The Life I’m Learning to Live

Because creating the life you want starts with permission.

Dear Human,

When you wake up in the morning, does your life feel like the one you once imagined for yourself? The one with that specific kind of warmth, that particular texture of joy?

Have you started to believe that this current version—with its particular frustrations and limitations—is all there is?

What if the life you're quietly longing for is still possible, just waiting behind a door you haven't yet opened?

I've been sitting with these questions all week, turning them over like smooth stones in my palm. If you sense a certain weight to my words, you're feeling it right—this has been a week of deep diving. And when you dive that deep, the pressure changes. With these heavy reflections come waves of panic, regret, and that sudden rush of adrenaline urging you to either swim back to the surface or plunge all the way down.

These words have helped me build a rhythm and make space for reflection to shape the coming days:

"I do not judge me of yesterday with wisdom I have today. I honor the me I was and step into the me I can be today. I look with kindness over the past. I let the perspectives I held too tight loose so my life can take form. I am not a prisoner to the way I thought it would be. I release myself to experience life as it comes."

This Week's Reflection

Here's a practice that's been opening doors in my mind this week:

First: Find a quiet corner with paper and pen. Set a timer for 10 minutes and let yourself dream without judgment. What does your most aligned life look like? Not the one you think you should want or the one that seems practical—but the one that makes your chest expand when you imagine it. Where do you wake up? What work fills your days? What sounds and textures surround you? Which faces do you see most often?

Then: Set the timer for another 10 minutes. For each element of your dream life, write down three unexpected paths that might lead you there—routes you haven't considered, side doors instead of front entrances.

The magic lives in this second part—in discovering that the essence of what you want might arrive wearing different clothes than you imagined.

I'll go first:

I want to make music, I want a life where making music is a huge part of my days. Why? My soul desires it, it's how I regulate my nervous system and process life. Currently, I write voice memos which I share with you. My dream is to make music with friends as a way of life. It involves either having a studio or having a friend who has a studio and we schedule times to jam.

I've had this dream since 2022. I've lived versions of it, like recording covers with a friend, writing songs in a friend's living room for a show, yet the ache is still not satisfied.

Three other ways this can become part of my life:

• Budgeting for music making and paying a producer to make music with me. I can do this more consistently and remove the layers of having friends and a studio and trying to align schedules.

• Setting aside time every week to write songs acapella in my bedroom.

• Joining a band...

Your turn... This is a pretty personal activity but if you feel open to sharing, send me a DM.

The Permission Slip I Wrote Myself

Welcome back to this week's episode of twenty-something scrambling...

This week, I've been haunted by a persistent whisper:

"When will it be my turn?"

My turn to invent something brilliant. Pioneer something meaningful. Create something worthwhile that touches other lives and leaves a mark on this world.

I spent five days swimming in that question, letting it pull me under, until suddenly—like breaking through to the surface—clarity arrived:

It's my turn when I say it is

.

No mysterious authority holds the permission slip I've been waiting for. No one is standing at a door I need to be invited through. The doorway exists when I build it, and I already have all the tools I need.

This realization sparked a much more potent question: "What do I actually want to create?"

Three dreams immediately surfaced—ideas that have followed me for years like faithful shadows, waiting for me to acknowledge them. I've been treating them like shy visitors needing someone else's formal introduction, when really, they're already mine to nurture.

But here's the thorny truth I'm facing: I can't tend to these creations while spreading myself too thin. My calendar is cluttered with commitments that dilute my energy and scatter my focus.

If you say yes to everything, your yes has no value.

So the next few months look like me drawing boundaries—becoming fluent in the language of "no" to protect the sacred space where my true work can grow. It's not selfish; it's stewardship.

I've rewritten my plans for the year through this new lens of permission and priority. The destinations haven't changed much, but the pathways have shifted. With clearer priorities as my compass, my daily actions and commitments now align with the life I'm deliberately crafting rather than the one I've accidentally accumulated.

Little Balloons, Big Realisations

This week I celebrated my best friend's birthday in Spain! He turned 26!

As I prepared for his birthday, getting gifts, setting up the activities, I struggled with the idea of getting balloons. I was like, balloons are cliché, we're too old for balloons... but on my last shopping round I gave in to the desire for balloons.

And I must say I am very satisfied with the balloons.

Putting them up was super exciting, it was a very little thing but it brightened up my day, made me super giddy and excited. He liked the balloons but I LOVED the balloons, and it made me realize I love the little details, I love DIY stuff and beautifying experiences and I want to lean into that.

What is a small thing you should lean into? Something that makes you break into a smile or giggle a little?

Voice Memo:

In a few years, I will no longer be able to say I'm in my twenties! That's huge... but until then I will bask in my twenties.

One of the biggest themes this year has been taking ownership in my life. Taking ownership has looked like letting go of things I liked but didn't love. Things that don't align with the life I am designing.

And sometimes it's hard!

This week I noticed that I have over-loved one aspect of my life and let other areas suffer. If I was a garden, the lilies would be blooming but the sunflowers, roses and daisies would be dry and sad looking.

It hurts to reduce the energy on the lilies and it's scary to tend to more flowers at once—but it's a beautiful experience.

So I wrote this song to help me let go.

Lyrics

Sometimes you’ve got to let it go
Sometimes you’ve got to walk away
I know it hurts to let it go
But it’s time for you to move away (move away)

Move move
Take it one step at a time
Oh move move move

Sometimes you’ve got to walk a path
Unsure of where it’s leading to
I know that it is terrifying
But sometimes that’s what you’ve got to do

So move move
Take it one step at a time
Oh move move move
Take it it one step at a time

And you will see
What’s beyond the line
Maybe good, or bad or even great
But you’ve got to move

You’ve got to leave this familiar place
‘Cause it doesn’t serve who you need to become

So just move move move
Put one foot in front of the other
You’ve got to move move move
Take it it one step at a time

Till next week,

With love and laughter,

Oibiee