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Our Attention Is Finite

Our attention is finite, yet we spend it everywhere but where it matters. This is not a moral failure. It is a structural one. Attention economics is the idea that in a world overflowing with information, human attention becomes the scarce resource. Whoever captures it, holds power. Over time, this has reshaped not just markets, but inner lives. What we notice. What we ignore. What we can tolerate. What we can no longer sit with. For a long time, people warned that television would rot our brains. In hindsight, television looks almost generous. A show required you to stay for forty minutes. A film asked for two hours. A detective story invited you to notice details, to remember names, to hold multiple threads in your mind at once. You watched. You followed. You waited. Listening to music meant staying long enough to learn lyrics. Reading meant sitting with confusion until meaning arrived. Writing a poem meant wrestling with language, not skimming it. Even boredom had a purpose—it ...

Where the Light Stays, I Will Let It In

There is a temptation, at the end of a year, to perform clarity. To announce intentions. To summarize lessons. To package growth into neat conclusions. But life rarely works that way, and neither does understanding. What we often call insight arrives quietly. It does not demand attention. It waits. “Where the light stays, I will let it in.” I have come to think of light not as revelation, but as attention . The moments we pause long enough to notice something true — not dramatic, not flattering, just honest. The places in our lives we keep circling because something there asks to be seen. Over this year of writing, I have noticed how often meaning hides in ordinary places. In disappointment. In repetition. In moments that fail to live up to expectation. In choices we justify instead of examine. In the quiet discomfort of realizing that the story we were telling ourselves no longer fits. Light does not always arrive where we want it. Sometimes it settles where we would rather not l...

Sometimes the Markers of Adulthood Arrive

"Sometimes the markers of adulthood arrive, and all they bring is the quiet reminder that we are still ourselves." The new house. The promotion. The fancy dinner. The long-awaited trip. The little victories we imagined would change us. And yet, when they arrive, the feeling is often smaller, quieter, less transformative than we expected. Life keeps moving, and we remain — essentially — the same people we were before the milestone, carrying the same thoughts, habits, and internal rhythms. I have built, saved, and achieved things I thought would define me. Each time, I expected exhilaration, a sense of arrival, a reshaping of identity. And each time, the reality was softer: a subtle satisfaction, a fleeting pride, a quiet observation that I am still myself. There was no sudden transformation, no cinematic moment of revelation, no magic that altered who I am. Just me, in a new context. It is tempting to feel disappointment, to think that the milestone failed to deliver. But p...

Is This It? On the Quiet Disappointment of Arrival

The other evening, I went for an after-work coffee with two colleagues. Another day, I had dinner by myself — twice — in a nice restaurant. The kind of place that appears often in movies, books, and vlogs: soft lighting, carefully plated food, the suggestion of a life unfolding well. I remember sitting there and thinking: is this it? In stories, this is meant to feel like success. An evening out after work. A quiet dinner in a good restaurant. The kind of adult life that is supposed to arrive once you’ve done the right things. It’s framed as enviable, aspirational — a marker that you’ve made it into a certain version of adulthood. But nothing landed. The conversations were pleasant. The food was good. There was nothing wrong with the experience. And yet, all I could think about was how much I wanted to be in bed. There was no spark. No sense of arrival. Just a subdued awareness of time passing. I’ve been noticing this more often lately — not just with social rituals, but with mil...

Even Lies Come Dressed in Effort Sometimes

There is a line I heard in a song that has been following me around: “But even lies come dressed in effort sometimes.” At first, I thought it was about other people — the obvious place to start. The relationships that felt convincing because someone tried. The situations that lasted longer than they should have because effort was being expended. But the longer the line stayed with me, the more it turned inward. Because the most exhausting lies are not always the ones we tell others. They are the ones we keep up with ourselves. There are versions of our lives that require constant upkeep. Narratives we repeat so often they begin to sound like truth. Not because they are, but because abandoning them would mean admitting something uncomfortable: that we settled, that we stayed too long, that we chose safety over honesty, or familiarity over alignment. Those admissions cost more than the effort of maintaining the lie. So we try. We show up. We perform consistency. We add small acts o...

Knowing What Works, Leaving Room for Surprise

Today I went thrift shopping. Anyone who thrifts knows the small, private ritual of it: racks too full, mirrors too honest, time moving differently. As I tried on different outfits, something familiar struck me — not for the first time, but with unusual clarity. How important it is to know what you like. And, equally, how important it is to know what does not work for you. There are colours I reach for instinctively, silhouettes I trust. There are fabrics I already know will irritate me, cuts that have betrayed me before. Knowing these things saves time. It spares frustration. It narrows the field in a place designed to overwhelm. And yet. Every so often, something unexpected catches my eye. Something I would never normally pick. Different colour. Different shape. Slightly uncomfortable, conceptually. I try it on anyway — not because I expect it to work, but because curiosity feels safer than certainty in that moment. Sometimes it’s awful. Sometimes it’s quietly perfect. That sm...

If Life Ended Tomorrow, Would Anything Really Change?

We are obsessed with imagining what we would do if we were told we had only months to live. The bucket lists, the tearful confessions, the reckless adventures, the sudden confessions of love — they are everywhere in books, movies, and online articles. The message is clear: if death were imminent, our lives would transform in an instant. And yet, I have started to wonder: would they? I suspect that, for most people, life would continue much as it always has. Morning would come. Coffee would be poured. We would get dressed, commute, answer emails, check phones, scroll feeds, and repeat the familiar rituals of our days. Work would still demand attention. Laundry would still pile up. Small obligations would quietly persist, demanding their share of our attention. Even when faced with mortality, human life — mundane, ordinary, patterned — is astonishingly resilient. We have been told, so insistently, that our lives are miserable, boring, incomplete, that we are going about living “all wr...

Impatience With Our Own Lives

Elif Shafak writes, “human beings exhibit a profound impatience with the milestones of their existence.” The words struck me immediately, not because they were new, but because they were painfully familiar. We live lives measured in moments we can’t wait to leave behind — rushing through what should be the very chapters that make us who we are. We rush past childhood longing to be grown. We rush past adolescence, eager to claim adulthood. We hurry through young adulthood, anxious to “settle down,” to earn, to succeed, to arrive. Even in the middle of life, we chase the next milestone: promotion, recognition, wealth, recognition again. And when we reach the later years, we wish away the in-between, mourning what we should have noticed along the way. Milestones are meant to be markers, not destinations. They are pauses in the flow of life, signposts meant to help us orient ourselves, not finish lines to sprint toward. Yet we have cultivated a culture in which patience is undervalu...

Can We Live Without Wanting to Be Watched?

Some long for fame, others for quiet praise — but most of us, in some way or another, want to be seen. Not just acknowledged, but witnessed. Validated. Held in the awareness of others. It shows up in the photos we take, the statuses we draft, even in how we frame our experiences: “If no one knows I did it, did it really matter?” In today’s world — even here in Kenya, where not everyone lives online — the urge to live for the gaze of others is quietly embedded in everyday life. We plan, curate, and sometimes even feel experiences more intensely when we imagine someone else is watching. But what would life feel like if no one was? Can we truly exist without performing ourselves? 1. From Childhood Applause to Adult Validation It’s tempting to blame the usual suspects — Instagram, YouTube, influencer culture. But the craving to be seen started long before platforms. It’s planted in childhood. The child who is applauded for being clever, articulate, or entertaining. The student who shines a...

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