Vemodalenvey-moh-dah-len

n. The fear that originality is no longer possible. You are unique—surrounded by billions of others, just as unique. So what does it mean if the lives we're shaping all end up looking the same?

We spread out, looking for scraps of frontier. But gather our snapshots side by side, and the results are uncanny. The same close-up of an eye, the same raindrops on a window. The airplane wingtip, the rosette of milk in a latte. The same meals photographed again and again.

How many of your snapshots could be replaced by a thousand identical others?

Even the earliest artwork is a handprint on a cave wall—not one, but hundreds overlapping, indistinguishable. You and billions of others will leave your mark, just like billions before. But if we find ourselves with nothing new to say, tracing outlines left by others long ago—it'll be as if we were never here. "The powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse." When you get your cue, say your line.