an income off your work as a writer. It just requires a whole lot of consistency, authenticity, creativity, networking, and tenacity to stand a real chance to make it work.

But in today’s climate, it’s x10 more difficult than before to have a career in writing. Our work, it seems, has become inconsequential. And this feeling of uncertainty of whether or not you’ll get work next week or even have your work valued has left a sour taste in my mouth. It has left me feeling hollow and just not caring about writing. It has put me in a weird space where my pride as a writer is threatened. And so instead of focusing on what I have to gain by writing professionally, I’m choosing to focus on what I have to gain on a personal level. While I still do need to write professionally to survive, I’m going back to my WHY: creativity and self-development.

There’s something unparalleled about creating for yourself. It’s in these moments, that I believe we create our best work and fall in love with the craft and the process. When I write, I’m healed by my own words and I get to explore parts of myself I don’t usually explore doing anything else. Writing helps me grow as an artist and as a person. And it helps shape my worldview as I learn so many things through the process.

There’s no escaping it, AI is here to stay. And we as writers and artists of every kind will have to compete with it, sadly. But that doesn’t mean that we should let it define us or consume the majority of our thoughts.

Therefore, in an AI-crazed world, I’m choosing to focus on falling in love with the craft of writing for me. I want to create content that I enjoy, content that I hope the world will need and enjoy too. So that even if AI kicks me out, my voice will always remain written on some pages somewhere or some deep corner of the internet. For that reason, I’m also turning down gigs from people who don’t value the craft of writing by choosing not to respect my rate. I’d much rather create content that brings my soul joy than accept less from people who’ll stand to benefit more from my work and give the most unrealistic demands in the process.

On Jan 15, 2023, HBO released the first episode of the long-anticipated TV adaption of the 2013 smash-hit video game from Naughty Dog studios, The Last of Us, from Chernobyl creator Craig Maizin and creator of The Last of Us video game, Neil Druckmann.

The show started strong with 4.7 million viewers, cementing itself as HBO’s second-largest debut after the 2022 Game of Thrones spinoff, House of The Dragon, which opened to a whopping 9.98 million viewers.

HBO’s The Last of Us couldn’t have come at a better time, as the world is currently going through a “renaissance” of sorts when it comes to video games making the jump from interactive medium to TV or film after the success of shows like Cyberpunk Edgerunners, an anime adapted from CD Projekt Red’s Cyberpunk 2077 video game. And Arcane: League of Legends, adapted from the MOBA (Multiplayer online battle arena) video game published by Riot Games. These two aren’t the only successes we’ve seen in the last couple of years, Sonic and Pokémon with Detective Pikachu, both got movies that performed and were received well by video game lovers and non-gamers alike. The former, even getting a sequel in 2022 with Sonic the Hedgehog 2; with a 3rd sequel announced for 2024; and a spin-off series to follow shortly after.

For the longest time, adapting video games to film or TV was uncharted territory no filmmaker dared to go. Sure, video game adaptions are nothing new, a lot of adaptions can be traced back to the 80s and 90s, but rarely were they made right or nearly as good as the video games they were adapted from; which led to the coining of the term “the video game curse.”

What is “The video game curse?” the video game curse was a long streak of failed video game adaptions in Hollywood, that predetermined the fate of all video game adaptions, from the 2005 DOOM to the long-running Resident Evil franchise that spanned 7 live-action films, (none of them great.) and a Netflix series in 2022 that deviated so much from the source material, it makes all the sense in the world why it got canceled. So you can understand the skepticism and the scrutiny that came with the announcement that HBO was adapting The Last of Us, arguably the greatest video game ever made, for TV.

HBO always felt like the perfect fit for how grounded the game is and how raw HBO shows tend to be; as they never shy away from violence and other mature themes. An HBO budget rivaling the likes of Game of Thrones also felt like a confidence boost for most fans; plus, the news that Craig Maizin, the acclaimed creator of the award-winning miniseries, Chernobyl, came as a great confidence boost for fans, who felt reassured that the show wouldn’t suck completely. But the cherry on top was the reveal that Neil Druckmann was not only going to be a co-showrunner on the show, but also a writer and a director.

