I was just trying to change my life into something that I didn’t want to escape from.

I’d spent decades studying Psychology, Astrology, Human Design, Numerology, Art, Science, Philosophy and so many other schools of thought to give me some insight about who I was and what I was supposed to be doing here on planet Earth. And I always felt like I was running out of time to figure it out.

I started self-development in my teens, winding through endless journaling exercises and workbooks, just to turn back to the beginning and start all over again, hoping to find a new clue, something that would make my life make sense, or show me a direct path to. . . well, to my purpose, I guess.

Finally, the pieces all started to come together.

I had gathered enough information, wisdom, and maturity to finally see the truth:

It didn’t really matter what I chose - as long as the choice came from Me. If it was what I wanted, and I was doing it how I wanted, and I stayed true to my own goals and dreams, well, that’s really all there was to it. That was the “right” direction to go in. That was the correct path. The decision was mine and mine alone; if there was fate, it would play out through the circumstances that came with the path I chose.

Even better, I realized that I could change my mind at any time; I could learn new things, I could move to a new place, I could try on a new identity. I was a living experiment, and what I found to be true was there was no such thing as “finding” myself… at least, not as much as there was a homecoming, a return to my own sovereignty, and an act of creating myself moment to moment.

All the endless searching and questioning and seeking, it was pointless and soul-sucking and psyche-damaging. There wasn’t a “True Me” to find “out there” - there was just a Me to create on the journey of my life.