Stillness Beneath the Skin

Today, I find myself wrapped in a peculiar stillness—a hollow feeling that sits quietly inside me. It is neither sorrow nor joy. It is not unrest, nor is it peace.
It simply – IS.

Some days, you notice the body’s subtle signals—a shift in breath, a rumble in the stomach, a tension behind the ribs. And on others, like today, everything is silent. Soft emptiness.

Have you ever felt that way? Have you ever just zoned in so hard that your eyes are the only thing that matters? Every word you type, everything you’re holding—it all hits you straight, no filter, no distractions.
No one who you can call your own.

I’m at level 28 now, like I mentioned before, and I’m trying to keep a thread running through everything I share. Life gets messy, but there’s something comforting about connecting the dots, however scattered they may be. Anyhow, sometimes I find myself wondering—was this stillness already there when I was at level 0? Or maybe the deeper question is: was I born from it?

And then today, without any clear reason, I had an epiphany: whenever perfectionism takes hold, distractions suddenly become far more tempting.

You know how it goes. A task is right in front of you, but instead of starting, you spiral—rewriting the same sentence twenty times, chasing the “perfect” version.

Or think about taking selfies. One turns into ten, then a hundred, then maybe even a thousand. Just to pick that one where everything feels just right.
The truth? The first one and the thousandth are both you. Nothing really changes—except your imagination. You start picturing yourself in front of a crowd of 50 people. You’re not just clicking for yourself anymore. You want to impress 20% of them. Maybe less. Maybe one person in particular.

And suddenly, it’s not about capturing a moment. It’s about shaping how you’re seen.

But when you photograph something outside yourself—a flower, a streetlight, a dog—you don’t overthink it. One or two clicks. That’s it. You trust the beauty will come through on its own.

So why is it so hard to look at ourselves with the same softness?
Why is it easier to see beauty in everything else—but not in our own reflection, just as it is?

A single thought of perfectionism can steal more time than anything else. What you planned to finish within a set timeframe stretches endlessly, growing far beyond proportion.

SEGA: More Than a Console, a Memory

Distractions sneak in like sweet treats—just a quick glance at social media, a brief scroll, a short chat with friends. We tell ourselves, “I’ll do it tomorrow,” and the delay drags on, one excuse after another.

If we had actually done what we always planned to do, how different would our lives be? After every exam in school or college, when the marks didn’t meet our expectations, how many of us promised ourselves that the next one would be different? That next time, we’d prepare early, make notes, record everything, and really put in the effort. But when the day finally came, we found ourselves caught in the same old cycle again.

If this scene played out in a movie or TV show, it would be a comedy skit—something the audience laughs at because they see themselves in it. “That’s so me,” they’d say.

I’m not saying life doesn’t eventually turn out okay—it often does.
But sometimes I can’t help but wonder—
what kind of life could we have shaped if we had simply shown up when it mattered most? If we had trusted ourselves enough to act, without waiting for perfect timing… or perfect versions of us?

I came across a post recently—someone just turned 98.
Ninety-eight. That’s not just a number, it’s a lifetime. A rare level to reach.

Level 98 means you’ve lived through change, carried fear and joy together,
survived moments you thought you wouldn’t—
and watched the world move on from versions of you that once felt unforgettable. That’s not just age. That’s earned experience. That’s a soul weathered and shaped by time.

This is what he called – that quiet fear that stops you from asking a question because you’re afraid you’ll look dumb.
That hesitation to start something small, even when it’s your heart’s true calling.
The fear of reaching out to someone you care about, paralyzed by the thought of rejection.

It’s the weight that holds you back, even when your soul is urging you forward.

The truth? Most of the time, no one’s waiting for you to be perfect. That pressure? It’s mostly in your head. Every single time you show up, even when you’re falling apart inside, even when you hate how you look or don’t think you’re enough—that’s strength. That’s power.

We waste so much life editing ourselves for a crowd that was never even watching. So start messy. Speak up. Take the first step. Show up trembling, if that’s what it takes. But show up.

Because maybe the only thing standing between the life you dream of and the one you’re stuck in—is your decision to begin.

“Success is achieved through effort, not by mere dreams. Even a lion must hunt—deer don’t walk into a sleeping lion’s mouth.”

And maybe—just maybe—you were always enough.
Do you believe that yet?