Just make it exist.
Scrolling is a trap; notice how the brain craves cheap dopamine.
That line kept looping in the background while I was scrolling through endless brain‑rot and “how‑to‑be‑productive” videos. It felt less like a motivational quote and more like a glitch in the matrix telling me to stop waiting for a download‑button to appear.
A year ago I was perched on a modest little peak: steady paycheck, a job that didn’t feel like a daily death‑march, and a routine that was… okay. Fast‑forward to today and I’m officially a jobless loser (yeah, I said it). The internet’s notification‑free utopia I’ve been chasing feels like a distant memory, and my digital‑addiction demons are still kicking.
Admitting you fucked up takes guts. Admitting you got what you deserved takes even more. But there’s a strange freedom in owning the mess. It’s the first step toward pulling yourself out of the hole instead of staying comfortably numb.
Over the last six months I’ve been quietly studying and learning: poking around with HTML/CSS, experimenting with a free video‑editing tool, and trying to write and read more. Those tiny steps are the seeds, and they’re helping me practice structuring ideas, even if they’re far from finished articles.
Honesty is brutal but it’s also freeing.
"Just make it exist"
The phrase that became a rallying cry.
The “Just Make It Exist” Glitch
Since the layoff, I’ve been binge‑watching the same stale content: “How to hustle,” “10 habits of successful people,” “Why you’re lazy.” Every single video ended with the same tired mantra:
Is it a cosmic whisper? A marketing slogan? I don’t know. What I do know is that the phrase stopped feeling like background noise and started sounding like a call to arms, or at least a call to stop scrolling.
Pivot point! No more waiting!
I’m done waiting for the next “perfect opportunity” to slide into my inbox. I’m done letting the inner critic “I’m not good enough, What will people think?” run the show.
Enter the Inner Critic, voiced by a cartoon‑robot with a squeaky megaphone:
“Whoa, hold up! You can’t possibly post that half‑baked article. Nobody will read it. If you mess up, the whole internet will implode and you’ll be forever known as the guy who tried and failed.”
When you pause and actually listen, the robot’s arguments crumble: it has no data, no audience, and certainly no power over your keyboard. Its “facts” are just recycled anxieties, and the louder it shouts, the more obvious its emptiness becomes. By naming the voice, you expose its absurdity and strip it of credibility.
From now on I’ll create terrible‑first drafts, fail publicly, and learn on the fly. If a conventional job never shows up, I’ll turn my own output into something.
- Phone locked away. No pings, no push‑notifications, no dopamine traps.
- Desk cleared. Only a notebook, a pen, and a half‑full coffee mug remain.
- Weekly production schedule:
- One article
- One YouTube video
- One mini‑TTRPG zine