death to who I thought I was...

birthday eve reflections of a soon-to-be 24 year old

I am turning 24 years old.

I’m writing this in a hostel while people-watching in Mexico City while Lil Wayne’s “Let It All Work Out” spills through my headphones. My eyes sting with unshed tears because I don’t give myself enough credit. Not for surviving, not for fighting. Not for changing the trajectory of my life with nothing but willpower and faith.

I wonder if I’m in the middle of an initiation and just too consumed by survival to see it. Feeding myself for a tomorrow that doesn’t even exist yet, trapped in a reality built from fear, not presence. The Universe has stripped me naked and said, “Here. Now. One step at a time.”

People have been telling me they see my future—their visions of me unraveling into greatness. It feels like they’re all part of some cosmic scheme I haven’t caught onto yet. Can I see it too? Isn’t that what it means to be young? Feeling your future crawl just beneath your skin, but you can't make it out clearly yet.

Tomorrow’s my birthday. Supposedly one of the luckiest days of the year. Right now, I want to smoke a fat blunt (even though I barely smoke), laugh till my ribs ache, and whisper "fuck it." Fuck it—my favorite phrase of the week. Specifically, "fuck." A perfect word. If you hear me say it, let me. I’m shedding skin. I’m burning through layers of self, hoping it all works out. But is hope enough?

Is it enough to sit here, depleted, with only enough energy to breathe my needs and desires into the Universe and trust that it is done? I am empty, yet full of faith. And when you're forced to your knees before the Divine, stripped of illusion, you learn: your human efforts are dust compared to the epic orchestration of the Universe.

My ancestors have always called me home. Not a place. Not a country. Home—the temple within. The quiet place where they sit with me. But I get tunnel vision. I forget to listen. I get swallowed by "hustle" and "success" and "grind." All noise. So here, at the end of 23, I think I’m being initiated. Something greater is pulling me in. Funny how it all makes sense when you finally shut up and pay attention.

Shhhhh. They’re calling again. The call that began months ago. I tiptoed toward it, then plugged my ears with "business" and "work hard." Why? Because the world said I had to. Work harder. Strive for greatness. Show the internet I’m grinding. Show people who don’t care if I live or die that I’m worthy. Look at me—so many clients. So productive. So successful.

Did it work? Nah. My clients didn’t love me because I "grinded." They loved me because of my energy. My essence. My soul.

And when I trace the thread of this burnout, these blocks, it leads back to me. On my last day at 23, I am confronting myself. Staring in the mirror and whispering, "Baby girl, what the fuck? Wake the fuck up. Shine."

Let’s shine? Hell yeah, let’s shine.

Astrology, Human Design, every tool I've studied points to one truth: I am made for success. We all are. But we get tricked. We give in to lies that feel like truth. Why? Because the journey is the lie. The lesson. The unlearning. The alchemy. I am an alchemist. We all are. We turn ashes into diamonds. We create from chaos. We resurrect.

So, if this feels like the end—if my 23rd year was the final chapter of some dystopian film—what world will I birth in the sequel? The next act? The next epic?

I woke up today feeling like luck took a smoke break and left me to fend for myself. Only to be told afterward: I get to rewrite the rulebook. Create my own rhythm. Make magic without knowing how. That’s the beauty.

I don’t recognize who I was four years ago. Today, I walked, wrote, breathed, and felt every cell in my body remember how far I’ve come. I changed my life. Even if the mirage tells me I’m back at square one, I’m not. That version of me? Gone. I am something new. Reborn. And so are you—reading this, watching me transform in real time.

This is raw. This is soul writing. The kind I read and reread, where the writer reaches through the page and drags you into their world, their mind, their ache, their rebirth.

Tomorrow, I enter a new avatar. 24. I have no clue what’s coming. The world might burn, but I have lived through fire already and didn’t get scorched. Just refined. Purified. Crowned by flame.

Even this eclipse season knocked me flat, but I know now: All is well. I’m the main character. The climax is here. The moment you think the hero will retreat, then—BOOM—they make the choice that changes everything.

I made that choice. Today. I am destined for greatness. I have everything. I lack nothing. My spirit team, my ancestors, the Universe heard me—and made it better than I could imagine.

Without the Divine, I am nothing. Every "fuck it" guided me deeper into my power. Into my great potential. The same potential we all bury under doubt.

I held myself back, even after leaping with no safety net. I didn’t see it until now. But this is life.

So I say goodbye to 23. I lived lifetimes in these 6.5 months of travel. People envy that. But most aren’t ready for the transformation I endured. 23 destroyed me. It angered, broke, and emptied me. But it also filled me with joy beyond words. Would you be ready to lose everything you thought you were and surrender to the Divine plan—even as your world burns?

Goodbye, 23. Hello, 24. Hello, new me. I feel the shackles fall. The fog lift. The road rise to meet me.

I see the Promised Land.

Happy birthday to me.

Cheers to 24.