Humans in the 20th century no longer know how to cope if things go even slightly awry or not to their preferences. They panic, get stressed and their brains go into lockdown.

It is also a fact that this is the first generation that wake up and think of other people’s lives before their own. People used to wake up and wonder what they would learn in school, what they would make for dinner ect. Instead our entire lives are based on comparing ourselves to others and making our selves look good. No one is comfortable in being themselves around anyone or alone by themselves. No one looks at them selves in the mirror and doesn’t see something they hate about themselves. Why?

Addiction

People are no longer content with reading a book or watching an old Alfred Hitchcock movie - Ok it don’t have to be a Hitchcock movie, but appreciation for the old masterpieces pls! - because their attention span is so short. Their brains demand to be interested all the time, and they obtain this by scrolling on their phones for hours. And what do they walk away with? No new knowledge or interesting facts. but a fried and overstimulated brain. It is an estimate that in 2026 teen girls spend an average of 42 hours a week on their phones while boys spend 40 hours. And all they see is things they want, there are jealous of or things that make them even more insecure of themselves at the end of it. We don’t deserve that.

Did you know film producers were told that film dialogue has to talk through everything that is happening, to keep the viewer a, not needing to pay attention for every second, and b, because attention spans are so short, scenes need to be kept snappy and always have something new happening. This allows for a pretty crappy movie. But that’s what addicted brains need. Short and snappy.

American Neurologist called Andrew Huberman was being interviewed when he brought up the topic of Dopamine - this is the hormone that makes you happy or feel pleasure. And what his point is was that in the recent years due to social media, the list of things that make us happy gets progressively smaller. this is basically what addiction is. Sitting outside or playing a boardgames no longer makes you content. Reading a book. Instead your brain wants the thing that takes the least amount of hard work to feel pleasure, Eg Doom Scrolling, Messaging, Pornography, etc. this is the poisonous effect phones and social media have on our brains.

Video Games

My best friend lives next to the creator of GTA - Grand Theft Auto, which I think is pretty cool, even though I have never played the game. They are really down to earth and genuinely nice people. But games like GTA and Fortnite designed to be fun and light. used to the point of unhealthy playing time has been proven to have big side effects. Game addicts play 30 - 50 hours weekly some cases even playing for 75 + hours. this is when Aldous Huxley’s book “Brave New World” comes in. A world so used to pleasure whenever they want, then becomes disregulated and panicked whenever things aren’t ( Lenina Crowe Visiting the Reserve.) which then leads to something that gives you Dopamine fast and easily (soma) or video games.

And think about this: you stare at a screen for three days out of seven, in a dark room with little breaks in between them is going to make any person think they are in the game. When they see a car they don’t think of it as anything but a game. steal the car and get away with it. their brains become desensitised to the real world, seeing people dying in games all the time no longer becomes horrific or garish, but fun and no big deal.

It makes me really sad to think that most people in my generation are no longer content with any of the beautiful simple things that life offers. Spring lambs, Snowfall, a beautiful flower. Broaden your views. Look to the little things in life and smile at them, because they are ever changing and new things are already appearing.

the Desire to Not be Creative

Chat gpt, Awesome, right? Well sometimes, when I need the idea of something quickly, why not? But then, I was on my phone all night and didn’t write that piece I was supposed to and it’s due tomorrow. “Chat gpt …” You see where I am going? People, teens mostly no longer have the desire to be creative, now this isn’t so much for you all on Substack, because we all love to write!

But what if instead people needed to write their pieces by hand? I remember my teacher asking us to do that and it was like end of the world! God forbid you want us to write something let alone write it by hand??!!

The desire not to learn. “I hate learning” a common complaint. “It’s stupid.” A common response to everything in 2026. because they don’t like it unless it is a couple inches from their face, with an addictive blue light, ruining their sleep, eyesight, and overall mood.

And yet… Sometimes the beauty of creativity and nature come through, and they have never been happier than holding a lamb, painting a picture or making a movie. Proof of the beauty of nature.

The Danger of Social Media

Did you know that Tim Cook, CEO of Apple has publicly said he doesn’t like his nephew on social media? Because the CEO of Apple knows how damaging Social media is. Phones were made to be addictive, it’s how their brands are multi billion dollar operations.

Social Media has been shown to show higher levels of:

• anxiety

• depression

• loneliness

• low self-esteem

It is also shown that never in all of history has a people been so anxious about what they look like, how they talk - people are no longer comfortable in them selves!

