There is something quietly fascinating about the human body that most of us rarely stop to notice. It knows how to stop. Drink water when you are thirsty, and at some point your body says “enough.” Not in words, but in feeling. You lose interest. The urge fades. Continuing becomes uncomfortable. Eat fruits or vegetables, and the same thing happens. There is a natural point of satisfaction. You do not need to negotiate with yourself. The body simply signals closure. Sleep works the same way. You cannot sleep indefinitely. At some point, you wake up rested or restless. Either way, the system resets itself. Even movement has limits. You can walk, run, or exercise—but fatigue eventually arrives. The body enforces balance without needing instruction. In many of the things that are good for us, there is a built-in stopping point. But modern life is not built the same way. Some of the most common experiences today do not naturally tell us when to stop. Scrolling does not end. Entert...
There’s a kind of grief we rarely speak about in Kenya—the grief that comes not from loss, but from survival. Many Kenyans know what it’s like to give up entire decades of their lives for the sake of family. We raise children who aren’t ours. We care for ageing, ailing parents when healthcare fails. We build homes from scratch while still repaying loans. We battle court cases over family land, support siblings through school, and somehow still show up to work, church, harambees, and funerals with a smile. We are excellent at pushing through pain. We endure. We provide. We hold everything together. And so we often tell ourselves: “I’ll rest when I’m done.” But what if done never comes? Even after the chaos ends—the illness, the debt, the heartbreak—we don’t rest. We move the goalpost. We chase another opportunity. We dream of new lands and new starts. We keep running, because stillness feels foreign. We are a nation that knows how to hustle, how to survive—but we don’t know how t...