Where could we be if outside voices didn’t guide the way?

Some birthday-inspired reflections on paving our own paths

birthday macarons for breakfast at Le Bristol

I turned 28 yesterday, which has inevitably prompted more self-reflection than usual. A side effect of birthdays I suppose, and one that seems to intensify with age.

I like to think I’m on my way to not just accepting my nonlinear path, but fully embracing it—separating my own definition of success from the one the world so often imposes. Like many of us, I feel “behind” in some ways and “ahead” in others.

I became a mother at 22—relatively young by today’s standards—so in that regard I often feel ahead of many peers my age. But becoming a parent so early also introduced challenges, especially when it comes to building a career during a season of life that many dedicate entirely to professional growth.

Even as I write this, I catch myself grappling with the idea that we’re constantly comparing, if not to the people around us, then to the invisible, linear path society insists we should be on.

In reality, there is no falling behind or being ahead. We’re all creating our own way, according to our unique timeline, circumstances and values. In reality, I know this. And yet, the weight of external voices—perceptions, expectations, and societal norms—can keep us trapped in a cycle of striving. Our innate human longing for connection and belonging often clouds the freedom that’s available to us, if only we chose to unsubscribe from the narrative of how things are “supposed” to be.

The milestones we’re told we should reach by a certain age.

The order in which we’re expected to reach them.

The kind of work that’s deemed worthy or valuable.

The exhausting idea that we should always have it all figured out.

A question I kept returning to lately was:

Where would I be if I stopped letting the outside voices guide the way?

I haven’t really talked about it, but I’ve made a personal goal to take my writing seriously. For me, that’s looked like showing up more consistently on Substack, experimenting with new topics, and allowing myself to be more vulnerable in what I share. It’s also meant pitching stories to publications I’ve long dreamed of writing for (more on that soon),leveraging knowledge from my short stint as a intern and freelance writer for an interior design magazine.

As I’ve been reflecting on why I want to invest more deeply in my writing, I keep returning to the fact that it’s always been a constant in my life. In one form or another, I’ve always written—and loved it. Being “a writer” is a quiet dream I’ve carried close to my chest since I was little. So much so that in sixth grade, I made the executive decision to stay after school to join a writing club.

But somewhere along the way, I veered off that path and away from something I truly enjoy. When I think about it, I can trace it back to moments—especially in school or childhood—when my writing, or other creative passions, were dismissed, criticized, or quietly shut down. Moments when it felt safer to pull back, to disassociate from what I loved, rather than risk being scrutinized or misunderstood.

When something feels so deeply personal, the idea of putting it under a spotlight can be paralyzing—especially for someone who has long wrestled with avoidant anxiety, emotional inhibition, and a profound fear of judgment or shame.

There are so many of these seemingly small moments, insignificant at the time, that when we look back, reveal how much they actually shaped us. How they influenced the directions we took and the ones we abandoned.

But rather than getting stuck in the “what ifs” of the past, which rarely serve us, I find more value in asking:

Where could we be if we stopped letting outside voices guide the way ?

The voices that tell us things like…

You’re not qualified or good enough (whatever “qualified” even means—another conversation for another time)

You should be further along in your career by now

You’re too young or too old to have children—or that you must have them

You can’t leave your job to start a business

You can’t make money doing that

You can’t do more than one thing; you should niche

Or whatever else those voices may be saying, distracting us from the destinations we’re meant to go.

My hope for this next year of life is to continue shedding the outside voices and expectations, gently untangling them from my own. I want to release the pressure to “make sense” by society’s standards, and instead lean into what feels true for me. I hope to keep tuning in to the quiet desires and dreams within—those that have been unintentionally silenced as my mind absorbed the noise of the world around me.

I am truly excited to see what this next year has in store, and as always, am beyond grateful for you following along!

Until next week,