I vividly remember myself drawing pictures for my school program when I was 8 years old: passionate, hardworking, and enormously engaged. The nights were already getting darker and darker, and my hard process of drawing my thoughts onto paper was getting more and more exciting. At that moment, I felt that I could do anything, whenever, whatever I desired. I feel the same now too, but…

At the age of 12, I started learning English deeply, making it my major interest and my dream language. Once I realized that I could study abroad and use my learned language.

Then, I started dancing… singing… and writing, of course. All of these thoughts shaped my art, and I’m incredibly thankful that I’m able to do that. Whenever I was making art, my head felt so lightweight… so free… and doubtless.

Shortly, I felt free.

But here is where my “but” comes.

While being free about being an artist, I felt imprisoned when I’m home.

While making my own choreography, I felt hesitation about whether my family would see me.

While making an incredible and new rhythm in my head, I felt how the society that surrounded me would react if they saw me.

I felt guilt and hesitation.

And… weak.

It’s really hard to acknowledge that, but that’s true. Being imprisoned by my side thoughts, by blame from others, and by questions about what I was going to do for a living at the age of 15. And I know that whoever reads this, half of them have felt that guilt. I just know it. That’s why I actually started writing immediately.

People’s guilt didn’t erase my dreams. They stayed the same. People just hid them. And added one extra goal — escape.

The escape made me feel free. It made me breathe the fresh air and imagine myself feeling comfortable in my own body and my own head.

It broke me even more because I had no idea how to do it. I might have stayed broken and never fixed my dreams, hiding them deeper by myself.

But I didn’t.

I used my inner dreams to fulfill the extra, necessary ones. I used my skill of writing to make a new community. I used my voice to wake readers’ feelings. I showed my art to people to build a path for escape and freedom at the same time.

It’s hard. Don’t underestimate that.

Wanna know what is the result of this nightmare?

It’s still in the process.

It’s still full of hope and hard work.

Full of passion and guilt.

Sometimes regret.

Sometimes sorrow.

But I’m grateful.

For having the ability to shape my feelings into art.

For having the opportunity to show it to others who don’t judge me.

That’s valuable.

But I hope one day I will forget a word such as “escape.”

I hope that every person on this planet will never feel guilt and shame for being themselves.

I hope you — yes, exactly you — will never judge yourself because everyone does.

You might be weak, and it might be hard.

But it doesn’t mean that you can’t handle this.

Have you ever met a person who is full of anger and is always doing their best to make someone else feel guilty? I believe you hated meeting this kind of person. I’m talking specifically about the type that, when you tell them good news, they try to find something bad in it; when people around them are hanging out, they make everyone feel guilty for doing it; when someone starts achieving something, they become angry for no reason.

But is there actually no reason?

And is there a chance that you could become a person like that?

Let’s dive in!

At first, people may assume that they are just in a bad mood. “Maybe they were just born like that!” or probably “They’re just Scorpios!” (sorry if you’re a Scorpio, I love you).

People always try to find justifications and assume that there is something naturally wrong with them.

But recently, I suddenly discovered that there might be another, deeper reason behind it.

The I-never-achieved-anything-in-life mode.

Once, they had a dream too. Once, they eagerly tried to achieve it, to follow their desires. And unfortunately, they didn’t achieve it in the end. There are plenty of reasons for that: parents, someone else’s opinion, a difficult path, laziness…

Nevertheless, it affects their future life a lot. Their dream didn’t come true, but they still carry it in their hearts. Sometimes they try to ignore it or deny it, but the heart knows better.

As a result, they carry this burden every day. And trust my words—it’s heavier than it seems. It gives them negative energy and makes them blame other people because, subconsciously, they are convinced that “if it wasn’t given to me, then it shouldn’t be given to anyone.” But they are just envious, that’s all. They may assume that successful people simply had more money than they did. Or if someone wants to start a business or become an influencer, they immediately call it “cringe” and say, “You’d better do something more serious.”

Lowkey, their lives are just ruined.

But not only are they suffering. People around them suffer too. It’s draining to constantly hear how stupid, naive, and every other hateful adjective in the dictionary you supposedly are. You may lower your self-esteem, feel less confident about your own decisions, and probably start thinking the same way they do.

