The Buffet of Intent

I’m as susceptible to brain rot as the next person—doomscrolling dances I’ll never do and foods I’ll never eat. There’s a comfort in not caring. But during a recent tour of pointless video carouseling, I hit an inspirational quote that actually stuck: “The birth of the Reader must be at the cost of the Author.”

At first, it meant nothing. But as I pondered the words, the reality became obvious: you can set the structure and deliver with intent, but you don't own the work once it’s out there. It’s family-style dining. You’re the only one who knows what was meant to be eaten, but you can’t stop that flurry of hands from attacking the buffet.

In the modern world, we try to fight this. We clip, edit, and frame ourselves until we manifest a curated reality. We’ve become individual brands in a state of constant PR crisis, juggling forty-seven platforms just to scream, “Please, don't take me out of context.”

But true control isn’t about radiating authority; it’s about a simple disclaimer: This is what I think right now. It’s the realization that time continues after I’m gone, and the things I say today aren't meant to be monuments. By trading rigidity for the ability to flex with my environment, I’m not being inauthentic—I’m being honest.

Besides, I don’t have the energy to maintain that many billboards without accidentally posting something cringey.

Word Count: ~245 words

Approximate Read Time: 60 seconds