Exit Signs

A lot around my orbit has been changing. A conversation with a friend today made me realize I’m ready for a slower pace of life. The traffic has been bad—and I think a detour is in order.

I took a road trip with my dad recently, heading back home for a visit. We talked about so much: how I once got him in trouble, the unexpected traffic my blog has been getting, the struggle of not knowing what you’re doing—and more. Ever since I moved away, my relationship with my parents has gotten so much better. That distance gave me the clarity I didn’t know I needed. The things I mess up now? My parents warned me about those years ago. I often catch myself saying, “My parents were right.” Never to them, of course—only to friends.

These long drives feel symbolic of my weeks lately. Long, tiring, but always pointed toward a destination. You never really know how the roads in your life connect. I used to think everything was separate. But sometimes, the most obscure events turn out to be the most transformative.

Take getting a dog, for example. At the time, I thought I was doing it to fill something inside me. But I quickly realized that what I was trying to feed was an insatiable beast—craving praise, validation, approval. People sensed that in me. Some tried to tell me I was doing it all wrong. They tried to shape my behavior with rewards, like I was the one being trained. That’s when I started noticing things. The need to control others? It’s often just a mask for the inability to control yourself.

That realization shook me awake from a kind of cruise-control lifestyle—an autopilot mode where you assume someone else has the map. The biggest skill I learned through all of it was how to say “No.” Learning to flex that muscle changed everything. It opened doors I never knew existed.

Sometimes, life sends you down the highway. Other times, it takes you the long way around. But what I’m starting to realize is that all the skills you collect along the way end up driving you forward. When I look back—at this blog, for instance—I’m amazed. If you had told the 21-year-old version of me, writing a paragraph a day, that I’d one day create my own website from scratch, blending art and algorithms, and build a small corner of the internet that feels like mine... I wouldn’t have believed you.

The funny thing? I used to hate writing and reading in school. How ironic that the subject I once dreaded became the tool that is setting me free from my own mind. Writing has let me see myself clearly—and sometimes see the intentions of others, too. It gets me into trouble now and then. I’m not immune to the stickiness. But writing is a mirror. You hold it up, and you see the grime you’ve been ignoring.

Fate is a strange thing. Somehow, everything feels connected by this invisible string. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that the skills you gather along the way are what make the journey worthwhile. Watching your own skill tree grow—seeing how each experience links to the next—is fascinating. You build a stronger foundation, layer by layer.

It makes me think about the different versions of myself. Almost like each phase of life belongs in its own bucket. I’m still young, still moving through phases. The only person expecting me to have it all figured out—is me. I find peace in the turned pages, in the quiet work of digging a little more dirt off my subconscious. That’s the point, isn’t it? To figure yourself out. I posted an Instagram dump last November with the caption “self mastery.” A little cringe, I know. I still wince thinking about it. But honestly? That’s what we’re all chasing. Mastery over desire. Over our vices. Over our emotions. Over ourselves.

As you travel that road, you’ll notice people start tailgating you. Don’t let it get to you—that’s when they rear-end you. What I’ve come to understand is, those people are often just fans. They’re not mad at your journey—they’re jealous of your direction. They hear the rally car zooming by. They cheer, even if it doesn’t sound like cheering.

And if there was no traffic, would the destination feel as valuable? It’s worth something precisely because it’s hard to reach. It’s hard to hear hate when you’re sitting by lakes, reflecting on how far you’ve come.