#meaning

How much of what we call "ours" truly belongs to us?

I was scrolling through my photo library yesterday—thousands of images, most of them forgotten the moment after they were taken. We accumulate these digital artifacts as if possession itself creates meaning. But does owning more actually give us more?

This question extends far beyond photographs. We collect books we'll never read, clothes we'll never wear, connections on social media with people we'll never speak to again. The accumulation feels purposeful in the moment, as if we're building something. Yet the weight of all this

We tell ourselves that time is money, that efficiency is virtue, that every moment should be productive. But what if the spaces between—the pauses, the waiting, the seemingly wasted hours—are where we actually become ourselves?

I notice this when I'm stuck in traffic. My first instinct is frustration:

This is wasted time.