Lately, my head feels like a messy drawer. You know the one, you open it and things just spill out. Pens without covers, a key to a lock you can’t even remember owning, scraps of paper with half-written ideas. That’s me right now.
People love to say, “Jack of all trades, master of none.” Honestly, I used to brush it off, but now I get it. I feel it. Not in the “haha, funny quote” kind of way, but in the way that makes you sit at 2am staring at the ceiling like, so what exactly am I supposed to master? And if I pick one, does it mean I have to kill the rest of my passions and bury them quietly?
I recently left my job, or maybe I should say stepped away. I don’t want to make some big announcement because, truth is, I’m not even sure how I feel about it yet. Relief? Fear? Both. That job was draining the life out of me, but it was also paying the bills. And life doesn’t give you many choices when your peace costs money, does it? You either stay and keep the lights on, or you leave and risk the darkness.
But here’s the thing, even though it was toxic, that job taught me something. I’m a creative. Not just an “employee.” Not just someone who follows laid-down scripts and ticks boxes. I thrive in spaces where creativity has more power than rulebooks. Where I can actually breathe.
Still, being multipassionate feels heavy when there’s no financial cushion. If money wasn’t holding me back, I swear life would look different. I imagine myself spinning in all directions, fashion, books, speaking, voice acting, nails, and instead of it feeling chaotic, it would feel like a dance. But right now, it feels like a trap.
Sometimes I think we weren’t meant to be unipassionate. Maybe we forced that on ourselves to fit into this productivity machine. Sure, some people obsess over one thing, but even they must have secret hobbies, right? Something else that lights them up? So why is it frowned upon when people like me burn with multiple flames?
Let me take you back for a second. I was maybe ten years old when I stitched a piece of fabric into a “dress” for my doll. I remember showing it to my mom, all proud, waiting for her to tell me it looked like Gucci (it didn’t, it was uneven and ugly but in my eyes, it was genius). She laughed, shook her head, and said, “One day, you’ll make clothes for real women.”
That day never left me. I still imagine a fashion brand with ready-made dresses that carry confidence like skin. Dresses that whisper, “You’re beautiful, just as you are,” to every woman who wears them, teenagers figuring themselves out, mothers rediscovering themselves, older women refusing to fade.
And it doesn’t stop there. I dream of a bookstore too. A little warm one, where the air smells like paper and coffee. A place that convinces girls to fall in love with reading again, because books aren’t just stories, they’re manuals for life.
I want to stand on stages too, telling young women what I wish someone had told me: that confidence is not about the mirror or the likes, that your beauty is not negotiable, that self-esteem is not for sale.
And then there’s my voice acting. Do you know how magical it feels to realize your voice can paint pictures sharper than a camera? I want to do more of that.
And nails, oh, nails. I want a studio where women come in for polish but leave with fire in their steps. A space so beautiful it feels like a VIP lounge, because women deserve luxury, even in the tiniest details.
And yet, despite all these dreams, I also want to be a thriving mother, a loving wife, someone whose home feels like laughter. How do you put all of that into one lifetime without losing your mind?
Sometimes I wonder, am I just restless? Is this ADHD? Or is it simply being human in the truest sense?
In my head, these passions are tiny dots of light. They don’t dim, they don’t disappear. They just float there, throbbing, waiting for me to connect them. And if I could connect them, I’d have a galaxy. A whole ecosystem where every dream shines without killing the other.
But right now? None of them are shining. Not one. No lines connecting them. Just silence.
So maybe the question isn’t whether being multipassionate is a curse or blessing. Maybe the real question is, when do I take that step? The one that sets the wheel turning. Because maybe all it takes is one wheel to set the others in motion.
And if I’m being honest, I’m scared. But also, maybe that’s the point. Maybe the dots won’t connect until I stop waiting for money, or permission, or certainty, and just try.
Until then, I’ll hold onto my dots. Even unconnected, even faint, they’re still mine. And that has to count for something.
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All images are mine. Thank you for reading. 🧡