Nobody Talks

What do you do when you've spent so much time praying for something that you start wondering if you should be praying for something else?

In this episode of Nobody Talks, I reflect on love, loneliness, faith, and the fear of waiting for something that may never come. I'm still hoping to find somebody to share my life with, but I'm also asking God to show me what I'm meant to do with the life I've already been given.

This isn't about giving up on love. It's about finding purpose in the waiting, holding on to faith through uncertainty, and learning to live without putting everything on hold for a future I can't control.

Maybe I don't need to stop hoping for love. Maybe I just need to figure out how to keep living while I wait.

There was a time when seeing people didn’t require planning three weeks ahead. Somebody would say, “Come over,” and you just did. You’d spend the night at your cousin’s house, show up at a friend’s place, go to church, watch a movie, play sports, or sit around doing absolutely nothing together.

Then somewhere along the way, we grew up.

People got jobs, relationships, families, responsibilities, routines. Everyone started building their own lives, and somehow, without anybody deciding to, we started living more and more separately.

I’m turning 28, and lately I’ve been thinking about that. About friendship, loneliness, growing apart, nostalgia, vulnerability, and how strange it is to look around and realize that everyone seems to have their own world already.

Maybe we didn’t stop caring about each other.

Maybe we just got too busy living.

And maybe there’s still a way to show up again.

What if starting over doesn’t mean starting from nothing?

In Call of Duty, Prestige means reaching the top, giving it all up, and becoming level one again — except you keep the experience. This episode is about what happens when life does the same thing to us: starting over, losing what we built, questioning who we are, and realizing that level one doesn’t mean we’re the same person we were the first time.

Maybe you don’t lose the progress. Maybe you just lose the level.

Why is it so much easier to know what someone else should do with their life than to know what to do with our own?

Sometimes a song can put someone else’s heartbreak, regret, loneliness, or confusion into words—and suddenly we understand exactly what they should do. But then the song ends, and somehow we’re still holding onto the same things in our own lives.

This episode is about Solomon’s Paradox, the strange distance we have from our own problems, and the way music can sometimes give us just enough distance to see ourselves a little more clearly.

I came across the word anhedonia recently, and honestly, it kind of put a name to something I’ve been feeling. It’s not really sadness. It’s more like feeling disconnected from things that used to make you happy, excited, or even connected to other people. And the more I thought about it, the more I started wondering how often we mistake being numb for being okay.

So in this episode, I’m talking about that feeling of not really caring, social anhedonia, losing excitement for things you used to look forward to, and what it feels like when you just want to feel something again.

I think about the things I never said more than I think about the things that went wrong. That's stayed with me for a long time — how it's not usually the mistakes that keep me up, it's the moments I stayed quiet when I didn't have to. This episode came out of a conversation with someone close to me who was standing in exactly that spot, scared to say something to someone who still matters to him. Giving him advice made me sit with my own version of it — the people I've let go quiet, the things I meant to say and didn't. This one's me trying to do something about that. For myself, and for anyone else who's been carrying the same thing.

I wasn't going to talk about a superhero movie. But everyone kept talking about this new Spider-Man like it reached into their chest and moved something, and it turned out the thing it moved was the same thing I've been carrying around for a while and not saying. So I said it. This one's about still choosing someone who stopped choosing you. About the grief men learn to bury instead of speak. And about the difference between knowing it's over and actually feeling it. Still choosing her.

A letter addressed to Nobody — which means it was for you the whole time. On breaking points, being scored as lazy while doing everything you can, the armor of perfect, and learning to forgive yourself while the answer is still on its way. You're doing your best. Don't let anyone convince you different.

This one is for the person who gave more than they had and still walked away feeling like the problem.

You extended grace — real grace, the kind that costs something — and somewhere along the way you found out the person on the other end was keeping score the whole time. And somehow, even though you were the one giving, you ended up alone with the question of what was wrong with you.

Nothing was wrong with you.

This episode is about that specific kind of hurt. The quiet betrayal. The grief of losing someone who was never fully there to begin with. And the slow, uncomfortable work of learning to give your grace to people who actually know what to do with it.

This is Nobody Talks. And this letter is for you.

I'm burned out. And I'm not going to pretend otherwise.

In this episode, I'm getting real about burnout — what it actually is, how it creeps up on you in stages, and why so many of us can't stop even when we're running on fumes. I pull from clinical research and the words of philosophers like Marcus Aurelius, Viktor Frankl, and Albert Camus to try to make sense of something that doesn't always make sense.

But more than anything, I just talk about where I am right now. The loop I'm stuck in. The self-blame. The feeling that rest is something you have to earn.

If you're exhausted and still showing up anyway — this one's for you.

Running on Empty.