(A Personal Rant About Living Someone Else’s Life)

I was twenty-three the first time someone told me I was “wasting my potential.” The accusation came wrapped in concern, like a sad little gift box from someone who just couldn’t believe I’d choose something as impractical as writing for a living. I remember the way their eyebrows crinkled, like they were physically pained by my decision to not go to grad school, not take the corporate job, not follow the plan. Their plan.

And honestly? For a hot minute, I believed them.

When the Blueprint Isn’t Yours

There’s something weirdly seductive about living by someone else’s script. Like, it comes pre-loaded with steps. Go here. Study that. Date someone respectable. Get a salary with benefits. Schedule joy for weekends and vacations, if there’s time. The world practically hands you this cookie-cutter life and dares you to color outside the lines.

But here’s the thing: sometimes those lines? They choke you.

When I first heard the Steve Jobs quote — “Your time is limited, so don’t waste it living someone else’s life” — I think I physically exhaled. Like I’d been holding my breath for years and suddenly realized I didn’t have to keep performing in someone else’s costume.

We all come into this world with clocks ticking quietly inside us. Not in a morbid way, just… true. Limited hours. And how many of those hours do we spend doing things because we think we should? Because we’re afraid of disappointing the people who mean well? Because risk is scary and validation is addicting?

The Great Identity Costume Party

For a long time, I lived like a shadow version of myself. I wore outfits I didn’t like. Laughed at jokes I didn’t find funny. Went to events where I felt like a cardboard cutout of a human. I even tried out a “business casual” phase — blazers, loafers, corporate jargon (Let’s circle back after we’ve aligned our priorities and touch base on the low-hanging fruit to ensure we’re leveraging our synergies moving forward.)

I kept trying to stuff myself into molds that weren’t shaped like me. Like putting on shoes two sizes too small and wondering why I couldn’t dance.

Living someone else’s life, even a polished, successful-looking one, is exhausting. And the weird part? You can get really good at it. Scarily good. Like Oscar-level performance good.

But eventually, something breaks. For me, it was a Tuesday night and a cheap bottle of red wine. I sat at my kitchen table, looking at a spreadsheet I had no interest in finishing, and just thought: What am I doing? This isn’t a life. This is a rental.

So I quit. I left the job, the apartment, the whole dang storyline. And yes, I panicked. I cried into my cereal. I googled “how to know if you’ve ruined your life.” (Spoiler: you haven’t.)

Making Peace with the Messy, Glorious Unknown

When I started freelancing and writing fiction full-time, and leaning into the weird, messy, artsy version of myself, I didn’t magically become a zillionaire. But I did start waking up not dreading the day ahead. I stopped editing myself in conversations. I wrote things that made me feel something.

So yeah…

I don’t think we talk enough about how terrifying it is to stop living someone else’s life. It means admitting you don’t know where the road goes. It means possibly looking ridiculous. It means doing the scary brave thing and saying: “This is who I am. This is how I want to spend my limited, irreplaceable time.”

And you know what? That’s worth it.

So if no one has said it to you yet today: you’re allowed to choose a different path. You’re allowed to rip up the script. And if your version of success looks wildly different than what your family or peers expected — that’s not failure. That’s freedom.

Now go dance in your own shoes. Even if they squeak (mine squeak like bloody hell).

I still remember the first time I wore leopard-print pants in public.

It was a Wednesday. I had an iced latte in one hand, mild anxiety in the other, and exactly zero business walking into a coffee shop dressed like a disco ball had gotten frisky with a safari guide. But there I was—strutting (read: internally spiraling) across a sea of denim and neutrals, feeling both foolish and fully alive.

That, my friends, is what Marilyn Monroe was talking about.

“It’s better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.”

Let’s talk about that.

The Myth of Playing It Safe

For a good chunk of my life, I tried to blend in. I thought it was safer that way—less awkward, fewer questions, no raised eyebrows. If I could keep my head down, wear “sensible” shoes, and stick to polite opinions, maybe I could make it through life unnoticed and unscathed.

Spoiler: I was very bored. Worse, I was boring.

And here’s the kicker—I wasn’t even happy. I was just… beige. You know that feeling when you’re in a conversation and your brain goes, “Are we really talking about the weather again?” Yeah. That was my whole existence for a while.

But being “normal” is exhausting. It’s a full-time job with no benefits and a dress code that sucks the soul out of you.

The Power of the Ridiculous

There’s a kind of magic that happens when you stop trying to be digestible and start letting yourself be a little absurd. Whether it’s fashion, opinions, hobbies, or how you decorate your living room (hello, disco ball in the kitchen), leaning into the ridiculous is like giving yourself permission to actually be a person.

Not a carefully curated brand. Not an algorithm-friendly highlight reel. A human being, weirdness and all.

Some of the most delightful people I’ve ever met are gloriously ridiculous. One friend wears socks with avocados on them and swears by peanut butter on pizza. Another sings show tunes in public like we’re in a live-action musical. And I love them for it. Not because they’re “quirky” but because they’re alive in a way that people who cling to conformity often aren’t.

Fear of Cringe Is Killing Us

Okay, not literally, but stay with me.

We live in a time where being “cringe” is treated like a social death sentence. Express an unpopular opinion? Cringe. Post a vulnerable thought online? Double cringe. Try something new and flop? Oh no, eternal internet shame.

But guess what—ridiculousness is where growth lives. Creativity lives there. Joy lives there. All the most unforgettable stories I have (and probably you too) came from moments where I was slightly out of my depth, a little over-the-top, or laughing too hard to care how I looked.

Playing it safe won’t give you stories to tell. Being ridiculous will. (Plus I find the word ‘cringe’ so…..cringe!)

So What If They Think You’re Weird?

This is the part where I get a little soapbox-y, so buckle up.

People are going to judge you no matter what. You might as well give them a damn good show.

Wear that neon jacket. Take up pottery even if your first bowl looks like a tragic ashtray (like mine did). Start a blog with twelve readers (hi, Mom). Go salsa dancing even if you’ve got two left feet and one of them’s on fire. Just… do the thing. Whatever it is.

Because living loud, living honest, and yes—living ridiculous—is the only antidote I’ve found to the soul-numbing dullness of being “normal.”

So, yeah…

I’ve learned more about myself in moments of absurdity than I ever did in quiet compliance. So here’s where I land: If the choices are between being a little cringe or being completely forgettable, I’ll take cringe with a side of glitter, thanks.

Life’s too short to be beige.

Go be ridiculous. Marilyn would’ve approved.

P.S. I just got me some purple eyeglasses and I love them! My spouse says I’m cultivating my Dame Edna persona…perhaps I am.

Have you grabbed a copy of my latest book, The Golem’s Guardian? If not, you can grab your copy HERE