Writing that never stops
Ever had one of those work mistakes that just sticks with you? I had one that felt like a monumental collapse, a real show-stopper. But in the quiet aftermath, I found a completely new way to think about failure, not as an end, but as a new beginning.
I’m writing a letter to my seventeen-year-old self, the one who had her whole life planned out. I’m here to tell her that all those carefully laid plans are about to go beautifully, wonderfully wrong. It turns out, the best parts of life are the detours you never saw coming.
I thought success meant tidy plans and visible milestones, until a year of lost contracts, hard goodbyes, and late-night packing forced me to reassess. Through small repairs — steady calls, fewer commitments, and honest rest — I learned to measure success by sustainment and values rather than outward proof. By year’s end I accepted a slower, truer sense of progress.
