The spinning beach ball in front of us all.

We’re all watching the wheel spin, hoping it doesn’t crash, but we're way past that point.

Everyone I know, talk to, or come across is in purgatory. The people who have lost their job, as well as the people suffering through one. No one can seem to find a way in or out of it. The grind—it does not stop. Nothing is normal. Whatever it was, it no longer is.

For a long while, I was in a position to help people move on—and I have, for many. But those channels and avenues are gone. I suspect that’s the case for a lot of folks right now.

The maze of life has turned into a giant wall. “The system we built to help people grow and succeed has been turned against us.” We played by the rules. We worked hard. We helped others. And now? We’re the ones left outside the gates looking in—or trapped inside, afraid to go out. That’s not just disorienting. It’s devastating.

For many, hope is all we’ve got left. And I don’t mean the glossy, motivational kind—I mean the gritty, stubborn kind that stays lit when everything else has gone out. We treat it like a last resort. But it’s not. It’s what’s left when you’re done pretending. It’s not a fight. It’s a refusal to fold.

We can’t face what’s next if our head and heart aren’t in the right place. And we can’t meet the world for what it is if we’re frayed at the edges, hollowed out, or barely holding ourselves together. It’s impossible to imagine the future if we’re stuck reeling from the past.

I can’t do what I used to—helping people move on, but I can do this—try to light the fire we all need right now. The kind that doesn’t burn us out—The kind that brings us back to life.

Feel the fire and read Eject disk: A manifesto for everyone stuck in the system that keeps crashing you.