The Inner Monologue

Ah, routines. Those cozy little hamster wheels we’ve lovingly built for ourselves, complete with scheduled existential dread and the same three meals on rotation. But what if—and bear with me here—we did something wild? What if, instead of doomscrolling for the 47th time today, we considered the antipode of our existence?

Yes, the antipode. The diametric opposite. The “what in the absolute hell is that?” of human experience.

You, a sensible person who enjoys yoga, oat milk lattes, and carefully curated playlists of “chill vibes,” might discover that your antipode is a man named Clive who wrestles crocodiles in Australia for fun. Or maybe it’s competitive eaters slamming 72 hot dogs in ten minutes while an audience cheers like it’s the goddamn Colosseum.

The point isn’t that you should do these things (unless…?). The point is that they exist, and someone, somewhere, is out there living your antipodal life with zero regrets. While you’re debating whether to try the new quinoa bowl, they are base-jumping off a skyscraper or breeding attack geese in their backyard.

So here’s your challenge: Pick the most mundane, predictable slice of your life and imagine its polar opposite. If you always eat lunch at your desk, picture a person who exclusively dines in treetop restaurants in Bali. If your idea of adventure is trying a new toothpaste flavor, consider that somewhere, a man is strapping himself to a homemade rocket.

You don’t have to do it. Just acknowledge it. Marvel at the absurdity of a world where your personal “normal” is someone else’s “what fresh hell is this?”

And who knows? Maybe one day, you’ll wake up and think, Screw it, I’m joining a Mongolian throat-singing collective.

Or, you know, just go back to your oat milk. Either way, the antipodes will be there, waiting. Laughing. Possibly wrestling a crocodile.