Jr Weise

Have you ever asked yourself, “what’s the point?” as you drag yourself out of bed to face what is bound to be another day of monotony? You pour your coffee, stare into the void of reality—or your phone—and brace yourself for what’s ahead. If you answered yes, welcome to the club. And yes, we are mostly Gen Z and millennials here.

Okay, that was dramatic—but if you felt the sting of it, you’re probably like me. You’ve looked around and thought, What the actual f*ck is going on? followed closely by What’s my purpose? Do I even like this job? and my personal favorite, Should I say screw it, start an OnlyFans, move to a small country, run an orphanage and moonlight as a wrestler like Jack Black in Nacho Libre?

That last option is unfortunately off the table for me—I’m fairly certain the internet would collapse under the weight of the skinny legend that is my body—but the rest of those questions feel painfully real. I genuinely cannot figure out what my next move is, let alone find the energy to carry it out. Which raises a bigger question: where did all that energy go?

Just a few short years ago, I was social. I had ambition. I felt like I could take on the world. Now, at the beginning of 2026, I feel like I’ve aged into a 67-year-old who needs a caregiver to get through the day. I say “a few years,” but realistically it’s been five years, five months, and some days since we were all locked inside our homes. And if I’m being honest, that was the thing that broke me.

I’ve discovered all the joys of being an antisocial hermit crab in my house. But I’ve also discovered all the ways isolation quietly eats you alive.

At first, it was cozy. No commute. No awkward small talk. No pretending to care about Tony’s weekend. I could wear the same hoodie three days in a row and nobody knew. My couch became my kingdom. My bed, a gravitational field. Time stopped being real. Days blurred. Nights stretched. And somehow that felt… good.

Until it didn’t.

Because humans were not designed to live like houseplants with Wi-Fi.

Something subtle happened while we were all baking banana bread, playing Animal Crossing, and pretending we were okay. The world didn’t just pause—it reshaped us. We trained our brains to survive by shrinking. We learned to conserve energy, avoid risk, and stay still. We stopped dreaming big because big dreams require motion, and motion suddenly felt dangerous. So we curled up and waited for “normal” to come back.

Except it never really did.

Instead, we were pushed back into a world that expected us to perform as if nothing had happened. Go to work. Be ambitious. Network. Hustle. Care. But no one gave us time to grieve the version of ourselves that used to be fearless, curious, and unexhausted. We’re all walking around with emotional whiplash, pretending we didn’t just live through a global trauma that rewired our nervous systems.

So now everything feels harder.

Making plans feels like lifting weights. Answering texts feels like homework. Choosing a career path feels like being asked to pick a door in a burning building. And motivation? Motivation left the chat in 2020 and never logged back in.

That’s why so many of us feel broken—not because we’re lazy, weak, or entitled, but because we’re tired in a way sleep doesn’t fix. We weren’t meant to live through constant crisis, financial anxiety, political chaos, climate doom, and a pandemic, then just bounce back and post LinkedIn updates about being “grateful for the grind.”

So when you ask, “what’s the point?” you’re not being dramatic. You’re being honest.

The point used to be obvious: go to school, get a job, move up, buy a house, retire, die. But that script feels like a scam now. Houses are unaffordable. Jobs are soul-sucking. The planet is on fire. And we’re supposed to be grateful for a 3% raise that doesn’t even cover rent increases.

No wonder we fantasize about running away. No wonder OnlyFans, van life, or moving to some tiny beach town in another country sounds more appealing than climbing a corporate ladder that leads nowhere.

What we’re really craving isn’t escape—it’s meaning.

We don’t want easier lives. We want lives that feel worth the effort.

And here’s the part no one tells you: it’s okay that you don’t know what the next move is. You don’t need a five-year plan when the last five years felt like a fever dream. The old version of “success” died somewhere between lockdowns and layoffs, and we’re all trying to invent something new from the wreckage.

So if you feel stuck, drained, unmotivated, or like you’ve aged fifty years overnight, you’re not broken. You’re processing.

Maybe the real work right now isn’t grinding harder, but learning how to feel alive again—small things, real things, connection, curiosity, doing something just because it makes you feel human instead of productive.

The energy didn’t disappear.

It went into survival.

And survival takes more out of you than anyone ever admits.

Xoxo

Bossip Birl