This morning I realized something unsettling. My shadow knows all my secret secrets. Every. Single. One. It trails me like an unpaid intern with questionable boundaries, hovering over me on sidewalks and office walls, soaking up all the light and leaving me blinking like, “Really? You couldn’t share just a sliver of that sunshine?”

Shadows are funny creatures. They cast both darkness and clarity. They’re like nature’s way of saying, “Yes, yes, you’re cute in sunlight, but let’s see what happens when the truth hangs behind you like a silent judge.” I mean, who designed this system? And why does my shadow insist on showing up even on days when I’m deeply committed to pretending I’m invisible?

I swear sometimes it whispers:
“I know what you did at 3 a.m. last night scrolling Zillow for houses you cannot afford and googling ‘Do penguins have kneecaps?’”
(They do, by the way. Don’t ask. I just love penguins and they are a bit gangster.)

Some people say shadows protect us from hubris, grounding us in our own humanity. Sure. Or they’re just nosy little light-thieves who chronicle our every stumble so they can replay it at the least convenient moment. My shadow has receipts. It saw me trip over absolutely nothing on a Monday morning and has been snickering ever since.

And then there are those odd momentslike when I’m tired, delirious, melting into the sidewalk emotionally where I start wondering:
Who are the monkeys watching us, the honeys whispering behind us, the echoes of our own overcaffeinated brains?
Warchegun?
Honey?
Extrenkuu?
Maybe those words make sense only to the sleep-deprived. Maybe to the shadows, they’re crystal clear.

But here’s the thing: even when I feel like the shadow is soaking up all the light, leaving me a little dizzy, a little off-kilter, a little existential it’s still mine. It’s the one companion that never leaves, never forgets, never lies, and never judges me for the number of gummy bears I’ve consumed before breakfast.

Maybe shadows aren’t here to reveal us or haunt us.

Maybe they’re here to remind us of a myriad of multitudes.
Light and dark.
Sense and nonsense.
Wakefulness and whatever extrenkuu is.

And maybe our shadows carry the things we’re not ready to say out loud until we’re well-rested enough to face them.

But let’s not rush that part. One existential crisis at a time, please.