Today I realized something profound: I can love myself — truly, deeply — exactly as I am. In this space of unconditional self-love, there’s no striving, no need to improve or become more. Just presence. Just being.
And in that stillness, something unexpected arose: I don’t really want anything. The grasping, the craving… it’s gone.
After a lifetime of chasing — always trying to do more, achieve more, be more — this quiet is both peaceful and disorienting. I’ve always been goal-driven, always reaching. So now I wonder: if I no longer need to fix or chase anything, what guides me forward? Do I just stay here — content, still? And if so… does growth stop?
Then I realized: I’m not done dreaming — I’m just ready for new dreams. Ones that arise from love, not lack. From truth, not fear.
Looking back, I can see how much of what I chased — success, money, recognition — came from a place of fear and unworthiness. I didn’t want those things purely for the joy of them; I wanted what they meant. I wanted to feel safe. Important. Valid. I was anxious and uncertain, and I believed achieving those dreams would finally make me enough.
I was afraid to ask myself what I truly desired — afraid that I wouldn’t be able to reach it, and the disappointment would crush me. So I settled for dreams that were either safer, acceptable, or the kind modern society praises. But they weren’t mine.
I kept holding on to those old dreams, convincing myself they were true. But in hindsight, I see I clung to them not because they came from my heart, but because I thought achieving them would make me into someone I could finally be proud of.
When your desires are shaped by insecurity, they come with urgency. There’s desperation. Your identity, your sense of worth, becomes tied to the outcome. But when your desires are pure — when they come from the soul — they carry no pressure. You can want them without needing them. You can trust them to unfold in their own time.
True desire isn’t desperate. It’s devoted.
And I think I’m finally learning the difference.
Something has shifted. I no longer need to manifest things just to feel valid. I no longer chase to prove I’m enough. From this new place of self-acceptance, desire feels sacred — like a quiet unfolding, not a frantic grasp.
The path ahead isn’t empty — it’s just unfamiliar. I’m learning to let desire arise from stillness, not striving. From presence, not pressure. And whatever I create next won’t be to prove anything. It will be to express who I already am.
I don’t know exactly what that looks like yet. But I trust it will come — gently, in its own time.
For now, I rest in the stillness and listen… What do I truly want?