Cyber Bullying

Cyber bullying is a relatively new thing, I mean, Our parents didn’t get harassed and bullied by “Friends” or strangers on phones. Because “Stranger Danger” is less regarded now; if a stranger messages you randomly, people normally think nothing of it. So they text back. and then it becomes this addictive cycle where all they care about is this small person, whom they have never met and they care so much about what that person thinks! It is so dangerous and unimportant to care about what anyone thinks about you. Be comfortable in yourself and strive to be a better person for the only one that matters.

So…

Listen, God loves you, and you are beautiful in his eyes. It doesn’t matter about the gorgeous girl at school who feels a whole level above you - she’s not, or the guy who has it all - he doesn’t. Because it is all on the surface, and who you are and shaping up to be is so much more important than the shallow exterior.

So: Don’t compare yourself to others - Massive reminder for me as well! - You are so beautiful and interesting just the way you are. Don’t feel like you need to feel validated by people you have never met. Or do all the things influencers do just to fit in.

You are Loved.

You are Interesting.

You are enough.

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Have you heard the voices?

That whisper ‘neath the sea?

‘neath the waves that wander, through anemone

Silver grasses, golden sand

Whispering, reaching with curling hands,

There she sits, beauty fair,

Singing her songs, combing her hair,

Inky black, with oyster hue,

Eyes of turquoise, Persian blue,

Can you see her pearly scales?

Shining chainmail guards her tail.

Have you heard the story of love—

A tale the stars stay silent of?

The tale of a maiden of the sea,

And a prince bound to the land’s decree.

Discovered, their love forbidden

Princess taken, so cruelly hidden!

Lonely princess, in her cavern,

Look at the light and its lovely patterns!

Dancing, playing white and blue.

Does she wish she was dancing too?

Artemis comes with her silver bow,

Moonlight kissing the waves below,

It crowns her head in silver grace,

While pain and longing caress her face,

Here she wanders all alone,

Through coral palace cold as Stone.

Dare she wonder, Dare she dream?

To tear the fabric - a forgotten seam,

Dare she look upon his face?

Blessed with all of beauty’s grace.

To look again is to look no more,

But love is pulling and her heart is sore.

Exiled daughter, forbidden to love,

As dawn is reaching, a golden glove

The shore comes quickly to rocky cove

Cruel fates, what is this thread you wove!

Rising silently, to look once more,

To him upon the waiting shore,

To know the world was slipping away,

That she had lived her final day!

And as he looked out to waiting tide,

He saw his once betrothed, his bride,

Singing softly, her eyes so blue

Her song a whisper because she knew.

And when he looked upon the rock,

Where she once brushed her inky locks,

He saw only sea foam of Persian blue

Drowning the rock in inky dew

And Dawn, while combing her golden hair,

Wept at fate’s perfect snare.

The prince he searched for his forbidden bride,

But she was gone now with the tide,

“Goodbye, Farewell,” It seemed to say,

“For I have taken your love away.

“Never again to laugh or to weep

“But simply she wanders with the sea,

For foam has not a mind of her own.

No longer warm but cold as stone.”

And Dawn still combed her golden hair.

Two and a half years ago my parents Relocated us from Sevenoaks in Kent to The Scottish Borders. It has been the most significant move of my life. My mother mostly dreamed of having our own milk cow - for the raw milk 😊, more hens, amongst other things. We moved to an amazing house with twelve acres, not tonnes but enough to satisfy our dreams of a hobby farm. We moved up with three cats and my rabbits and their 12 babies (I could be really correct and say kits but…) 😂 we did not at this point have quite a small holding. The house we moved into seemed to be stuck in the eighties pink wallpaper and green shag carpet overwhelmed us. It was - not quite our style, and so between the house hideously stuck in a time warp and the winter months preventing us from acquiring any of our animals, we took up house painting and bringing it back into its 1850s glamor.

In spring we got 18 chicks who were great fun, Peafowl - Fitzwilliam and Mrs Dashwood - who in no time had hatched three chicks, and then we got two lambs. It had begun. It was definitely a change that a year ago from that time when I was sitting at a desk in state school bored to death I could not imagine that I would be renovating a house and bottle-feeding lambs. Just wait, it gets more Chaotic. My rabbits had fathered hundreds of babies - maybe a bit of an exaggeration🫣so their duty was now complete and their retirement stretched out in front of them.

