A butterfly effect of evolution.

As I come to a red light at a busy intersection, surrounded by bleak concrete, I can't help but wonder—why did we create this world we're living in today? We, as a species, had endless options. Infinite branches of possibility. Choices made, chances taken, a butterfly effect of evolution unraveling over centuries—and somehow, we ended up here. In a world of fentanyl billboards and telephone poles. Corroded tar-covered roads. Rust-stained chain-link fences and factories that never sleep. Warehouses bursting with boxes of things we don’t need. Artificial intelligence doing our thinking, while dirty money fuels our decisions. Gas guzzlers barreling into fast-food drive-thru lanes under the watch of dented guardrails lining five-lane highways. Eighteen-wheelers carrying processed food through rust belt towns built on forgotten promises.

​How can we not be depressed?

Loneliness tempered by Prozac. Movement monetized by the wellness industry. Exercise sold back to us in designer leggings and boutique fitness studios. Everything, even our healing, has a price tag. Did our higher power intend for this? For us to lace her beautiful creations with smog and steel? Did Mother Earth ever imagine carrying the burden of our weight, our waste, our want?

I feel disconnected from this world. This rust belt country fueled by sin, greed, and endless consumption. My soul longs for something simpler, quieter, real. A place where I can breathe. Where I can look up and see only sky—no tangled power lines, no glowing neon signs selling salvation. Just stars, space, stillness.

A place where the air is clean and the food is fresh, grown from soil that remembers love over profit. Is there a way back from this? Or have we passed the point of no return? Environmental conservation can only go so far if the fabric of our being is still woven by corporations. We preserve wild spaces, carve out national parks like sanctuaries—but are they enough? Are we only putting nature behind glass, keeping it safe from us? 
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I want to believe we can change. That it’s not too late. But some days—like today—I feel the weight of it all. And it saddens me deeply, quietly, relentlessly.