Think deeply: have you seen people like that?

And… have you ever thought that it might be…

You?

Yes, you. Maybe not right now, maybe tomorrow. There is actually a chance that you could follow the same fate. For me, I’m scared of that. I’m actually scared that one day I will gossip about someone else’s success while lying on my dirty, coffee-spilled sofa.

This is where my advice comes in.

Go actually follow your dreams. Go, right now, and put not just some effort into them, but a lot of effort. If it makes you happy, then you’re not losing anything at all. Except the opportunity to write an envious comment under YouTube Shorts. (I hope that won’t be you and me in our 50s.)

All in all, I believe in you. I believe in myself too. To be honest, sometimes I feel skeptical or scared. But then I just continue to believe.

Believe and act. Believe and act.

That’s the thing.

🍀

It was just a normal family evening. The weather was nice, the dinner was delicious. Mum and I were sitting in the kitchen.

“It feels like I’ve lived someone else’s life…” she whispered so quietly that I almost didn’t hear it.

A heavy silence settled in. I felt my heart tighten, and my eyes started to fill with tears.

She was watching women dancing on Instagram.

It was hurtful.

Because it was never her.

In childhood, her parents didn’t let her. In adulthood… everything became so… chaotic.

And it might be you one day.

It really might be.

When I told myself that, I became terrified.

How is it…

To live not YOUR life.

Someone else’s.

It can become your reality if you keep making sure everyone else is satisfied. It can happen if you keep hiding yourself behind the “good girl/boy” mask. It can happen if you always say “yes” to people.

People can advise you to do literally anything “for your own good.” Even your parents—they might restrict you from doing something “for your safety.” They can offer you a better life, with better hobbies and a better income.

But it’s all about them.

Not you.

This life that you’re living right now is YOURS.

The hands you use to grab your phone every morning are YOURS.

The time you spend scrolling TikTok and gazing at someone else’s life is YOURS.

Every time you accept someone else’s assumptions, every time you try to fit into someone else’s expectations, you start living their life.

Every time you abandon your own plans for a better status, you live their life.

Every time you forget about your dreams and save them for another day, you live their life.

I just want you to understand that everything is in your hands.

And it’s not enough to just read these words.

YOU NEED TO UNDERSTAND THEM.

EVERY. SINGLE. DAY.

Wake up tomorrow with one question:

“What are my values?”

Don’t rush. Think deeply.

Then ask yourself:

“What am I going to devote my time to?”

Simple.

Honest.

And without the thought,

“How are people around me going to react?”

Try living just one day like this.

Try doing something you’ve always wanted to do.

Try focusing on yourself.

Your.

Self.

And no one else.

So that one day, you won’t be sitting in the kitchen, regretting living someone else’s life —

but never your own.

I’m absolutely sure that each of you has heard a phrase like, “You are talented enough.” But does this phrase really matter? And should we care about this factor as a key to success?

Let’s discuss it thoroughly and formulate an answer to this controversial question.

I would like to start by erasing the myths about talent. Many people on our planet perceive talent as a foundation — but it’s a total lie. We call something a “foundation” when it gives us a higher chance of achieving something, something that won’t let us fail. But talent doesn’t give us that. Boldness does.

When you are talented in art, you have two options: either act or not act. You may choose to paint splendid paintings and sell them for the cost of someone’s life, or you may also choose to keep your talent to yourself and paint “for fun” while convincing yourself that it’s just an ordinary painting.

But when you’re bold, you literally have no option. You always act. You are built like that. You are taught like that. Whether your painting is splendid or not, you just post it every day until the whole world knows about you.

And that’s what I call a foundation.

Moreover, I want to provide a personal example from my teenage years. At that time, I was eager to become a musician. But when I told my family about this extraordinary idea, they just casually said, “You either are talented or you’re not.” Not being satisfied with that answer, I came to our local music school. After I entered the classroom and shared my ambitious goal, my ears were greeted with, “Is it a joke?”They were simply confused that I was already 13, which was (in their conservative heads) “too late.” But I wasn’t confused.

Yes, I cried. But while I cried, I furiously whispered to myself,

“I will show them who is a joke.”

And I did.

To myself.

