29 - A Letter to Myself

I’m 29.

Not rich. Not established. Not where I thought I’d be. But I’m awake. Fully awake to what matters and what doesn’t.

When I was younger, I thought life had a rhythm. Go to school, get the degree, land the job, climb the ladder, make your family proud. I thought success had a formula, work hard, follow the rules, and eventually it all falls into place.

It didn’t.

Instead, life handed me detours. Layoffs. Doubt. Restarts. It stripped away everything that once made me feel “secure.” And when the noise finally quieted, I was left with something raw and uncomfortable, me.

No titles. No structure. Just a guy trying to figure out what he actually wants out of this life.

And honestly? That was the best thing that could’ve happened.

I’ve seen what it looks like to give years to a company that can replace you with a single HR meeting. I’ve seen how fragile “security” really is.

So I made a choice. I chose the uncertainty. I chose the path that doesn’t promise a paycheck but brings me one step closer to my true north.

Now every day feels like I’m swinging at this massive wall, a wall between who I am and who I’m meant to be. Some days I hit it and feel it shake. Other days it doesn’t move at all. But no matter what, I keep swinging.

Working for myself this past year has taught me more than any classroom, job, or title ever did. I’ve learned to create instead of comply. To trust myself instead of ask for permission. To find peace not in certainty, but in direction.

I don’t wake up with that pit in my stomach anymore. Even when things are slow, I know what I’m building is mine. And maybe that’s the real definition of success.

This isn’t about proving anything to anyone.

Because at 29, I’ve realized something: Success doesn’t come from being ahead. It comes from having the courage to start over once you finally have a sense of who you are.

This is the year I stop doubting that I was built for this. The year I take the hits, learn the lessons, and keep moving forward, not because I’m guaranteed to win, but because I refuse to live any other way.

I’m 29. And I’m not where I thought I'd be.