I been walking around asking people one thing, What's your way of doing life

The barista said, Keep it light, pay rent, don't think too much

The cab driver said, It's about motion-even if you don't know where you're going

One guy on the bench said, I just want quiet mornings and someone to text back

The teacher said, It's the kids, they remind me I matter

The janitor shrugged, Bills keep me moving, hope keeps me from quitting

Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one trying to decode a life that doesn't ask to be solved

Some days I think it's all random, like everyone's just carrying pieces of a plan that no one drew out

So what's your methodology

How do you make sense of the clock

Do you chase a feeling, or count the meaning, or just let the world tick and talk

So what's your methodology

You satisfied or still searching

Do you draw the line or let it fade

Tell me how you stay certain

The woman at the corner store said, Purpose, it's just showing up

Her eyes were tired, but her smile looked honest

A man in a suit said, It's profit-numbers don't lie, only people do

He looked at his phone when he said it, as if the screen could confirm his truth

I asked a kid on a skateboard, What makes you feel alive

He said, When I almost fall, but don't

That one stuck with me longer than it should have

I met a preacher who said, Meaning's a mirror

I met a painter who said, Meaning's a blur

And I thought-maybe both are right, maybe the trick is not to choose

So what's your methodology

How do you measure good and bad

Do you fix what breaks or let it be

Do you forgive or stay mad

So what's your methodology

How do you weigh a day well spent

Is it peace, or progress, or the space between what you said and what you meant

Every face I ask gives a different verse, every answer blesses and curses

Some say joy is a habit, some say pain's the price

Some say nothing really matters, and that's what makes it nice

I don't know who's right, but I know they're all trying

You can see it in the sighs, the coffee lines, the bus rides

I asked my reflection once, What's your plan

It said, Stop collecting answers, start listening to the mess

Maybe that's the point-not to find truth, but to live near it

To keep waking up, even when you don't believe in the morning

To still ask questions, even when no one's asking back

So what's your methodology

How do you keep the flame lit low

Do you walk with reason, or drift with the season

Or let your own compass show

So what's your methodology

Maybe none of us ever know

We just share a nod, a half-smile, and go where our feet decide to go