Recently, someone I admire said that the phrase “having it all” feels triggering to her. That it speaks to never being satisfied, to a hunger that’s never fed. And I understand that lens—deeply. Especially in a world obsessed with more, more, more.

But that’s not what having it all means to me.
To me, it’s not about endless striving or proving something.
It’s not about chasing some elusive version of success.
It’s not about accumulation.

It’s about and.

It’s about undoing the conditioning that says you have to pick:

• Purpose or prosperity.
• Love or freedom.
• Beauty or depth.
• Magic or mastery.
• Healing or luxury.

​It’s about refusing to gaslight yourself into believing that joy must be earned through sacrifice.

Because for so long, we’ve been told that choosing ourselves comes with a cost.
That we should settle.
That “enough” is only what fits in someone else’s comfort zone.

But for me, having it all is a reclamation.
Not of everything, but of everything that’s true. Everything that’s mine.

And maybe I’ll never be satisfied—because I wasn’t made for maintenance.
As a Projector, I was designed to evolve.
To guide.
To hold the vision of what’s possible—not what’s practical.

So no, it’s not about more.

It’s about not less.
​
Not less than what I deserve.
Not less than what’s aligned.
Not less than the fullness of what I came here to live.
​

The Road to Success
(Part 1: The Choice)
 
I realized that doing the work of alignment then
Would bring ease to me later--
A life free from the grind of 9-to-5,
Free from living someone else’s plan.
 
It might have seemed “easier” at the time
To skip the work of healing,
To avoid becoming self-led,
To sidestep trust, blocks, and resistance.
 
But that work became light to carry
When I knew what waited ahead:
Aligned clients, authentic expression,
And rewards too great to count—not only monetary,
But the freedom to be fully me.
 
And now, I know this path is the only one.
I could quit, go get hired,
Choose the familiar over the unknown.
I could return to Phoenix,
Because Yuma doesn’t look like San Diego.
 
But my internal GPS is set.
It whispers, “The beach is yours.”
And though the road is paved with faith
And built on small aligned actions,
I will arrive—by hook or by crook.


​ 
The Road to Success
(Part 2: The Unfolding)
 
But there was no real choice, was there?
I wasn’t going back to Phoenix.
Why would I, when everyone knew
I belonged to the ocean?
 
And I didn’t go back to what wasn’t terrible,
But wasn’t working either.
Not to the art shows or to the burnout,
Not to the fear disguised as safety.
 
Instead, I trusted the unfolding,
Even when the evidence denied my becoming.
Eliminating what didn’t fit, I yelled:
“Not that! Not that!”
Until I found the shoe that was meant for me.
 
Because that was the path that felt alive,
The one that I blazed exclusively for me,
And it didn’t matter if no one else could see it.
I found my San Diego,
My freedom, my ocean, my truth.
  
​ ​
 
The Road to Me
(Part 3: For The Very First Time)
 
For the first time in my life,
I didn’t choose the easy road.
The one where everything worked,
Where I floated with the current
And pleased the outside world.
 
For the first time,
I didn’t care how it looked from the outside--
Didn’t let the whispers of fear
Weave their lies around my choices.
 
For the first time,
I invested in me,
In what couldn’t be seen,
In what only I could feel.
 
For the first time,
I chose the long game,
The one that was slow to reveal,
But promised everything real.
 
For the first time in my life,
I chose trust over ease,
Faith over fear,
And made the choice to trust in the unseen.
 
For the first time in my life,
I chose me.