I promised myself to write one song a day (no matter if it was good or not) and learn one song on the guitar. After a month of following this plan, my notes were full of lyrics and guitar covers. And I kept listening to them over and over because I couldn’t get enough.

And I wasn’t fascinated by my “talent” (I lowkey don’t know if I actually have it).

I was mesmerized by my boldness.

By being audacious. Sometimes shameless.

And now…

Years later, I suddenly found those lyrics.

I wondered how brave I had been.

And it gave me a strong, unconquerable awareness that I am able to succeed wherever I want.

And that’s how this article was born.

With boldness, but a lack of talent.

Hopefully, not vice versa.

Some people will tie it to the unfairness of the world, some will insist that the rich are to blame for everything, and some will proudly declare that it’s entirely your own fault.

And the last person will be partially right.

But not completely.

When we are born into this world, we are given a wonderful and practically unlimited right to act and to create. And I’m not talking about the legal side of things.

Right now, push something with your heel.

I’ll wait. Don’t be shy.

At this very moment, you’ve become the subject of one of the most important phenomena there is:

Action.

Notice that it is you and no one else – who is its subject.

Now gently recall that time when you stayed silent during an argument when you shouldn’t have, and ended up losing. Most likely, you blamed the other person, their persistence, their harsh tone of voice.

But the fact that you lost the argument – that was your action.

At this point, the concept of inaction may emerge as a defensive argument.

“But that wasn’t me!” – our favorite everyday phrase.

But let’s be honest with ourselves.

We’re not really talking about the process of acting or not acting. We’re talking about the result.

I’m slowly leading you by the hand toward the idea that the world around you, the way people treat you, your place in society, your level of education, your salary, your opinions — all of it is exactly what you have accomplished up to this moment.

At this point, there could be a conclusion and a motivational quote telling you to be disciplined, work on yourself, and wake up at 5 a.m.

The world around you is also you.

You’re probably confused. So am I.

The environment around you affects you directly.

Just as you affect it.

Like two magnets, you exchange energy and spin together in an endless tango.

The world shapes you as well.

The world around you molds your opinions, your views, your voice, and your mood as if they were made of clay.

It is impossible to ignore the world around you.

It’s impossible to convince yourself that a spilled cup of coffee on your sweater won’t upset you.

It’s impossible not to feel hurt when someone doesn’t smile back at you.

More often, you’ll hear the opposite:

“Don’t pay attention to anyone. Be alone. Be invulnerable. Don’t let anyone ruin your mood.”

But in reality, things don’t work that way.

Because with our own hands we shape the world around us, just as the world itself shapes us.

We interact with the world.

We exist.

We’re alive.

So what’s the moral of these reflections?

An interesting one. And a useful one.

First, stop ignoring yourself — your dreams, desires, tastes, and emotions.

Bring them out into the world.

And second, listen to the world around you — perhaps you’ll find yourself in it.

Perhaps you’ll change your true self.

Or perhaps you’ll find your former self.

Just don’t lose yourself in this puzzle, comrade.

Something had clearly changed inside her.

Now all that remained was to find out what exactly.

Only one thought troubled Tanya now — the anxiety had quieted down. Strange, because today she hadn’t taken those green pills. If before her mind had been a roller coaster and she the cart trapped inside it, now it was a calm and unhurried drive along an empty highway. Everything felt new, untouched. She wanted to press the gas pedal.

Lightly pressing her bruised elbows against the mold-covered tile, she somehow managed to lift her carcass a couple of centimeters. Not that she was heavy. In truth, the hardest part was deciding to get up. And now her back no longer touched the floor, her head stretched upward, and her face twisted itself into the ugliest grimaces.

Fall.

She gives up, lowers her elbows and once again… again! Slams the crown of her head against the cold, sticky, disgustingly revolting tile. Her skull starts splitting apart again, light hair streaked with darker strands scattering carelessly in every direction.

Exhale.

Emotionally, it was hard for her. And, you know, it felt better than the stabbing, torturous pain and the boiling blood in her veins. It seemed to her — or perhaps she was convincing herself — that she could stand up again. Again, like in those carefree childhood years… Again, when her days were full of sunlight and the smell of freshly cut grass. Again, when sour gummy strips wrapped around her entire mouth and she wrinkled her freckled nose. Again, when other people’s jokes made her laugh. Again, when at night she fell into sleep instead of dreams about empty fields and rooftops. Again… again… again… she wanted those times back again.

