Guiding words: “I learned this, at least, by my experiment; that if one advances confidently in the direction of her dreams, and endeavors to live the life which she has imagined, she will meet with a success unexpected in common hours.”
For the past few weeks, I’ve been following a strict routine: in bed by 9pm, up at 5am. I go to the gym, shower, and get to the studio by 7am, then head home around 7pm. It’s been an exercise in personal sovereignty—an active prayer in the direction of my dreams.
This is my first time being single and living alone. It strikes me now that there might be few windows in one’s life, if any, to be this self-governing—when not under the roof of parents, or sharing space with a roommate, or living with a partner, or starting a family. This season of life feels incredibly precious. So much so that I’ve been asking myself: why has it taken me so long to get here?
I’ve boiled it down to two reasons:
1. It required me to set aside pleasurable distractions.
2. It meant making the ultimate bet on myself.
When you remove distractions and take full accountability for your life, you’re left staring directly at your dreams and yourself. In that light, the fear of failure can feel heavier than ever. Advancing deliberately in one direction has a way of amplifying self-doubt.
So I'm choosing to focus more on becoming the person who can achieve my dream outcomes rather than the outcomes themselves. The outcomes feel too out of my control, too lofty. But the person who can achieve them? I can see her clearly. And I try to be more like that person every day: steadfast, bold, sovereign.
Today, sovereignty looks like baking banana bread at 7:30 on Sunday morning. It's taking walks alone, painting in the studio, working until bedtime, selecting art for my home, sleeping 8 hours, cleaning up after myself. It's living a life that is wholly mine, without apology or explanation.
It’s still early days and I feel both thrilled and scared, confident and uncertain. But growth always exists on these thresholds, never in the comfort of what is familiar. And while I don’t know exactly where this path leads, I’m advancing confidently in its direction, knowing that I will always choose to venture out, to fail, and try again. Because the alternative—quitting—isn’t an option.