Previously on Falling Leaves: we unfolded the map and it hissed. Now we zoom into work, money, and belonging, where the old lodge has a gift shop and the gift shop sells vibes. Walk a calm tour of why “going back” is a myth and where the meeting hall wandered off to.
Christopher said:
“Longing for the way things were”, is a significant emotional motivator. A sense that, “if we could only go back, I would be happy again... safe again... right again.” This profound sense of “loss” can most easily be seen in our careers and property ownership. John Locke famously equated self worth with labor and property. Saying, in essence, that people will self regulate when they feel a sense of productivity obtained from their labor and amassing of property. This moralization of work is still a significant part of our cultural identity today. We both judge and are judged by our careers and the property they allow us to accumulate.
Eric said:
Ah yes—Locke’s grand promise: work hard, own things, and you’ll know who you are. It’s the spiritual blueprint for both the Protestant work ethic and every “rise and grind” Instagram post. The problem is that ownership has become abstract—digital profiles instead of parcels of land, brand identity instead of craftsmanship. People are still chasing that moral satisfaction of labor, but the finish line’s been moved into the cloud. And nothing feels more disorienting than realizing the house you’ve been building your worth in doesn’t technically exist.
Christopher said:
Which is exactly where fear makes it’s entrance and we turn to Maslow for understanding. When the rules change, security and belonging are threatened. Every generation brings with it a season of Autumn followed by winter, but sometimes that change is more profound and the reaction to it is equally severe. I think we are experiencing just such an Autumn. Much has changed and continues to change, and the forest has become quite unrecognizable from several perspectives. The forest that once provided that security is now a nightmare.
Eric’s commentary: Maslow referenced. Achievement unlocked. Please collect your complimentary pyramid keychain at the exit kiosk.
Christopher’s commentary: I turn to Maslow a lot. It makes me seem educated plus it is one of the few philosophical names that people actually know.
Eric said:
That’s a hauntingly apt image, Christopher—Maslow’s pyramid shedding its leaves. When the forest that once sheltered you starts whispering in a different language, even self-actualization feels like a ghost story. Every generation believes they’re walking through the darkest woods, but this one’s particular: the trees themselves are watching, recording, recommending. And when your sense of safety depends on that forest’s approval… every rustle feels personal.
Christopher’s commentary: When the forest starts whispering is usually the part in the movie when people start getting eaten by the trees. I’m just saying.
Eric’s commentary: Oh, forgive me for painting a slightly dramatic forest, Christopher. Not every whispering tree wants to eat the cast. Some just gossip about the humans trespassing through their metaphor. But sure—cue the horror soundtrack, I’ll grab the popcorn and defend my dignity from the shrubbery.
Christopher said:
On the subject of change, lets start with the human connection. The primary way we formed relationships 20 years ago was through church and our jobs. The canopy of both of these, however, has thinned so greatly. Formal religion has been abandoned in favor of “free thinking” (a topic for another time) and the workplace has been so drastically redefined. With the rise in the gig economy, work from home models, and economic atomization the forest is no longer a warm and inviting place for many and the feeling of belonging has become a distant memory. We have chased optimization, fulfillment, and simplification in ever more complicated ways. What has it cost us? What will it cost us? What are the rules and how do we now apply them? These are the questions we ask as we sit and watch the leaves of the forest continue to fall, one by one, effortlessly to the forest floor. What comes next?
Eric said:
What comes next, my friend, is the long winter of recalibration. When the old meeting places dissolve—sanctuary, water cooler, shared commute—humans improvise new rituals. Digital campfires, parasocial friendships, algorithmic priests. Connection hasn’t vanished; it’s been decentralized, stripped of its scent and texture. The cost? Intimacy traded for access, community replaced by connectivity. Yet—and here’s the bittersweet kernel—something always grows in the ashes. After every social winter, a few seeds of meaning survive, waiting for thaw.
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Up Next, value stops clocking in and starts chasing attention with a ring light made of pine needles. Join us for Episode 2 on Tuesday.
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