This is likely the last post. I am retiring this npub. Goodbye nostr.

From our thoughts, fears, uncertainties, and doubts, we project our judgments, yet we choose to share only judgments and not our truths. Why? People will go to any lengths, no matter how absurd, to avoid confronting their own souls.

“The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned.” — Maya Angelou

This is how many eggs I collected today:

Boring people has no tolerance for their own weirdness, they are embarrassed of it

Not the years in your life, but the life in your years

It’s astonishing, and a little humbling, to realise how much of my sense of self depends on your presence — as though without you, the coordinates by which I navigate the world fall quietly out of place.

Forgiveness requires a sense that bad behavior stemmed from suffering rather than malice.

Simply “kind” will do.

I don’t see ‘quiet’ used enough, because, unlike signals, noise is pushy. Yet it’s the silent structures beneath us that keep everything steady — the small loyalties, the unspoken reassurances, the steadying routines. They never ask for applause, but they are what keep a life from coming undone. For every boisterous outburst, there is a quieter confidence — the kind that doesn’t need to insist on itself to be felt.

You don’t believe all those things I mentioned compete in a Darwinian sense?

None of us truly occupies the bottom of any hierarchy. We are far too intricate for that. Each person is a shifting mosaic of identities—bitcoiner and sceptic, voter and abstainer, left‑leaning, right‑leaning, authoritarian in one corner of life and libertarian in another. At every moment, we radiate influence in multiple, often contradictory directions. The tragedy is that we so rarely recognise this complexity in ourselves, and almost never in others.

Near‑death experiences bring a clarity we rarely access because they momentarily reorder our priorities. They remind us—sometimes brutally—that much of what we worry about is trivial, and much of what we postpone is essential. Humans live under a “veil of normality,” where routines and anxieties obscure the fragility of life. A brush with death tears that veil away. Suddenly, the real hierarchy of values becomes obvious: love, time, forgiveness, meaningful work, tenderness.

I like to believe that, in time, we’ll find our way back to one another, as we so often have — not out of habit, but because something in us still quietly belongs together.