Article voiceover
There’s a drive. I can feel the neurons like racing stripes peripheral to each hemisphere of my mind, pulsing, circuit electrons firing down from back to front lining like drag racers down the insides of my morning skull, pulling me, pulling me forward, onward, towards my next so desirous move. I can feel the motor of my mind running on the ignition of dopamine, rewarding me for my positive action to keep this, this, this thing moving, moving along. It’s not compulsive. Braking, breaking all of yesterday. It’s not harmful, revving, not revving — idle, idling that low background hum to say, “Ready. When you are.” But it’s ready. It’s engines on, it’s stuck in gear, it’s clutch engaged it’s eager fear that when you ease on off to re-engage the immediacy of more inches made towards the doubt I have, but the joy so felt to drive on toward what life has dealt.
There's a drive to keep going because there's reward when you do, but you wonder when you stop what is actually compelling you.