Let me share something that might make you uneasy and potentially alter your self-perception:
We all have a gift, a real one. And chances are we've been ignoring it most of our lives, not out of modesty, not out of insecurity, but because it's too easy. Because it flows out of us like water, and nobody told us that water is actually remarkable.
You absolute fool.
Have you watched Inside Out? That cute Pixar movie where emotions run a tidy little headquarters inside a child's head? Very charming. Very organized. Color-coded, even.
Mine is nothing like that.
My command center is like the New York City subway at rush hour, but instead of passengers, it’s filled with philosophical ideas, incomplete theories about human behavior, and firm opinions on why people behave the way they do. These concepts are crammed closely together, shoulder to shoulder, engaged in noisy debates. When they get tired of debating and feel mentally drained, they collapse directly on the control panel, completely exhausted.
That's my thinking process.
It dives, spirals, and teleports seamlessly. One moment, I'm examining why someone acts a certain way within a cultural setting; the next, I'm immersed three philosophical layers deep, pondering the essence of perception; then, without any turbulence, I'm back to feeling normal, ready to discuss lunch.
For much of my life, I believed this was normal. I thought everyone's mind was similarly crowded, layered, and beautifully chaotic. I assumed that depth was simply the natural state for humans.
It is not.
I began writing at 33. Thirty-three.
And when I did, something strange happened: people liked it. Not politely-liked-it. Actually liked it. They said things like "you see things in a way I've never considered" and "how do you go that deep?"
And I sat there, genuinely confused.
Because to me, it was... thinking. It was just the Tuesday-afternoon version of my brain doing its normal rambling parade. It wasn't about effort or skill; it was simply what occurred when I spoke or typed.
The only change is that I am vomiting my thoughts now, but it's no big deal.
Which, of course, is precisely why I dismissed it for three and a half decades.
Oh boy. Oh boy. The years. The years.
Here's the villain of this story, a phrase so familiar it's etched into your subconscious: "Nothing good comes easy." You've heard it and nodded in agreement. You've likely even said it aloud to others, with full certainty, as if it were a universal law rather than just a saying from someone's disappointed uncle.
And it is, with great respect and affection, complete and utter nonsense.
This idea that value equals suffering and that worth must be earned through difficulty leads you to overlook your own potential, seeing your riches as dirt because they didn't hurt to find. We collectively equate "easy" with "cheap," believing that things that require little struggle aren't valuable. We romanticize struggle so much that we miss natural brilliance.
And your greatest gifts? Still sitting there. Waiting. Slightly offended.
Some people have a wonderful gift for making others feel truly seen without even trying. They walk into a room and somehow instinctively know exactly what someone needs to hear to feel better. Others have a knack for looking at a broken system and immediately seeing the fix, just like how most of us see a finished puzzle. Some people craft humor out of thin air, bringing lightness and smiles effortlessly. There are those who remember everything vividly, and others who can hold space for pain with gentle strength. Plus, some have a remarkable ability to take complex ideas and translate them into simple, clear language... as if it's breathing.
Each of those people has, at some point, claimed: "Oh, that's nothing. Anyone can do that."
No. YOU can do that. Not anyone.
The fact that it costs you nothing doesn't mean it's worthless. It simply indicates that it's truly yours: deeply, fundamentally, and structurally a part of you. It's embedded at such a foundational level that you no longer see it as a skill. This isn't a flaw in the gift; it's the essence of what makes it a gift.
We've been our own worst archeologists, digging in hard, rocky places, convinced the treasure is deep, while overlooking surface diamonds catching the light. I can't get those years back: essays unwritten, conversations not had, people I didn't help because I thought I had nothing useful to offer. Now I realize: the chaos in my head isn't just a glitch, it's actually the entire experience.
The depth I once thought was mundane is actually remarkable. The sooner you recognize yours... yes, you, right now; the quicker you'll stop chasing ordinariness and start embracing your distinctive, irreplaceable, and slightly wild self.
I hope this post keeps you up tonight, and the moment your head hits the pillow, you'll be wide awake, thinking about your own brilliance. And I won't even be sorry for the sleepless, zombie-eyed, coffee-dependent day you'll face tomorrow. You're welcome.
