Finding Yourself Is Hard work
The hardest actually
And let’s be real—most of us aren’t living our real lives.
We’re so bogged down with the endless noise of obligations, responsibilities, and expectations, getting noticed IRL and and online, that “finding myself” barely makes it on the to-do list. It’s somewhere between “clean the garage” and “figure out how to make small talk without wanting to crawl into a hole.”
People do all sorts of wild things to find themselves. Climb Everest, write a book, become a TikTok life coach, maybe even befriend an octopus (I hear they’re pretty wise and I’m still meaning to watch that movie).
Me? I wrote a play.
And I obsessively write, read, meditate, and unravel the mysteries of me. Not in a “look at me, I’m so enlightened” way, but more in a “well, I’ve come this far, might as well keep digging” way.
Saying this out loud feels weird. Like I’m standing here proclaiming I’ve found something you haven’t. But honestly, the more I dig, the more I find parts of myself I never even knew existed. And then, because I’m an over-sharer at heart, I drag these parts onto the stage for everyone to see. Intentional ambiguity? You bet. Turning your life into a product is a dangerous game.
But I’ve always felt this compulsion to mine the depths, put it out there, and see what happens. It doesn’t pay the bills (shockingly, self-discovery is a tough market), but here we are.
And in true me-fashion, I push too hard, lose sight of balance, and flirt with self-aggrandizement. I’m a performer. I crave the spotlight. I want to be seen, heard, adored. I want to shine.
That part of me—the performer—is always waiting for her big break, always hoping someone will sweep her up and make her a star.
I remind her daily that she doesn’t really want that. That fame is fleeting, superficial, and does not hold the answer.
But she’s stubborn. So every day, she tries again.
It’s fricking exhausting. And it’s the one thing I wish I could get rid of, knowing full well that it doesn’t work that way.
And every day, my soul pushes back. Thankfully so, because the lure of fame is powerful. (Side note—fame is indeed one of the four idols we so easily worship.) The applause, the recognition, the false sense of immortality—it’s intoxicating. But my soul knows better. It whispers, “This isn’t why we’re here.”
So, I continue my trek, course correcting along the way.
There’s no final destination in this journey, just mile markers that remind me I’m still moving. And while the urge to shine, to be seen, to be “someone” will always try to steal the spotlight, my soul stays steady, reminding me that the real work is quieter, deeper, and far more enduring than the fleeting glow of fame.
Remind me of that tomorrow, mmkay?