But not now.

Endless streams of tears flowed down her soft cheeks, unpleasantly running into her ears, making everything feel even more disgusting. Disgusting because of herself. She was repulsed by herself. It hurt her, hurt terribly, that she was herself. And not someone else.

While salty rivers streamed along the curves of her face, her throat screamed out the ugliest, loudest, most pitiful shrieks. Nothing filled her now quite like resentment. Not resentment toward life, not toward people, not toward the weather.

Resentment toward herself.

At one moment her scream rose beyond its usual limit, becoming so high it seemed the neighbors could hear it too.

“I HATE YOU!”

As if powered by magnetic batteries, she jerked upright with her entire body.

“HATE YOU! HATE YOU! HATE YOU!”

Her legs, unconsciously, as though she were a puppet in a doll theater, bounced beneath her, and she rose onto her bare courageous feet. Her gaze lifted to the level of the cheap oval mirror hanging on the wall by a single rusted screw. Just like her nerves, by the way.

“I—HATE—YOU!”

It seemed she was screaming out the very last tonsils of her young soul.

Inhale.

Tanya uneasily looked around the bathroom, bringing her hands closer to her face as though they belonged to someone else. Her eyes drifted to the ceiling, staring into the very lightbulb that shone not from electricity, but from pity for her. She lowered her gaze back to the floor, and her pupils began darting rapidly from side to side like Newton’s pendulum.

Finally, slowly and cautiously, she lifted her eyes toward herself. Or more precisely — toward her reflection. Because they had never been the same person. Never one whole.

The girl’s breathing quieted. Her limbs froze, just like her perception of the world around her.

Tanya looked at the girl with slightly wavy, light childish curls. Eyes colored in the palette of the sea, glowing blue with endless warmth and tenderness. Her lips… they spread into a modest, gentle smile. Tanya tilted her head to the side with curiosity and continued analyzing her.

Freckles bloomed generously across her soft cheeks, while the tip of her nose curved delicately upward. The skin of her neck seemed so snow-white it could have been compared to winter snow in her small, godforsaken town.

A thin gilded chain hung across her collarbones, holding a pendant shaped like a dolphin. Tanya touched it with the pads of her fingers and lightly rolled it in her hands. She lowered her head further, wanting to see it not through the mirror, but directly. The pendant was medium-sized, with sharp edges. Wrapping the dolphin in her palm, she felt a chill spread through her hand.

Confused, she quickly opened her palm.

The pendant was gone.

In panic she snapped her gaze back to the mirror. Her eyes drowned in dragging fear and merciless anxiety. The girl in the mirror — or rather Tanya, or… whoever she was — still wore the golden pendant shining against her chest. She looked down at herself again. Back to the mirror. Then to her chest once more.

“WHO ARE YOU?!”

After the soul-ripping scream came something impossible, something beyond explanation.

Someone had started frying food in the kitchen.

The smell of sunflower oil drifted through the cracks of the bathroom door locked from the inside. She could clearly hear drops of burning oil exploding upward like bullets against the ceiling. Questions fired through her head like those same bullets.

Because her parents… had been gone for more than six years.

“Tanyusha, do you want some meat?”

The noise of the water hurriedly and diligently streamed down through the faucet of the worn-out bathtub. The light weakly, with all its strength, gifted this square, godforsaken room its last energy — not in volts, but in pleas. The small window opened near the ceiling seemed not open at all, but simply fixed in its usual position. It had never once been closed since the apartment was bought. No one could reach it.

Though the bathroom itself was worn down.

But no more worn down than the one standing in the middle of it like a devil’s mark. If you measured it with a ruler, you would know for certain that it stood exactly at the intersection of two diagonals — perfectly centered.

She stared into the mirror. Was the mirror staring back at her? Not yet. Her shoulders were smoothed beneath a heavy hunch that had formed over many years. Her hair rested tiredly against her collarbones, her lips were locked shut and had no intention of opening. An enemy of the little window, in short.

She had been looking into the mirror for four minutes already. To her, it was neither a long time nor a short one. In truth, she didn’t feel it at all. Time had momentarily ceased to exist, just like her belonging to this world.

