We think movement means progress. Sometimes it just means we’re avoiding the moment.
When we stop proving, what remains is the person who is just there. The “us” without a to-do list. It feels off at first because we’re used to being busy. We think if we’re not doing something, we’re nothing.
But when everything slows down, we realize we don’t disappear just because we’re not being productive. What’s real doesn’t rush. Our gut and our basic needs don’t wait for a schedule.
Rest isn’t empty. It just doesn’t demand anything.
What remains is the foundation. We’ve been busy decorating the house. Then we notice the floor was always there. We’re finally standing on it, breathing in still air.
The album is out on YouTube Music. Thanks for listening.
When we get older, we wonder—and that’s how I found myself researching what andropause is all about.
Last time, I wrote something about World Menopause Day.
This time, I ended up researching its male counterpart—andropause.
When we get older, we become a little paranoid, so maybe that’s why I did the research. Maybe I just wanted to know what really happens—or if “andropause” is even a real word. Turns out, it is.
Andropause is like the male version of menopause, only slower and quieter. Instead of a sudden stop, it’s a slow fade. It happens when testosterone—you know, the hormone that keeps a man’s energy, focus, drive, and even confidence steady—starts to dip. Not crash, just drop a little every year.
At first, you don’t notice. Then, small things start to change:
• You wake up earlier even when you didn’t plan to.
• Coffee hits different—it’s more comfort than kick.
• You notice small aches that used to go away faster.
• Nights get quieter, but thoughts get louder.
• You look at younger people and think, “They’ll learn.”
• You crave peace more than excitement.
It’s not an illness, just a shift.
The body starts changing pace, and the mind learns to keep up.
Maybe slowing down isn’t loss at all—man, maybe it’s life giving us space to notice what really matters.
—
I wrote this back in 1989—when I thought life was already sad, even with little experience. I didn’t know that years later, I’d feel that same sadness again, but differently.
Before, sadness felt like loneliness. Now, it feels like reflection—quiet, calm, and strangely full.
The Ashes ▪︎ Darem Placer
The Ashes (10 January 1989)
The children are playing Happy in what they’re doing No worries on their minds As I look on, I felt the sadness inside
Recalling the years that passed Now seeing so many lost The rain starts to pour But the fire still keeps burning on
What’s left are the ashes In the pouring rain It’s sadness not loneliness What’s left are the ashes
There are more to lose And few to gain So better lay it on the line And helplessly watch the children as they play
Hate. Love. Then Drown.—my only album with vocals and lyrics, now archived. It includes The Ashes.