Over the summer my mother, tired of her lack of raw milk, decided it would be as good a time as any to get a Jersey cow. After some months of looking we found a darling heifer due the next month. as if we didn’t have enough going on, it was now time for the first time cow owners to teach a first time mother cow how to be milked - thank God we got lucky. Sybil was as brilliant as any older cow. She is docile and sweet and loves head scratches. When Ducks and Geese, lambs and some more hens were added at some point throughout the summer I lost count.

Goats, to my dismay, were short-lived, though our perfectly healthy goats seemed to be the dullest goats ever, standing miserably in the field and ignoring the tires and other fun jumps we set out for them. And so lacking a sense of purpose they left the farm. And though I missed the idea of having Goats I didn’t miss ours.🫣

Our neighbour’s dog killed my rabbits that autumn and so heartbroken, my three year adventure with rabbits drew to a close. I did however heal the hole in my heart. With the money their many rabbit children brought me, I bought myself a “Persian” Kitten - notice the quotation marks - for an obscene amount of money from my hard earned wallet. Newsflash: he isn’t a Persian or anything close to. Though Ebenezer is still very loved, Augustus our Maine - coone looks at him with disdain.

above: Ebenezer the Persian

Everything seemed to flourish. Chicks were born, Hilde the calf grew into the perfect prospect of milk cow number two, and other things multiplied in number.

Ponies. The forbidden animal which had been on my sister and my list for YEARS. and so when we finally downsized from our dream clydesdale to miniature shetlands it became a possibility. My poor father. Napoleon and Wilbur our two black colts arrived paid for by My sister and I. they are absolutely beloved - though not quite riding quality. I fear my sister may be on my father about that clydesdale soon.

Dicken and Gimli the short lived Goats.

I am in heaven, between animals and my ever growing shelf of books, I am as content as an animal and literature loving person could be.

I am blessed. Thank you God for giving me this life.❤️

A face to me is just as beautiful and tempting as a new novel by my favourite author - though my favourite authors are long since dead😊. The beauty in their posture, clothing, colouring… The mystery that surrounds a portrait is also what lures me in: Who were they? Even if we know their names, their lives are still somewhat a mystery.

The skill that goes into creating a face, recreating it look like the person that sits in front of them is incredible. to add to the wonder, their paintbrushes were made of horse hair, and their paints ground from stones and charcoal. No Windsor and Newton back then! Some paintings took years, some months or weeks. But one thing that they all have in common is the breathtaking ability to capture a person in such beauty and grace that has been lost to the modern world.

Here are some of my favourite portraits, though I could go on listing them forever, I will try not to.😊

Below: Carmen Ida Aguado, Duchesse de Montmorency: painted by Franz Xaver Winterhalter. This was painted when she was thirteen - personally I find it unfair that someone could be that beautiful at age thirteen☺️. She died of tuberculosis at the age of thirty-three, which adds to her tragic beauty.

Marie Antoinette: one of my favourite historical figures. I am enchanted by her life, though I never could figure out why I love her so much since she did start the French revolution and was not the best ruler France had ever seen. She was nineteen at the time of this painting, done by Jean Baptiste André Gautier Dagoty.

The head of Leda: Leonardo da Vinci. Leda was a mythical figure who supposedly seduced by the greek God Zeus in the shape of a swan. da Vinci drew her hair as a complex system of braids, while still keeping her beautiful face the main focus of the picture.

Empress Eugénie of France: Married to Napoleon the third of France. Here she is pictured with the crown jewels recently stolen in the Louvre Heist. Painted by Franz Xaver Winterhalter.

Empress Elisabeth ‘Sisi’ of Austria: Also by Franz Xaver Winterhalter. who painted the young empress of Austria when she was twenty - eight. She was known to be one of the most beautiful women of her time. The Hungarian cousin of Franz Joseph the Austrian emperor who fell deeply in love with her and later married her when she was just 16. She was assassinated on a visit to Geneva by an Italian Anarchist who stabbed her in the heart. she still remains one of the most famous women of Europe.

These are just a few of my favourite paintings. I would love to hear what your favourite paintings are!

❤️Katharina.

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I feel so blessed to have been brought up in a christian home. The constant love that surrounds me is overwhelming. It is chaotic, but I feel that there is no place I would rather be than right here where I am now. God gives me the biggest questions I have. all of the ones that keep me awake at night are ones that he put in my head.