Perhaps you assume there is emptiness in her head. You would be wrong. Inside her mind, emotions, anxieties, disasters, and suffering were exploding like fireworks. Every ruined plan she had made, every unfinished and half-finished task, every moment of disgust and hatred, the desire to love and to be held, attempts to be liked, hair on her arms, glasses on her face, hands inside her body, a heart in its place…

Exhale.

Where the strength came from, and even the air itself for it, was unknown. During all four of those minutes she hadn’t inhaled a single cubic millimeter of oxygen. Yet her gaze remained calm and unwavering, fixed on her reflection. She wasn’t trying to burn anything away. She was trying to understand.

Inhale.

Her eyes gently close beneath her lashes. A convulsion in her left elbow. Her leg stops obeying her. Her torso begins twisting as though a hula hoop circled around it, her head following after. Meanwhile her pupils tremble in flashes, sending signals of alarm. Her back cracks loudly and bends, as if a demon is about to crawl out from it.

A blow against the tile. Loud. Horribly loud. Terrifyingly unpleasant to hear, every bone smashing into itself beneath its own weight and the force of impact. Her head lands last, bouncing a couple of times against the tile like a rubber ball.

Her face became deathly relaxed. Air once again stopped entering her lungs. The lightbulb seemed to strain itself to shine brighter, as if trying to help somehow, while the faucet rattled faster, perhaps to sound a warning. Everything was loud.

Not inside her head.

Her body seemed broken, like a wooden doll. Every glued-on phalanx and limb collapsed with a crack from years of exhaustion. The loud thud against the mold-covered tile carried even through the room. It wasn’t the head, like a metal sphere, that was heavy from its own mass — it was the thoughts accumulated inside it that struck painfully. In short, only the tile was in pain.

It’s worth repeating that the girl had lost all sense of time. In moments of anxiety, we humans lose track of it too — because it becomes meaningless to us. And so it was for her now: no one knew how long she had lain there on the floor without moving a millimeter. Her body had softened like clay, and from beneath her eyelids thin streams of quiet tears flowed.

Evening air drifted in through the little window, soaked with the scent of bright green tree leaves. The smell of the atmosphere alone brought melancholy. From time to time the branches swayed from side to side. Thunder was coming. One might think a wolf was howling somewhere atop the mountain, though only a madman could truly hear such a thing.

A wooden bench stood empty in loneliness, and not far from it lingered the smell of fresh blood soaked with hatred and fear. Blow after blow, lash after lash — the sounds flew upward into the atmosphere. The boy’s face had been beaten badly, burgundy blood flowing from his lips, while a bruise beneath his right eye was only beginning to bloom. They had abandoned him.

The group of boys dressed in red-and-black tracksuits with an upside-down Adidas logo turned away casually, glancing back every so often. When they were already ten meters from the victim, one of the gopniks decided it was vitally necessary to return to him. Running closer, he stopped for a second and began examining the beaten boy’s face. He tilted his head to the side as though evaluating his work. A devilish grin stretched across his thin, dried lips. Turning his head again to make sure there were no witnesses to his filth, he spat on him quickly, but with satisfaction. It amused him. He bared his teeth and even laughed joyfully. Then he ran back to his pack.

The boy was barely conscious. He felt nothing except physical pain. Perhaps he could have filled his mind with thoughts at that moment, but the hellish pain throughout his body would not let his consciousness drift elsewhere. His head with its light blond hair turned to the side. He opened his eyes by a millimeter, hoping his attackers were gone.

And closed them again.

His last words were:

“Tanya…”

With a sudden jerk, at that exact second, the girl’s nose drew in a gulp of air as if resurrected. Her eyes flew wide open, seeming ready to burst from their sockets. Her pupils searched the unknown in panic.

Something inside her had changed.

Fear had left her.

1. What do they want from this world?

2. How do they achieve it?

3. What is the result?

There is a deep meaning in these questions. Let me elaborate on each one.

Basically, every person has their own reason to live this life. Otherwise, it would feel sorrowful. This reason is actually a solid answer to the well-known question:

What is the meaning of our lives?

