My whole life has had a beat to it, a fast one.
Not the kind you dance to.
The kind your nervous system learns before you even understand what stress is.
Some people grow up with calm mornings, slow breaths, soft edges.
I grew up with urgency.
With a clock inside my body that never stopped running.
That’s what Tick Tock is really about.
A nervous system wired to move fast, react fast, survive fast.
A childhood rhythm that turned into an adulthood tempo.
A pace that worked for me…
until it didn’t.
Because sometimes the clock is a weapon.
Sometimes it’s a warning.
Sometimes it’s a drum keeping you alive when the world feels like it’s falling apart.
And sometimes, finally, it becomes a tool.
Something you learn to reset instead of sprint from.
Something you learn to slow into homeostasis.
Running my rifle at a match last year reminded me of that.
Shooting forces you into a relationship with time,
not the rushed version you inherited,
but the regulated version you train for.
Breath becomes a system.
Movement becomes intentional.
Your nervous system, for once, isn’t trying to outrun anything.
It’s co-balancing.
And that’s the story behind this song:
Tick Tock isn’t about panic.
It’s about pacing.
It’s about noticing when time is owning you…
and reclaiming the moment where you finally own it back.
All the “rickety” parts, all the crooked rhythms in the lyrics
that’s what it felt like inside my body for decades.
A beat that was too fast, too loud, too demanding.
But the ending of the song is the shift:
A slowing.
A choosing.
A reclaiming.
You ain’t behind — you redesigned.
Because healing isn’t about speeding up or slowing down,
it’s about learning your tempo.
Today, the music, the match, the movement… they all match.
My rhythm.
My breath.
My timeline.
For the first time, the clock doesn’t run me.
I run it.
Tick tock.
On my terms now.
P.S. I’m having a blast making music with my lyrics and Ai song making. If you want to check out the whole album, you can find it here on SoundCloud:
