My Latest Mutation
I woke up this morning and thought, what has changed in me overnight? Not the kind of change you measure with a mirror or a scale, but something deeper, quieter. Maybe my latest mutation isn’t physical at all, maybe it’s in the way I carry the weight of yesterday.
I used to think of mutation as something strange, dangerous, or comic-book worthy, an accident in a laboratory, a radioactive spider, a cosmic burst that rearranges DNA. But lately, I see it as the way we bend, adapt, and stretch ourselves in response to life. Mutation is waking up after grief and finding laughter again. Mutation is learning patience after years of rushing. Mutation is becoming softer where once you were sharp.
If I had to name my latest mutation, I’d call it stillness. I am less eager to fight every battle, less hurried to chase every prize. Somewhere along the way, I mutated into someone who pauses, breathes, and simply notices. Maybe tomorrow another mutation will arrive, maybe fierceness again, or curiosity, or hope.
But for now, today’s mutation is this: the ability to sit with myself and feel whole, even in silence.