And before making assumptions, I want to point out that everyone has their own unique, individual reason. Don’t try to generalize it as “everyone wants to be happy.” No, they don’t. Not everyone. I could expand on this topic, but not today.

This reason might come from a special event, relationships, or even a certain kind of life. It can even be feeling pain because it feels like love, or giving pain because they want to be loved. Sometimes it’s about gaining admiration from the world, or simply love which most people seek.

But then the most interesting part begins:

“How do they achieve it?”

Imagine two guys trying to flirt with one girl. They will have their own techniques, their own smiles: one might be more persistent, another more shy. But the result is the same: the girl is impressed (and she might choose neither of them;).

Now imagine two girls trying to bake a cake. They have their own recipes, their own tips, and the same oven. They might use similar ingredients but add them in a different order. As a result, both cakes turn out delicious.

The same applies to life. We all seek something, but we use different methods.

For instance, a girl wants to be loved by her parents. From past experience, she understands that the best way to receive love is to study more. That’s why she buries herself in books to feel that love.

Her brother, subconsciously, wants the same thing. But unlike his sister, he expresses it directly - telling them he loves them, giving gifts, saying kind words.

Which of them will be loved more?

Here comes the third question:

What is the result?

If the girl doesn’t receive that love, she might feel stuck and question what to try next. If the boy does receive it, he will continue his approach.

Or it could be the opposite.

This is how our past experiences are formed and they become our navigation system.

You might feel hesitation when closing your room door because, ten years ago, your parents once shouted at you for doing it.

You might dislike pasta. Not because of its taste, but because it reminds you of your ex-boyfriend.

This mindset is built from accumulated events and past experiences.

All in all, we seek something, we find our own ways, and we get different results. Sometimes that’s unfortunate. But you can also see it as an advantage—you have the freedom to try different paths and reach the outcomes you want. You are free in your choices.

So think about your life: what is its purpose?

Then, once you find your answer, focus on the ways to achieve it.

And finally, enjoy your results or learn from them and don’t repeat the same mistakes.

That’s how, from my 3AM perspective, life works: through your own decisions and your mindset.🌠

“You live only once”—you’ve definitely heard this before. But what does it actually mean?

Some people say it before getting overly drunk, some use it as motivation to work hard… and some believe in reincarnation.

Only in conditions where we control ourselves can life become better. Allegedly, this is the goal of our “nasty” lives in asceticism: self-discipline, control, and abstaining from comfort. It often comes from religion, but let’s apply it to everyday life.

Hedonism is the opposite. It’s when you say “we live once” before getting drunk on vodka. We don’t live for success or the future—we live in the present, and we enjoy it.

Let’s get ready to rumble!

What do these have in common? They both try to guide our lives. We are all alive (hopefully), and most of us want to live well.

Of course, we don’t want to suffer. Even cutting out sugar makes your body react. Naturally, we want comfort: enough food, clothes, little pleasures—chocolate cookies, candies… oops.

So what do we choose to achieve this?

Hedonism is the first thing that comes to mind.

In hedonism, you enjoy life—you’re like a sloth on a tree branch. If you don’t want to work, you don’t. If you want to indulge, you do. Sounds perfect, right?

No.

We live in the real world. No one is giving you free food, clothes, or money forever—and even if they did, you couldn’t rely on it. Hedonism, taken too far, can ruin you.

It can also harm your body. Think of addiction: your body doesn’t need it, but once it’s used to it, it resists stopping. We get used to everything—and in hedonism, that’s the problem.

Enough criticizing hedonism. Let’s go back to asceticism!

You might think I’ll praise it. I won’t—it has downsides too.

Yes, it can make you successful. Yes, it brings results and money. But is that what we’re really looking for?

At the start, we said we want a good life. But success isn’t always a good life, you know, honey.

So is this path wrong too?

Partially.

Asceticism can help—but not alone.

It needs… hedonism.

What I’m saying is simple: you must combine both.

Find the line between rest and effort. Set boundaries. Enjoy yourself, but also push yourself. Work hard—but give yourself time to live.

It’s not easy. No one said it would be.

Find your golden mean.

And enjoy your life.

Love y’all. Don’t get overdrunk🌷💖

Some people believe that every human being is born with some kind of talent they are blessed with. And there is no other option than to follow it, because it is the only way to become successful, isn’t it? Admittedly, it’s about using your uniqueness to achieve higher results and gain better success in life. Doesn’t it seem logical to you?

