The world no longer feels solid underfoot.

Certainty—once a currency—

now trades like a fleeting trend.

Governments, careers, even love—

all balanced on shifting sands.

 

People don’t believe in permanence anymore.

They wear faith lightly as if it might slip off unnoticed.

 

Trust?

It evaporates faster than news cycles can spin.

 

And maybe that’s the undercurrent pulling in our Zeitgeist

—

The slow realization that nothing stays.

 

Not institutions.

Not friendships left to survive on memory alone.

Not identities patched together from borrowed ideals.

 

Even the self feels transient—

rewritten by algorithms,

molded to fit whatever mask the moment demands.

 

This is the fracture no one names.

 

It’s not the collapse of economies or technologies.

It’s the erosion of the one thing humanity needs to stand tall— A sense that something, somewhere, is unshakable. This erosion is not just a loss of certainty, but a fundamental shift in our collective psyche, a tearing down of the pillars of stability that have long supported us.

 

A sense that something, somewhere, is unshakable.

 

But now, we live in houses of mirrors,

reflecting every version of truth except the one we long for—

the kind that can’t be undone by opinion.

 

What does this leave us with?

 

A restless population, craving anchors.

Not heroes.

Not leaders.

But something quiet and unmovable.

 

A whisper that says, “I won’t leave you.”

A hand that stays—

even when the storms take the rest.

 

Because beneath the screens, beneath the curated lives,

people are tired of rebuilding their sense of self

from the rubble of every failed system.

 

They want roots, not scaffolding.

 

And the world, as it spins faster,

offers neither.

 

So we drift, pretending motion is the same as direction.

But deep down, the heart knows—

it’s not where we’re going that matters.

It’s what stays when everything else dissolves.