There is ripe fruit left untouched on every tree I’ve grown.

But I can’t waste another season exploring other gardens. I want to return to my own. To tend it, to nurture it, to reap the fruits of my efforts.

And I am so exhausted by this constant orbit around potential. This slow bleeding of meaning. A daily flirtation with who I am not, what I don’t have, and what I haven’t done. Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking what I wanted and started asking what would look impressive.

The world tells you that you can be anything, so you forget how to be yourself.

It shows you everything you can become, so you abandon what you already are.

It offers you a million lives; you choose none, and lose the one that was already yours.

The hunger to be everything was only ever a longing to be loved.

But you were always worthy.

Even as just one true, marvellous thing:

yourself .

And the truth is, nothing you’re chasing will hold you. Not the success. Not the admiration. Not even the healing. Because the moment you are finally still, you will hear it—your own precious life, sobbing in the corner, pleading:

I’ve been waiting for you to stop trying to be extraordinary, to stop trying to be ‘them’, all so I can love you as you... See more

And I do not want more doors—I want to walk through one without looking back. I want to love something long enough to feel it love me in return. I want to lay foundations on imperfect soil and call it home anyway.

We do not just suffer from an abundance of options, we suffer from a lack of commitment.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped asking what I wanted and started asking what would look impressive. And what society worships shifts so quickly, that mentality becomes unstable when worth is measured by trends.

And I have become a graveyard of personas. Restless in the presence of simple pleasures. Always terrified of settling. I used to think I was failing because I hadn’t arrived anywhere, but I’ve simply been lost in the contradiction of different maps, wandering too many paths.