After the lackluster 2022 film, Uncharted, (another Naughty Dog IP) failed to live up to the smash hit franchise it’s adapted from, it was easy to understand why Neil Druckmann playing a huge and active role in the development of the show felt like a big deal; despite having little experience working in film or television. The Naughty Dog and The Last of Us fanbase needed to know that the show was in capable hands. Hands that wouldn’t shit on the source material and preserve everything that made the original story as beautiful and complex as it was. And so far, after episodes 1 & 2, it’s evident that Craig Maizin and Neil Druckmann crafted this story for TV with utmost care and intention; keeping it close to the original as possible, often choosing to mirror the game shot for shot; while adding a lot of new story beats and context to moments fans are familiar with.

Now that we’ve confirmed that the showrunners weren’t being perfidious about honoring the source material, I’m curious to see how the show handles one of the most heartbreaking stories from the game (If they do include it in the show that is.) I’m not talking about Left Behind, (we already got confirmation of that in the trailers) I’m talking about Ish’s story.

If you’re reading this, and you’ve never played the game, your mind is probably already wondering: who’s Ish, and what’s his story? Ish is a character you get to meet in the later part of the game. Just not in the traditional sense. You get to know Ish through a series of letters or notes and child drawings that the player discovers around the world. Ish’s story is fleshed out through environmental storytelling, rather than dialogue exposition, as proof of his existence and his community’s existence becomes this ubiquitous presence that you see as you navigate the sewer level of the video game when you come across traps, children’s drawings, corpses, clothes, wash lines and other giveaways of human presence long after this community’s met its downfall.

During the outbreak, when the cordyceps virus spread to a suburb known as Waverly Township, one of its residents, Ish, did one of the smartest things anybody can do in that situation: leave the mainland in favor of water. Ish loaded up a fishing boat and took to the sea where he was safe and survived for a time before his boat started to give out and his supplies dwindled; eventually forcing him to return to the mainland where he found himself beached back in Pittsburgh Pennsylvania.

After returning to Pittsburgh, Ish marveled at just how far humanity had decayed. While the infected remained a looming threat, it was the surviving humans that were the even bigger threat Ish came to realize when he learned of hunters, a group of hostile survivors that hunt other surviving humans for their supplies-in what turned out to be a survival of the fittest-kill or be killed way of life. Realizing that the Pittsburgh suburbs were not safe and that the way of the hunters didn’t fit with his personal beliefs, Ish took refuge in the sewers just outside the city, where he made his home, a place that saw little to no infected and was easier to defend from the attacks of hunters and infected alike.

One day during a supply run, Ish came across a group of people that didn’t immediately shoot at him. Ish and these people, a man named Kyle, and his kids, traded supplies with each other before going their separate ways. Overcome by loneliness from staying alone in the sewers for so long, and weighed by the thought that good people still existed in the world after being a recipient of Kyle’s kindness, Ish set out to look for Kyle and his family the next day; proposing that they return to the sewer with him for safety away from the hunter ravaged suburb that was no longer safe for Kyle and his family.

Ish would end up growing his solitary sewer home into a community of around 50 people after Kyle and his family. It became a functioning society with rules and laws, and kids going back to school, just like it was pre-outbreak. And Ish and a man named Danny, guarded this community that thrived…until one day, someone complacently left a door open-allowing a horde of infected to penetrate; killing a large population of the community in the process. During the attack, however, Kyle managed to escape into a room with some of the children, barricading the door behind him quickly before the infected could reach them.

While locked in the room, Kyle could hear the infected pounding at the door, trying to make their way in. During this time, Kyle hoped that Ish and a few other survivors would come and save them, and when it came apparent that no one was coming, Kyle took a gun and ended his and the kid’s lives; a fate more merciful than being mauled by infected.

