Old Soul

I have spent my life, chasing things

That have only brought me pain

In the end, when I'm dead

Hope it was for something

You say you like the wind blowing through your hair

Come on, roll with me 'til the sun goes down

For generations, the women before me carried expectations like heirlooms. Be agreeable. Be selfless. Be small enough to fit into someone else’s idea of a good life. They survived, they sacrificed, they did what they had to do. And because of that, I get to do something different.

I get to choose.

I choose the way I spend my time, who I give my energy to, what I build, what I walk away from, and what I refuse to tolerate. I choose freedom over approval, growth over comfort, and authenticity over playing nice.

And yeah, it’s uncomfortable sometimes. It means breaking patterns, disappointing people, and stepping into spaces that weren’t exactly made for me. But it also means waking up and actually liking the life I’ve created.

That’s something no one can hand you—you have to take it.

Being the first doesn’t mean I’m better. It just means I’m willing to go first. To rewrite the script. To prove that wanting more isn’t selfish—it’s powerful.

And honestly?