The Bloat, the Noise, and the Narcissist: Why We Don’t Need Half the Shit We Think We Do

The world around you is a circus designed to keep you juggling cheeseburgers, TikToks, and desperate thirst traps until you collapse.

Most of us could survive just fine eating half of what we cram into our mouths. Probably better. Humans, as a rule, are biologically built for scarcity and we behave like we’re starring in Supermarket Sweep every time we walk past a gas station.

When did “I’m a little hungry” turn into “I’m basically dying” in our heads?

Was it when the Cheesecake Factory decided every portion should be enough to euthanize a full-grown horse? Was it when DoorDash made it possible to summon a hot bag of jalapeño poppers with the same urgency as calling in an airstrike? Was it when we collectively decided that “treating yourself” was a lifestyle instead of a once-a-month phenomenon?

Food is fuel. It’s not therapy. It’s not your fucking identity.

But somewhere along the way, we replaced any notion of moderation with this sloshing orgy of consumption. Meals aren’t meals anymore—they’re events. Every lunch needs a narrative arc. Every snack break needs the emotional catharsis of a Pixar movie. And if you don’t Instagram your bagel, did you even really eat it?

Meanwhile, your body is quietly wondering if you’re in the middle of a famine. Your pancreas is side-eyeing you like, Really, dude? A frappuccino with six syrups at 4pm? You want to go another round?

We don’t need as much food as we think we do.

Not because food is evil. Not because pleasure is sin.

But because at some point, we forgot that feeling hungry for a while is normal. That desire, restraint, waiting—all these things used to be part of the human experience, not signs of societal failure.

Every moment doesn’t have to be an all-you-can-eat emotional buffet.

Sometimes you sit with hunger. Sometimes you sit with yearning.

And sometimes you sit with your own goddamn hands in your lap without stuffing a waffle into your face to fill the void.

Now let’s talk about the second bloat—the distraction industrial complex.

We have built a culture where boredom is treated like a diagnosis. You can practically hear the pharmaceutical commercials: “Ask your doctor about NoMoBore™ if you experience periods of stillness, reflection, or looking out the window like an asshole.”

We used to have natural pauses in life. Waiting at a bus stop. Standing in line at a grocery store. Taking a dump. These were once spaces where the mind drifted—maybe even thought about things bigger than what episode of Love Is Blind you’re on.

Not anymore.

Now? Now the smartphone is the universal pacifier for every adult baby who can’t tolerate four seconds without stimulation.

• Look at your phone while brushing your teeth.

• Scroll while walking your dog.

• Check TikTok while pretending to listen to your partner tell a story.

We are a nation of perpetual thumb-jockeys, training ourselves to need a dopamine hit every fourteen seconds like a rat in a Skinner box.

You do not need that much stimulation.

You are not an endangered species of hummingbird that needs constant motion to stay alive.

The truth is: the white space in life is where your mind settles, stirs, maybe even wakes the hell up.

Every time you run from boredom, you’re running from your own brain.

Every time you swipe right on another pointless story about nothing, you’re telling your own consciousness, “Shhh, no one wants to hear from you.”

You are not supposed to be entertained at all times.

Sometimes you’re supposed to be bored enough to think.

And sometimes thinking is uncomfortable.

Good. That’s where the real stuff happens.

Third bloat: attention.

Oh, sweet suffering Christ, do we crave it.

Once upon a time, if you wanted attention, you actually had to do something. Invent a steam engine. Paint a cathedral ceiling. Hit a walk-off home run in the bottom of the ninth.

Now?

Just upload a video of you crying in your car about how hard it is to be brave enough to order coffee at Starbucks. Congrats. You’re an inspiration.

We have diluted the concept of significance until it’s homeopathic.

Every click, every like, every fleeting heart emoji reaction is a micro-hit of validation, and it’s never, ever enough.

You don’t need that much attention. You were not designed to be observed by thousands of strangers and rated like a side of coleslaw at a Waffle House.

Attention is supposed to be a byproduct of meaning.

Not the goal.

Not the drug.

Not the measure of your worth.

Here’s the truth that nobody with a ring light and an Amazon Storefront wants to tell you:

You’re supposed to be invisible most of the time.

Not because you’re worthless.

But because most things of value—integrity, perseverance, love, compassion—happen when nobody’s watching.

You want a full life? A life that doesn’t feel hollow and frantic?

Get comfortable doing important things in obscurity.

Get comfortable building a life that’s seen by the handful of people who actually know your middle name.

Get comfortable disappearing into the work of living.

That’s not failure.

That’s being human.

The problem isn’t that we’re weak.

It’s that the whole goddamn system is built to make us weak.

• Overeating? That’s profitable. Big portions mean big profits.

• Overstimulating? That’s profitable. More engagement = more ad revenue.

• Overexposing ourselves for clout? That’s profitable. Influencers are just self-managed marketing departments.

The culture we swim in wants us bloated, distracted, and desperate for attention because bloated, distracted, desperate people are easy to control.

You can’t storm the Bastille when you’re gassy and scrolling Instagram.

Every time you put your phone down, skip the extra side of fries, or have a meaningful conversation with zero intention of posting about it later, you are committing an act of rebellion.

You are saying,

“I see the machine. And I opt out.”

You don’t need as much food, as much noise, or as much applause as they want you to think you do.

You just need to remember who benefits from you forgetting that.

What happens if you accept the premise?

What happens if you eat when you’re hungry and stop when you’re full, like a goddamn adult?

What happens if you let your brain wander into uncomfortable places without a podcast blaring in your ears?

What happens if you live a life that matters to the people in your kitchen, not the strangers on your For You Page?

I’ll tell you.

You will probably feel uncomfortable at first. You will twitch like a junkie. You will reach for your phone like a parched man reaching for an empty glass.

But then?

Then you get a little more yourself back.

You get a little more space between the bullshit and the bones of your life.

You remember that hunger isn’t a death sentence, it’s a reminder you’re alive.

You realize that silence isn’t a punishment, it’s a permission slip.

You discover that meaning isn’t manufactured by applause. It’s baked quietly into the everyday moments when you’re not posing for an audience.

You become dangerous again.

Not to other people.

To the systems that profit from your endless hunger.

Look: you are not a broken machine.

You are a functioning animal with instincts corrupted by bad incentives and worse habits.

The world around you is a circus designed to keep you juggling cheeseburgers, TikToks, and desperate thirst traps until you collapse.

You can step out of it.

Not entirely—no one gets out clean—but enough.

You can eat less.

You can listen more.

You can matter to fewer people but matter more deeply.

You don’t need another thousand calories, another thousand reels, another thousand followers.

You need hunger.

You need boredom.

You need a life witnessed by a few good souls, not an endless swarm of strangers.

It’s harder.

But it’s lighter.

And it’s real.

And if that isn’t enough for you,

then maybe—just maybe—

you haven’t been hungry enough yet.

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[Fade to black. Cue the credits.]

Director: No One

Writer: Everyone You Ignore in Line at the Coffee Shop

Starring: You, finally remembering what it feels like to live instead of perform.