I’m reckless.
Reckless with my ambition. Reckless with my hope.
Reckless in chasing after some sparkling, half-formed version of "better" that I can’t even clearly define, but I’m sure it’s out there.
I’m the one who jumps in headfirst, even when I don’t know what the water feels like. The one who says yes to the next big thing before finishing the last one. The one who constantly wants more, faster, now, even when I have no idea if I’m ready for it.
And here’s the kicker:
I can’t rest.
I can’t just enjoy things.
When I’m not pushing, I feel like I’m missing out. Like I’m falling behind, even if I don’t know exactly what the “ahead” looks like. Even when I try to slow down, even when I know I need to, something inside me just won’t let me. My brain’s on a constant loop of “what’s next,” and if I take a minute to breathe, I feel like I’m wasting time.
It’s not about being out of control—it’s about the feeling that if I stop moving, I’ll miss out.
So, I push. I chase. I leap.
Even when I’m scared. Even when it feels like I’m flying blind. Because that’s what reckless ambition looks like. And it’s messy, it’s chaotic, but it’s also where the growth lives.
You know how some people meditate under trees and say things like “one step at a time”? Yeah. I’m the one sprinting in circles, yelling “STEP BY STEP!” while plotting an Olympic-level leap into the unknown. Because apparently, I don’t know how to chill.
There’s this constant hum in my brain: Do more. Be more. Try harder. Why are you sitting?
It’s exhausting.
Lately, I’ve been staring down the barrel of some Big Leap Energy. The kind that makes your stomach do cartwheels and your brain start whispering: What if you’re not actually good at this? What if you’ve just been lucky?
Suddenly, my past achievements vanish like socks in a dryer. I can’t remember any of the things I’ve crushed, survived, or even mildly succeeded at.
And yet, this pressure—whether it’s from my boss, society, or just the overachiever gremlin in my own head—won’t let up.
So here I am, wondering: How do I get out of this mental chaos factory I accidentally built in my own brain?
Here’s what I’m learning (not a five-step plan from a productivity guru who wakes up at 4 a.m. to journal and cold plunge):
It starts with doing less—intentionally.
Not because I’ve given up. But because I want to last.
Because clarity doesn’t scream. It whispers. And I’ve been too loud to hear it.I’m trying this rebellious thing lately. It’s called being gentle with myself.
(Not exactly sexy, I know. But surprisingly effective.)Instead of another vision board, I made a “Done List.”
Not what I want to do—what I have done.
Turns out, I’ve been low-key impressive this whole time. Who knew?Instead of “what’s next,” I ask “what’s enough?”
And instead of sprinting toward some shiny, undefined finish line, I’m pausing.
Breathing.
Reminding myself that even a plant doesn’t bloom year-round. (And I’m, like, slightly more complex than a houseplant. I think.)
So yeah, maybe I am reckless. But I’m learning how to be recklessly kind to myself.
To leap when it’s right—not just because I’m scared of being still.
And maybe—just maybe—that’s where the real growth lives.
✦ Bonus Round: Tiny Rituals for When Your Brain Is on Fire ✦
aka: Ways to Not Spiral While Still Being an Ambitious Chaos Goblin
So if you’re anything like me—buzzing with ideas, drowning in pressure, craving more but forgetting how far you’ve come—here are a few rebellious little rituals that help:
1. The “Done List”
Start with three things you've already done today. Even if it’s “woke up,” “didn’t scream,” or “answered that one email like an adult.” Momentum doesn’t have to roar—it can tiptoe.
2. The One-Thing Rule
Ask yourself: What’s the one thing I actually need to do today? Not five. Not ten. One. Get it done, and anything else is bonus-level magic.
3. Time-Box the Panic
Feel like a gremlin’s taken over your brain? Cool. Set a timer for 15 minutes and let yourself freak out on purpose. Rant. Write it down. Punch a pillow. Then stop. Contain the chaos. (We love emotionally scheduled meltdowns.)
4. Set “Success” to Easy Mode
On tough days, your definition of success can be “I didn’t quit” or “I drank water that wasn’t coffee.” Celebrate the microscopic wins. They stack.
5. Romanticize the Pause
Tea? Candle? A five-minute sit in the sun with no phone? Romanticize the absolute hell out of doing nothing. Stillness isn’t lazy—it’s fuel.
6. Ask the Magic Question
When you're spiraling, ask: What would the version of me I’m trying to become do right now?
Then do the smallest possible version of that. Baby steps count. Half-steps count. Crawling absolutely counts.
Look, being driven is a beautiful thing. But so is rest. So is grace. So is laughing at the whole mess while you figure it out.
You don’t have to shrink to survive. You just don’t have to sprint all the time either.
Let the leap come when you’re ready.
And until then?
Step by step, babe. Step by gloriously chaotic step.