Reader,

It starts the second your eyes open.

Your eyelids lift just enough to let in a sliver of morning light. Your head is still half-pressed into the pillow, and the sheets are tangled around one leg like a loose cocoon. The world hasn’t fully come into focus yet. But inside? Inside, it’s already happening.

The buzz.

Not the good kind. Not the “I’m alive and ready to conquer the world!” buzz. No, this is different. Subtle, but sharp. Like static crawling under your skin. Like the dull hum of fluorescent lights in an empty office, faint but unrelenting.

Your brain kicks in before you’ve even realized it’s awake.

What’s on the calendar?

Did you send that email?

What’s for lunch?

What did you say to her yesterday? Was it dumb? Too harsh? Too soft?

And don’t forget about the gym.

You shift under the covers. The cool side of the pillow feels good for a second. But the buzz doesn’t care. It’s there, under everything, making your chest feel tight, your jaw just a little too clenched.

It’s like someone flipped a switch, and suddenly, you’re running.

No warm-up. No countdown. No finish line. Just go.

Maybe you don’t call it anxiety.

Maybe you call it being productive. Or being a go-getter. Or just “how I’ve always been.”

But compare it to that friend of yours. You know the one. The guy who stretches before he even sits up. Who yawns like a lazy cat and shuffles to the kitchen without a thought in his head. The guy who stirs his coffee slowly, leaning on the counter, staring at the window like he’s got all the time in the world.

Him? He’s fine. Calm. Normal.

You? You’re a race car with no brakes.

Here’s the thing:

That buzz? That static? It’s your nervous system talking.

Your body doesn’t feel safe. Not fully. Not deeply. So, the moment you wake up, it’s scanning for danger. Hyper-aware. On edge. Looking for threats where there are none.

It’s like being in a car for hours on a road trip.

At first, you notice the hum of the engine. The way the road vibrations creep up through the seat. It’s annoying for a while. But then… you stop noticing. It fades into the background. Becomes part of the ride.

Until you finally arrive. You turn the engine off.

And then —

Silence.

That’s when it hits you. How much noise you’d been driving with. How much vibration was shaking you the whole time.

The buzz you feel every morning? Same deal.

You’ve been carrying it for so long, it feels normal. Like air. Like water. (Like the fish in that story who asks, “What the hell is water?”)

But here’s the truth:

You don’t have to keep buzzing like that.

Imagine waking up and feeling still. Not vibrating. Not buzzing. Not racing to your next thought before your feet even hit the floor. Imagine turning off the engine.

You can get there.

Not by thinking differently. Not by slapping gratitude or positive affirmations on top of the noise. By healing what’s stuck in your nervous system.

Start with this:

Notice the buzz. Not judging it. Not trying to shove it down. Just noticing. Like, “Oh. There you are again.” That’s step one.

Because once you notice it, you can start to understand it.

And when you understand it? You can start to shift it.

You’re not stuck like this forever. Change is possible. And it starts with something simple:

Paying attention.

Unleash the beast,

John

P.S. You’re not broken. You’re just vibrating.

And when the vibrations stop?

It feels like coming home.