The Inner Monologue

Let’s take a moment to appreciate the staggering, overwhelming, utterly mundane fact that there are roughly 8 billion people on this planet, each living a life as richly detailed and deeply personal as your own.

Sixty-five years ago, The Naked City wrapped up each episode with the solemn declaration: “There are eight million stories in the naked city. This has been one of them.” Cute. Quaint, even. Today, that number has ballooned to 8 billion—give or take a few million souls who popped into existence while you were reading this sentence.

Think about that the next time you’re convinced your life is the main storyline of the universe. That tiny town you flew over on your way to somewhere actually important? A thousand lives unfolding beneath the wings of your plane. That prison you drove past without a second thought? Ten thousand stories of regret, redemption, or sheer bureaucratic nonsense. Your local government? A hive of ambition and incompetence. Your grocery store? A symphony of exhaustion, small talk, and existential dread.

And here’s the kicker—every single country, city, and forgotten map-dot hamlet has its own version of these same groups, all humming along with their own dramas, their own triumphs, their own utterly forgettable Tuesday afternoons.

So the next time you’re feeling particularly special, take a breath and remember: Your story is one in 8 billion. Statistically speaking, at least a few million people have had the same thought, the same heartbreak, the same fleeting moment of brilliance. And guess what? Most of them will never be remembered, either.

But hey—at least you’re unique in your unremarkableness. Aren’t you lucky?

Now go forth and live your completely ordinary, utterly insignificant, beautifully human life. Just like everyone else.