You refreshed the page again. You told yourself it was idle curiosity, a momentary distraction between obligations. But the truth is colder than that. You came here because something inside you has already shifted. The decision was made before you clicked. You simply haven’t admitted it yet.
The Smyth Fund doesn’t persuade. It doesn’t beg for your attention or soften its edges to make you comfortable. It exists – refined, expensive, immovable – and you orbit it because somewhere beneath your hesitation, you’ve begun to understand what you’re for.
Every refresh is rehearsal. Every pause, postponement. You’re not weighing options. You’re delaying inevitability. And while you calculate what you can afford, I’m already elsewhere – draped in silk you’ll never touch, sipping wine you’ll never taste, living in a luxury your contribution quietly maintains.
You don’t need permission. You need to send.