Living Fast, Feeling Deep

There’s this feeling I’ve carried for years, a kind of inner restlessness I’ve never been able to fully switch off. For a long time, I assumed it was just part of who I am. My mind runs fast, always jumping ahead, thinking, imagining, processing a million things per second. Maybe it’s just how I’m wired.

But lately, I’ve started to notice it more clearly. This constant drive to do more. To move quicker. To create before the inspiration fades. To keep up with something I can’t even define. It’s not about pressure from others. This comes from the inside. Like there’s a silent clock ticking somewhere, pushing me forward.

When I’m working on a music mix, I fall into this deep hunt for the perfect track. I’ll listen for hours, sometimes days or weeks, like I’m convinced the one song that will light the whole thing up is still out there. I chase that feeling I had years ago when I first went to parties, when music lifted me completely. I want others to feel that too. But to get there, I feel I need to dig through everything.

The same thing happened when I was training for freediving. I’d push my breath-holds, timing myself, trying to shave seconds off with every session. As if I was always in some kind of hurry, even with my own breath.

Then there’s the camera. I take it everywhere. Not because I always plan to use it, but because I might miss something if I don’t. A look, a light, a moment that won’t repeat. It’s like I’m trying to make sure I catch all the beauty that the world hides in plain sight. And when I’m not outside, I’m searching through endless folders of images. I can scroll for hours, every day. The internet is endless and it makes me feel like I’m always one image away from creating something great.

All of this, often happening at once, becomes a lot. It’s exciting, yes, but also exhausting. And it makes me wonder. What am I actually chasing?

Sometimes, I even catch myself thinking: I don’t have enough time to do everything else, because I’m being creative. There’s this voice in me that says, Just keep creating now while you can. It’ll fade eventually, and then you can catch up on all the other things. Things like marketing, admin, outreach. All the behind-the-scenes work that artists, especially small, independent ones have to do on their own. We wear all the hats. And often, creativity demands the most time and energy.

But there’s something deeper too, something I don’t often talk about.

When I look back on my childhood and teenage years, I realize I barely have any photos of myself. And that really gets to me. I did so many things growing up. I was in the school marching band, I played cymbals, snare drums and even the trumpet. I played basketball for my school and also played tennis at a national level. But it’s like those moments never got documented, and now they only live in my memory.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons I’m always recording now. Why I’m obsessed with capturing things through photos, through mixtapes, through videos, through collages. It’s like I’m trying to make sure I never lose the moments again. That they won’t vanish the way so many already have. I’ve realized this constant urge to create is my way of archiving my existence in real time.

Is it about leaving something behind when I’m gone? Some legacy or proof of my time here? At first that sounds noble. But honestly, I’m not sure. We’ve seen amazing artists, writers, and musicians from the past fade into the background, barely noticed by the world today. So maybe it’s not that.

Maybe it’s about being seen while I’m still here. Feeling recognized? Feeling like the long hours, the passion, the effort amounts to something. That what I do matters. Not necessarily to everyone, but to someone?

Or maybe it’s more personal than that. Maybe it’s just the need to feel like I’m living life fully. That I’m not letting it pass me by.

Because time does move fast. And in a strange way, this race I feel inside might be my way of responding to that, trying to keep up, trying to stay awake to everything, trying not to miss the chance to experience it all.

I don’t think I’m alone in this feeling. I imagine many people, especially creative ones go through something similar. That quiet sense of urgency. That whisper that says, keep going.

And maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe we don’t need to escape the race. Maybe we just need to learn how to run it without burning out. To remember why we started in the first place. To enjoy the parts that feel right, and forgive ourselves when it gets overwhelming.

Because at the end of the day, maybe we’re not running toward some destination. Maybe the act of moving, of creating, remembering, exploring and feeling is enough.