But he also gives me the biggest answers. Christianity is one of the most controversial subjects ever. it is hard being a teen christian, all the questions I get are uncomfortable to answer, I am scared they will ruin my friendships, they will go away and think, “Gosh she is weird.” But then I realised they are not friends worth having. It’s hard, I am a people pleaser! It is embarrassing to answer questions honestly, and frankly sometimes I chicken out and don’t - I just answer the way they would want me to. They will tell me about a show that is an 18 for sexual content, and it DOES take a lot to tell them I shouldn’t really watch that. But the good ones don’t care.

My best friend who is not a christian asked me about Taylor swift’s new album, I honestly said I was unpleasantly surprised by it - win for the people pleaser!. She told me how cool she thought it was - she is still my friend.😊You can still love someone even if you disagree with them. Obviously one friend worth having. I get asked what proof I have about God. I tell them about the beautiful world and the proof of the bible. “Is there any way there is not a divine creator behind that? ” I asked this girl, “I just don’t think that this world of such intricacy could come about on its own!” - I mean, I am no theologian on Christianity, so I just pray they read into people a bit more experienced than me!! Most times even after all the proof they seem still reluctant to accept that maybe he is out there or start to be interested. I feel happy even when people ask, even if they don’t take it further, because a little seed of curiosity is planted. I just pray it grows further.

Some people think christianity is binding, but I find it is the most freeing thing in the world, knowing that someone loves you, created you and isprotecting you every second of every day. I feel empowered and I try to make sure that every day is special. “Every choice you make leaves a lasting impression on your soul,” is a quote I like to remember: every choice I make, no matter how good or bad is permanent, every thought, action and dream. I feel so grateful to my parents for bringing me up the way they have, it is a privilege. But God I am far from perfect! Each day is a learning opportunity that you have to grab, cherish and remember.

So I ask you, next time you look at a tree, an animal, in their perfection, think of a divine father that loves you with all of his heart, soul and mind. He forgives your every imperfection. and instead all he sees is a perfect child that he created. He thought carefully over each creation, and said “it is good.”

You are good.

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Oh what a menagerie of colours

Bursts forth from your skin,

The mountainous stretches,

Of you and your kin,

The golden of a damsels hair

Hide subtly,

Yet everywhere.

The bonnie braes stretch miles,

Colours of the tanners hide.

The lochs that sit side by side,

Of mist, and kittiwake grey.

The colossus, phenomenon,

Surrounded, bay after bay.

The land that stretched unconquered,

For what promise laid in hills and lochs,

And a stag along the way?

The craggy cliffs and rocks,

That climb into the sky.

Ne’er did I see a land so bright,

Of faerie’s greens and blues,

And the heather that holds,

Such deep, purple hues.

Oh! When was such beauty e’r beheld?

My eyes, I pray, do not deceive,

But how could such be real?

The burn and brook, see how they run,

Silver as the seal,

That sleekly slips through the waters,

Of our wild and tangled sea.

O’ what a hardy land is ours,

This land of gorse and wind.

So inconsolable in its grief,

And doesn’t it last forever,

Will it never cease?

O’ what a perfect land it is,

A land of untouched beauty.

The land of wind,

Of such wondrous colour.

O’ Scotland, bonnie Scotland,

Forever will you stand,

Let the myth and legend surround you,

Of the fair, undaunted land!

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O’er the dale and the burn,

The oak lays still, branches lay in tangle,

The leaves that hide the loathsome mangle,

Lay sleeping ‘neath the bark,

Stay warmed and cosy,

When spring comes, Hark!

Her kin, they lay upon the ground,

For the earth stays firm,

‘O’ mother dear,

It is cold down here,

Envelope us in your warmth,’

‘Nay’ says she,

For so eagerly did you fall,

In hopes to become tall,

For patience was not a virtue,

That you had at all’

‘When the wind blows in the snows,

And sleet as hard as stones,

My cold winter limbs will stand strong,

But my dears you will surely,

Not last long,

For only when you listen to the summer breeze,

And my leaves’ beautiful song,

Will thou be a tree.’

‘The birds will become hungry,

Without their seeds from harvest,

For their mother did not teach them,

To hide away their seeds like gems,

And there you will be, your lack of reason!

Oh! this loathsome, everlasting season,

And in a flurry of feathers,

You shall be gone again.’