For me, it’s totally not.

While holding this opinion, people forget that it’s better to live your life in the position of “I like what I do” rather than “I do what I’m allegedly good at.” Do you need an example?

When I was seven, I wanted to play the piano. I was successful at it, and people were always telling me, “Your fingers are made for piano.” I don’t play the piano anymore.

When I was 14, I wanted to be a dancer. I came to dancing classes, and everyone told me that my dancing skills were disgustingly bad and that I was the worst in the group. I still dance, and I love it completely.

When I was 16, I wanted to be a lawyer. When people saw my handwriting and my natural skill to express my thoughts structurally, they kept saying, “Your speech sounds so law-like. Like you are a judge.” I don’t want to be a lawyer anymore.

When I turned 17, I accidentally realized that I want to be a writer. No one has ever heard it yet, but if they do, I already know what they’re going to say: “You are not made to be a writer.” And still, I open my eyes every morning to write.

Can you see the pattern?

People are just advising you based on what THEY see you doing. No—don’t blame them, and don’t ever dare to. Everyone has a right to their opinion and their views. But at the same time, YOU have a right to do what you want.

The choice is all about you, not someone else. Keep that in mind.

In the world of achievers, where people are inspired by someone’s success, they assume that this is the best thing in the world—being successful. Success. Doesn’t it even sound amazing? It seems like everyone needs that. But fortunately, it only seems that way.

Let’s go back to the basics. Why do you live your life? You think it’s a vague question? That’s totally fine—so let me give you a contrast:

Would you rather choose:

A successful life, but with sorrow?

Or a happy life, but without success?

I hope you chose the second one. The first is just pathetic. Overall, that’s your life and your choice ;)

Congratulations—now you know why you live your life. Let me repeat: to be happy, not successful. But wait… what is success?

Hmm… maybe it’s measured? Does it mean being featured in Forbes? Or maybe it’s “winning” in life, right? Partially, yes. But how long does it actually last? Just tell me—for how long?

Fine, you’ve earned that position. Fine, you’ve reached that dream salary. Fine, you’ve won first place.

What are you going to do next?

—said Beth Harmon in Queen’s Gambit.

Literally, what are you going to do next? Do you think you’ll feel proud of yourself until the end of your life? Don’t make me laugh—it won’t last more than three days. Then you’ll get used to it. We always get used to things—that’s our nature.

And don’t be sad. That’s not a problem—that’s an opportunity for something better.

It’s an opportunity to enjoy your life until the very end of it. Don’t overthink—I’m not encouraging you to achieve nothing in life. If that were the case, nothing we have today would exist.

I mean combining these two factors: putting happiness first, and success second.

I see—you now understand what success and happiness are. So how do you choose what to succeed in? The final question, I bet.

Choose to succeed in what your heart wants. Not your appearance, not your personality traits that seem suitable for some job, not someone else’s desire. Just your heart.

“I won’t have enough salary.”

What is “enough”? Is that the only thing you think about? Don’t you even try to romanticize your life?

Do you really think that if you keep working hard—and doing it with joy—money won’t come? Do you really believe that in a world where uniqueness and standing out are valued, you won’t find money? Do you really think so?

Do you really believe that you can’t make money doing what you love? Then what is that—doomscrolling? Binge eating? Even from that, people find ways to make money.

Breathe in. Breathe out. I’m mad.

Remember when I said at the start that people tell you what to succeed in based on your “talents”? Forget it.

In some cases, they might be right—if they hit the bullseye of your true desires. But if they don’t? Skip them. Even if your interest is temporary. Even if it’s not common.

Always ask yourself: is the world going to change if I stick to this “good” job?

Whispers: no.

Or will the world change if people see how unique I am? If their worldview changes because I break standards? If I bring something new?

It will.

It will. It totally will.

Imagine the person—a writer, singer, whoever—you’re deeply inspired by. They had the same worries you have right now. But there is one difference between you and them:

They did it.

What if they had given up the way you’re about to right now? What would the world be without them?

Empty.

Go get your ass to what your heart wants to live through. Give the world something that will change it – not something that keeps it monotonous.

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