(and a possible straight line, if we learn to look while we turn)

We don't advance like lines; we turn. Each turn is a persistence, an attempt to solve the same thing under the illusion that this time we're succeeding, when perhaps we're just getting a little more tangled up.

Between one and the other, sometimes a straight line appears: a moment of clarity, a decision, a path that leads us forward, at least for a short or long stretch. Life isn't a path; it's a spiral that repeats itself until we understand the lesson. And when we understand it... another appears.

1. The return of idealized love

Adolescence is often the first clue on the merry-go-round. We mistake love for the promise that something or someone will rescue us. We fall in love with a reflection, an edited version of the other who completes what we think is missing, and we begin to revolve around an illusion.

The heart becomes a broken compass; it always points north to the impossible. When the mirage dissolves, we swear we've learned, but we only change the face of the ideal. Thus begins the cycle, chasing what eludes us.

2. The return of approval

When we're not seen, we learn to expose ourselves. We look for mirrors everywhere: family, work, social media, the gaze of others. Every gesture carries a silent question. is that okay? And while we wait for the answer, our voice fades away.

Approval becomes emotional currency; we give away who we are in exchange for fleeting validation. The irony is that the more we seek it, the less we feel it. Because those who need approval have already silently decided that it's not enough.

3. The return of wear and tear silent

Fatigue doesn't always come from excess; sometimes it comes from habit. We settle into what we know—a routine, a job, an identity—and mistake it for stability. But stability can be a quiet form of surrender.

We say we've gotten used to it, that it's not so bad, that it's better not to move at all. And so, without drama, our vital spark fades. The fear of jumping ties us to the merry-go-round seat, until the spin stops on its own and the silence of the absent movement frightens us more than the change we're avoiding.

4. The almost syndrome

There's no need for a calendar; it always starts "tomorrow." It's the return of vital trials, where life is postponed until further notice. We replace the verb "live" with the verb "prepare."

Between lists, schedules, and resolutions, our lives are spent in an eternal warm-up. It's not that we don't want to change, it's that we're in love with the idea of being on the verge of it. The "almost" syndrome is just that: living in draft form. Believing that the final version is yet to come and that, in the meantime, it doesn't matter repeating the same mistakes with an air of imminence.

5. The parade of the self

You have to give the ego a style; it disguises itself as coherence, firmness, and conviction. But deep down, it only fears disappearing. Defending an idea becomes more important than seeking the truth; being right becomes more urgent than finding peace.

Thus is born the perfect argument, that piece of verbal craftsmanship that makes us feel invincible... and alone. In this round, we revolve not around the other, but around ourselves, with our heads held high and our souls on strike. Until one day we discover that winning an argument doesn't compensate for losing our composure, and that perhaps reason wasn't a trophy, but a wall.

6. Loyalty out of nostalgia

Some friendships are like old houses we keep going back to out of habit. The tablecloth is the same, the anecdotes too, but we no longer live there. We hold on because the past gives us a sense of belonging, even if the present doesn't need us.

That person reminds us of who we were, and sometimes that's more comforting than who we are now. But there comes a time when the conversation turns to archaeology; we talk about shared ruins. And we understand that continuing to revolve together is no longer friendship, but the fear of closing the door. Letting go isn't betraying; it's allowing time to take its course.

7. Nostalgia with Photoshop

Sometimes we don't go back out of love, but out of curiosity, to see if it will hurt differently this time. We return to our ex, to our neighborhood, to our job, to the previous version of ourselves. And the past, always so kind, welcomes us back just as before, with the same decorations, the same traps, and the same background music.

We convince ourselves that this time it'll work, but the story already knows its ending. Nostalgia works its magic and retouches memories; it polishes what hurt, illuminates what was dark. That retouched nostalgia exists only in the mind of those who want to return there, where nothing is the same. And when we realize this, the enchantment dissolves. It wasn't love, it was an edit.

8. Dopamine at home

When we don't know what we're missing, we start filling in the gaps with everything that shines. We shop, eat, travel, post, smoke, work nonstop. We think we're alive, but we're just busy.

Instant pleasure is this century's most elegant anesthetic. It comes with a digital invoice and the promise of instant happiness. Until one day, amidst packages, likes, and empty glasses, we notice the weight of silence. We understand that emptiness isn't the enemy, it's the symptom. The dopamine disappears, and what remains is what we've been avoiding: ourselves.

9. Everything under control, except me

The fear of making mistakes masquerades as efficiency. We call "order" what is actually a fear of chaos. We plan, review, confirm, and the more we control, the more we feel like everything is slipping away from us.

Anxiety is a GPS with an authoritarian voice that repeats "recalculating" even if we haven't changed our route. Control gives a wonderful illusion: that we can avoid pain. But while we try, life passes us by, unpunctual and happy. Sometimes the only way to breathe again is to let go of the wheel.

10. When the noise goes away

There comes a point where everything spins so fast that movement is no longer distinguishable. The body takes note: fatigue, insomnia, unexplained sadness. We've collected experiences, connections, achievements, and contradictions, but something remains empty.

It's not a lack of meaning, it's an excess of stimulation. The soul doesn't want answers, only silence. And then, without warning, stillness arrives: the true straight path. There we understand that it wasn't about moving forward, but about consciously stopping. Because life, after so many twists and turns, also knows how to stay still.