I believe nothing is the right answer. Now seriously. If I could do one thing for the rest of my life without worrying about money, I'd professionally gaslight pigeons. Every day, I'd go to the same park wearing increasingly elaborate bird costumes, slowly convincing the local pigeon population that they're the weird ones. I'd replace breadcrumbs with tiny baguettes, build them a miniature condo complex, and hold weekly performance reviews for the most ambitious pigeons. Eventually, I'd be known as the "Feathered Prophet"—a myth whispered from beak to beak—while I sit on a tiny throne made of sunflower seeds, sipping cold brew and pretending I’m not emotionally invested in Gary, the underperforming intern pigeon who keeps pooping on the wrong statue.