I saw a 13-second clip today.

A boy sitting peacefully, eating his pohe. Nothing dramatic. No background music. No life lesson being preached. Just a child enjoying his food with complete sincerity.

The caption read, “Peace of not knowing everything.”

What stayed with me was not the food. It was the expression on his face. Pure contentment. No hurry. No calculation. No silent mental noise.

Scrolling through the comments felt strangely personal. People kept saying they did not know when they lost that peace. And that hit hard, because most of us truly do not remember the moment it disappeared. It was not taken from us overnight. It slowly slipped away while we were growing up.

As children, hunger meant hunger. You ate when you were hungry. You slept when you were sleepy. Life did not come with options, comparisons, or self doubt.

Now even eating requires a committee meeting. Is this healthy. Is this allowed. Is this too much. Is this too late. Should I compensate tomorrow. The pohe is still the same, but the mind eating it is exhausted.

The boy in the video did not know about deadlines, disappointments, red flags, emotional intelligence, financial planning or healing journeys. He also did not know how things end before they even begin.

And yet, there he was. Completely present.

Somewhere along the way, we started knowing too much. We learned to anticipate pain. To analyse happiness. To measure moments instead of living them. We did not lose peace because life became difficult. We lost it because our minds never learned to rest.

I do not want to go back to childhood. But I do miss that version of living where a simple moment did not need justification.

Maybe peace is not about having everything sorted.

Maybe peace is just eating your pohe without wondering what it means.

Later.