The 9 p.m. version of me is quiet.
He doesn’t chase ideas.
He doesn’t fix problems.
He’s done explaining, convincing, performing.
He’s just tired. And that’s okay.
He sits in silence, staring at the ceiling or the city lights outside the window.
Dinner’s reheated.
Notifications muted.
The world can wait.
This version of me doesn’t care about being “productive.”
He just wants a moment to exist without purpose.
He doesn’t think about deadlines or deliverables.
He just thinks about whether the day meant something.
And sometimes, the honest answer is “not really.”
Because some days aren’t about winning.
They’re about surviving...
the work deadlines,
the term papers for grad school,
the bills to pay,
the hobby you parked,
the date you promised to keep,
the exercise you promised your body but never had the energy for.
And that’s fine too.
Not every day has to be extraordinary.
Some days are just about making it through traffic, through meetings, through yourself.