The Shell That Carries the Spark

Locked, Loaded, Engaged!

It’s morning again, and there you are—same chair, same steam spiralling from your cup like a soul ascending. Your partner or just you, across from you, sunlight warming the floor, the two of you cracking wise about memory, clarity, and those whiplash moments when the face in the mirror refuses to match the riot of sharp thoughts and wayward dreams darting through your mind. “What the fuck happened?”—not as lament, but as marvel. Because if we’re being honest, we’re still the same daydreamers, bouncers, fire starters we were at fifteen—just with more data, more music, and a touch more mileage in the bones.

I marvel, too, at Bernie Sanders, at McCartney, at Ringo. Not for their fame, but for their stamina. The precision of thought. The consistency of the message. The way their inner compass refuses to drift, even as the outer shell weathers the long march. They’re not anomalies; they’re road maps. And they remind me daily that the brain, when nurtured and respected, doesn’t so much age as evolve.

We’ve all seen those Prevagen ads—smiling folks tossing frisbees like they just discovered youth again. It’s comedic, yes, but beneath the farce lies a yearning we all share: to stay sharp, to stay connected, to never misplace the fire that’s been burning since our first question, our first riff, our first rebellion.

So, we supplement, naturally. Not to cheat age, but to dance with it. Omega-3s to oil the gears. L-Theanine with our caffeine to smooth the ride. Bacopa to stretch memory's legs. These aren’t miracles—they’re gestures of respect toward the instrument we play daily: the mind. And sure, Ginkgo, Rhodiola, and Creatine may not turn you into Einstein, but they might keep the lights on through the next symphony of thought.

And it’s not just what we take. It’s what we do. We read. We write. We rage. We remember Watergate, Kissinger’s trail of bodies, the punk pulse of protest. We’ve been here before—on the front lines of truth and tremor. And it is we, the seasoned and sharpened, who shout the loudest on platforms once meant for gossip but now humming with resistance.

Because here’s the truth: the brain is not a relic. It is a live wire. And when matched with a soul unwilling to retire from purpose, from humour, from righteous noise, it becomes a force.

So, take your supplements. Do your yoga. Ignore the snake oil and nourish the good science. But more than anything, wake up like the day is yours. Not to solve the riddle of Trump—that’s child’s play—but to elevate, to engage, to create.

Because the outer shell may bend, but the mind? The mind remains the one you started with. It’s just louder, wiser, and far less tolerant of bullshit.

And that's a beautiful thing.