While Ish, and a few other members of the sewer community, like Susan, survived the attack. The loss was still far too great. And this grieved Ish. Despite it all, after seeing what he managed to accomplish for a time, Ish chose to persevere for the sake of Susan, and her surviving kids, who all returned with him to the suburbs to survive another day.

Piecing this story together instead of having it explicitly told to you is what makes Ish’s story of what happened in the sewers all the more heartbreaking. Coming across the skeletons of women and children mangled on the floor as you try to make your way out of the city as the player character leaves you with an unshakeable sadness. They’re a lot of harrowing stories in the world of The Last of Us. And Ish’s story is arguably the most heartbreaking of them all.

I can’t help but wonder if the Showrunners chose to include this storyline in the TV show, and I’m even more curious to see how they approach it if they did and whether or not it translates just as well to TV.

“It’s a miracle anything ever gets made” is a saying I ruminate on a lot. If you’ve ever tried to make something: a business, write a book, make a movie, build a company, or start an organization, then you know how near-impossible a feat that is; that most people jump ship within the first 6 months of starting. So don’t feel bad if you’re trying to make something and it’s just not taking form as fast as you hoped; there’s a reason the opening line refers to something coming to fruition as a “miracle” Cause building things is extremely hard!

In Zambia, we have this colloquial saying: “You can cry!” This is one of my favorite Zambianisms cause of how relatable it is. And I bet my left buttcheek that as an artist, an entrepreneur, an inventor, or whatever type of creator you are, you’ve broken down and shed more than a bucket load of tears over the thing(s) you love. Not to get biblical or anything, just using this as a reference, but think about Jesus. He wept over his own creation when he saw the pain with which they were afflicted.

You’re probably looking to build something that offers a solution or simply adds value to people’s lives, right? Be it through your storytelling, your product, or your brand, the goal is to lessen pain and inconvinience through your contribution; while making a profit or gaining yourself some recognition in the process; so it’s hard not to invest yourself in what it is that you’re trying to build, or that you’ve already built.

That’s how business, art, and invention work; you identify something that’s missing, and you try to fill in the blank with your iteration or “unique” approach to it; so you put together a business plan, or whatever. And start taking the necessary action to build the thing; putting different parts together, or throwing things to the wall, hoping something sticks as you tinker away for days, weeks, months and even years…hoping to get that big payoff at the end. And this is where “trust the process” comes in. But we all know how difficult it is to trust the process. I mean what does “trust the process” even mean?

It’s hard to “trust the process” when the light at the end of the tunnel seems like nothing more than folklore, like a fallacy passed on to us by our ancestors around a fire, as we sing songs, and dance. But I’ll tell you this: trust the process. I can’t define the process for you. But I’ll need you to trust your process the same way I’m choosing each day to trust mine.

Whatever your intuition is telling you, listen to it, keep going, and refine along the way to curb the ever-present self-doubt and melancholy. Adapt to all the turbulence and demands that you meet along the way. It’s necessary (So is crying) if you’re gonna make it out alive.

One of my biggest lessons in the last couple of months has been learning to sit with things. To plant the seeds, and let them germinate. Don’t watch the pot as it boils, you’ll only stress yourself when things aren’t heating up as fast as you want them to. It’s important to understand the plateau of latent potential, (James Clear has a great chapter on this in his bestseller Atomic Habits.) Sit with your efforts and allow them to undergo the process.

It’s okay to come back to water and weed the garden in which you’ve sown; to stir the contents of your pot at different intervals. But by all means, do not sit and watch the pot as it boils, you’ll only discourage yourself. Perseverance and Patience are pivotal on any journey. And you’ve got to apply that to your thing and remind yourself that sometimes things take time. Sit with the work you’ve already done, be thankful for it, and don’t be too hasty or reckless in wanting to get to the next level that you forget to appreciate how far you’ve come. Make revisions (lots of em) along the way, and give yourself grace when you fail or stumble; you don’t always know everything, and you will never know everything, therefore you don’t have to have it all figured out; cause the truth is, nobody does. We’re all just winging it to the best of our abilities. So have faith in your thing and stop opening that lid every 5 seconds; a watched pot never boils.