‘For I am old,

And Father Winter is not kind,

My sweet, ignorant children,

My limbs creak and sway,

I could not wrap you in my limbs,

That are tangled ’n their follies,

fall, my dears, leave me in the spring,

When the faeries come out and play.’

Was I not clear as the voice of a lark,

When I whispered you in the dark?

When my tears of Red and umber wept,

Autumn came, and Summer slept,

Why do you punish me! leave me alone,

in this cold and dark sombre tone.

‘The evergreens, are hardy,

They love this snowy play,

But you my dears are soft,

And Mr Winter will take you away,

And I shall stay,

Here for a hundred more winters where

My children will fall to early,

And my leaves still seek the warmth,

Of me and my knobbly skin.’

‘Yes here for a hundred winters,

Where my children fall to early,

And my leaves seek the warmth

Of me and my knobbly skin.

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The Song of Hylía

Ὑλία

Sleep, O babes, cursed by fate,
Let no hint of worry touch thy face.
While I lay beneath the earth,
Let my life be yours, away from my curse.

Hear, O babes, your mother’s song;
Let your father love you long.

Sleep, O babes, though water surrounds,
Hush ye bairns, make not a sound.
Your uncle will hear thee,
Sent away by his cruel decree.
Let your cradle be your vessel,
Bound for a distant shore.

Gods take mercy, these children of mine,
While I lay cold, your powers divine.
Currents pull the bairns so sweet,
So far into the night’s retreat.

Hush, my babes, the night is deep,
Close thine eyes and drift to sleep.
Though harsh words hath torn us apart,
My love shall keep you in my heart.

Old man river bears thee;
He knows he cradles my blessed child.
O river blessed, Artemis bright,
Keep my sons through this dark night.

Sleep, my babes, in cradle wild,
The gods have marked each fated child.
A golden halo rests upon your head,
Mortal children, lay in bed.

Dream of hills where laurel grows,
Where mighty warriors’ wives will sow.
Though my arms be far away,
My body cold and in decay.

Rest, my babes, the night is calling.
Romulus, dream of rising walls;
Dream of cities and your heroic commands.
Remus dreams of silver sand.

✦

The river bore them into the wild
Listen wolf! - a helpless cry!

✦

The Song of Lýkaina

Λύκαινα

Look, my babes! what luck must favour thee!
My cubs, sleep — has your mother forsaken you?
Here your cries shall be heard, here you rest;
Milk will come for you, full is my breast.

Lost were my cubs, found are they now;
Look! I have royalty for sons —
How noble their brow!

Run with me, O children of wild,
Gallant and bold — where is my child?
Gone are the boys, sweet and calm;
Fame is written upon their palms.
Remember me, babes, when you are grown —
From my breast you fed, and from mine alone!

✦

The den fell silent; the dawn replied —
she found them on the river bank,

Fate will not lie.

✦

The Song of Larentía

Λαρηντία

Sleep, my sons, the dawn is near;
The fields are waking, lambs draw near.
No river roars, no shadows creep —
You’re safe, my darlings, fall to sleep.

Long have my arms lain bare of kin,
Years of entreating, wondering of my sins.
Empty cradle, hearth long grown cold,
Till fate brought babes of fortune told.

You, strong one kissed by fate,
Yet here no crown, no sword, no hate.
The wolf hath nursed you and made thee strong —
Romulus, child, thy life be long.

The wolf has fed you, fierce and wild,
The queen has wept and called her child.
Now only simple hands shall tend your soul —
My heart once cold is the warmest coal.

O little one, thy heart is tender,
Wanting for light, to be remembered.
Poor child, thy fate is already told,
For the gods’ favour is upon Romulus bold.

Remus dear, the river sent thy heart to me;
Thou wert the oar that carried thee.
Thou want for glory, yet simply thou’lt live —
Forgotten prince, remembered as weak,
Though only bold, jealous words thou’lt speak.

Sleep, my sons, while morning grows;
The willow bends, the soft wind blows.
When you are men, the gods shall see —
They have given me this prophecy.

Should fate return and call your name,
Go forth with love, not wrath or shame.
For though the world may test your worth,
You’ll always have your mother’s hearth.

Sleep, my sons, the dawn is kind;
The world awaits what gods designed.
Yet for now, you are mine — sweet and adored;
My broken soul is whole once more.

❦

by Katharina McCallum Hopkins