A letter to my younger self
Have you ever thought about what your life would look like if you actually lived your dream?
Not the safe version of your dream, or the "maybe someday" version—but the real, messy, terrifying version where you wake up every day and create something that matters to you.
I used to ask myself that question constantly. What if I had the courage? What if I wasn't too late? What if I could start over?
Well, I'm here to tell you that I was once drowning in those what-ifs. Actually, I still am sometimes. But the difference is that I decided to follow the path toward living my dream: creating art.
Let me tell you about the day it all started.
I was six years old, sitting in a dentist's waiting room, bored out of my mind. You know how those appointments go—the endless wait that feels like torture when you're a kid. My mom always carried a notepad in her purse, and that day she handed it to me with a simple instruction: "Draw something."
I drew a butterfly. But not just any butterfly.
This butterfly had diamond antennas and ten legs. It wore a huge smile and wings covered in every shape I could think of—stars, hearts, zigzags, polka dots. I was completely absorbed, lost in this little creature that was coming to life on the page. Time disappeared until the nurse called my name.
When I rushed into the dentist's office, I couldn't contain my excitement. I showed my creation to the doctor—a family friend—and to my mom. Their response changed something fundamental inside me.
"Wow! That's a beautiful drawing," the dentist said. "You know what that is? That's art."
It sounds silly remembering it now, but at that moment, something sparked to life in my chest. I had created something that made adults light up, something that was uniquely mine.
From that day forward, I wanted to create everything. I drew constantly, painted with reckless abandon, and yes—I made spectacular messes. I remember the day I decided regular finger painting wasn't enough and spotted my dad playing guitar in his white shirt. That back looked like the perfect canvas to me.
I printed both paint-covered hands right onto his shirt.
Instead of anger, I got laughter. "Don't do it to other shirts," he said, "but I'll make sure this one gets framed."
Throughout high school, my sketchbook became my refuge. It was part journal, part art experiment, part emotional dumping ground. It was the only place where I could be completely myself—not the version of me that tried to fit in, but the real me. The authentic me.
You see, we all have two selves: our authentic self and our persona. Your authentic self is who you are when no one's looking. Your persona is the mask you wear to blend in, to be accepted, to belong.
The dangerous part? If you're not careful, that mask can become so thick that you lose track of who you really are underneath.
That's exactly what happened to me.
I stopped drawing. I stopped writing. I stopped doing everything I was passionate about, and I got lost somewhere between who I really was and who I thought I should be.
Bad things started happening. Mistakes accumulated. Poor decisions piled up. Some experiences were so heartbreaking I'm still processing them. The trauma grew heavier with each passing year, and I was living a life completely disconnected from creativity, from art, from myself.
Looking back now, I wonder if the universe was trying to show me something. Maybe all those painful experiences were signs that I was walking down the wrong path entirely.
It took me a long time to find myself again. I spent years lost in what-if scenarios, drowning in possibilities that felt impossible to reach.
Until one day, I asked myself a different question: "Are you not tired of the what-ifs? What could've been, what could be, what if this, what if that. What if you stop asking what-if questions?"
Ironic, right? Asking a what-if question to end all what-if questions.
But here's what I realized: what-if questions aren't the enemy. They're the birthplace of imagination. You just have to learn how to navigate them, how to use them to fuel creativity instead of paralyzing yourself with endless possibilities.
That realization brought me back to art.
Sitting there, surrounded by years of accumulated doubt and fear, I asked myself the question that would change everything:
"What if I pick up a paintbrush again?"
And if you're reading this, stuck at your own crossroads, wondering if it's too late or if you're crazy for even thinking about it, ask yourself this:
"What if I start living my dream?"
"What if I start today?"
That's exactly what I did. I started that day, messy and imperfect and terrified. I started creating again, and slowly, the authentic me began to emerge from underneath all those layers of persona and fear.
Your dreams are waiting for you. The butterfly with diamond antennas is waiting to be drawn. The question isn't whether you're good enough or ready enough or brave enough.
The question is: What if?
