I leaned back against the wall and sunk to the floor, my face in my hands. I was in my room in Phuket, Thailand. I'd been training at a Muay Thai camp for the past few months, occasionally spending weekends at my Uncle Brad's place. He and his wife lived by the water, a short fifteen-minute drive from the camp.

Towards the end of my Colombian trip, I'd started to free-fall into another full-blown existential crisis. I could usually feel these waves begin to build up in my consciousness, and I wasn't very good at diffusing them before they crashed down on my life and obliterated everything in their path. This one was accompanied by an uncomfortable pressure in my solar plexus — like the power of a mighty ocean, trapped inside a little box.

I'd recently begun feeling constrained in my profession. It wasn't matching up with my interests anymore, and everything felt like a chore. I was scared and confused and disillusioned. What went wrong? I thought I was doing everything right — taking risks, working hard, overcoming obstacles, leaning into fear, allocating time for myself so I didn't burn out, staying active, following my passion and curiosity, making daily progress towards my goals.

I used to love building tech products. But now the thought of doing that seemed so humdrum. I loved my children's coding school, and I was confused as to why I suddenly felt complete apathy towards it — just like so many other creative projects that had faded in and out of my life.

Please don't do this to me again, I begged my mind. Can I please stay focused on this one? I like this creation.

Nothing was ever stable for me. Everything was always transient and fluid — like sand, shifting through an hourglass. One minute, I was high on life. The next, I was crashing and tumbling and falling and lost.

And I judged myself so harshly for it, too. I beat up on myself. I tried to corral my mind when it wanted to change directions, but I was starting to learn that resistance was futile. I'd tried running in the opposite direction of my curiosity, with abysmal consequences. I'd tried smashing it into the mold that society had built for it, and that gave me no success. I'd tried muting it, and subduing it, and lassoing it, and yelling at it, and every time I tried to fight against it, the roaring ocean would rise up at full force and crash over my head, sending me tumbling down into the darkness.

The depressive phases were hopeless and debilitating and grey. I would swing down into these melancholy states for months on end, but it wasn't a depression in the sense that I had no will to live. No, not at all. I had plenty of will to live. My mind was a silent explosion of ideas in the depths of a pitch-black ocean.

I usually became depressed when my heart pulled one way, but my head resisted it because it wasn't what I 'should' be doing. I should be doing this and this and this to be successful and be a good person and be responsible. I should be reaching my potential and earning more money. I knew I was capable of earning way more, but money didn't motivate me like it seemed to motivate other people. I only cared about money to the extent that it gave me freedom to follow the white rabbit. Once that need was met, it ceased to provide any incremental value to my life.

I should be making my parents proud of me. They loved me and supported me, but I also knew they worried that I'd never grow up. It was hard for them. They wanted me to be safe and secure, but I wanted to be wild and free. I was their difficult child, and although they'd done everything right by the parenting books, I think they wondered where they'd gone wrong with me.

"But how is this going to earn you money?" my mother would ask. "I don't understand where the value is in all this work you're suddenly so obsessed with. Why does it matter?"

"Mom!" I'd say, incredulously. "I honestly don't understand how you can't see this! It is the only thing that matters. It is the root cause of everything. What is the meaning of life? How is the illusion being constructed? When I throw an apple in the air, why does it move? Don't tell me it moves because of Newton's laws — that's a description of what it is doing. I want to know why it is doing it. I want to know what is happening at the lower dimension. And if I can just figure it out, then the world will finally make sense to me. And maybe other people would like to know the answer, too."

"Well, as long as 'other people' pay for it somehow, that's all I care about. You can't keep doing this forever. You need to start thinking about your future."

She didn't understand. No one understood. I was all alone on my quest. And if I failed, I'd be all alone in that too.

So my mind would say, "do this responsible thing." But passion would say, "come over here, instead." Come over here and get lost in the middle of the night for hours on end, chasing rabbits down imaginary rabbit holes in your mind, and achieve none of those responsible goals. Oh, and don't worry about everything else in your life — I've replaced it all with apathy. I've removed all passion from everything you used to adore, and focused myself right here, in this neurosis that you can't fight. Come over here, or get lost in depression.

If I could just remove the cage of 'should' I'd shackled around my mind, maybe I wouldn't feel this guilt and anger and frustration wash over me like waves smashing against rocks.

I just wanted to feel like I was useful to the world. What did I have to do to feel useful to the world?

Just be, Wisdom whispered. Just be.

No, Wisdom! I want to know what I have to do. What do I have to do to finally feel like I matter? Like I'm valuable? Like I'm in my element? Like my life has a purpose? What do I have to do to finally feel proud of myself? To finally feel like I'm not an imposter? A loser? A failure?

Tell me what to do and I'll do it!

I was so sick of working hard and building a skill, then having my passion change form, constantly manifesting in different areas. Every time I applied myself diligently and began to feel successful with a project, my curiosity would pull me in a different direction. I felt like I was being dragged through a winding path, over rocks with jagged edges that left scars in my confidence and ripped at my self-worth.

But for what purpose? It didn't make any sense. I'd spent four years running around, observing things, trying things, learning things. What was the point of it all, anyway? What was the point? I couldn't see the bigger picture. My life was just a mish-mash of random brushstrokes. It was chaos.

I leaned back against the wall and began to cry. Alone, in the middle of the day, in my bedroom. I'd been crying a lot lately.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!" I yelled at my intuition. The sobs were erupting from my mouth. I was a mess. "I don't understand what you want from me! I've followed you around the goddamn world, and here I am, miserable and alone on the floor of a Thai apartment.

Where's all the success I was promised, huh? I followed you, and followed you, and followed you, and you promised me it would lead to something. I worked my butt off in pursuit of my dreams. You promised me my dreams would come true if I just had the courage to pursue them. I trusted you, and you lied. I've followed you for a decade, and all I have are some beautiful and bitter-sweet memories.

I followed you with 99dresses, and that failed. I followed you with Jesse, and he left. I followed you with all the different skills I've learned and then lost interest in. I followed you with CodeMakers, and now I've suddenly fallen out of love with that business too and it's breaking my heart. It's too painful. I can't bear it.

And now, to top it all off, I'm starting to question my entire choice of career. I don't even think I want to build these tech products anymore, and I've been doing this since I was a teen. Why do I feel a longing to write and teach and talk instead? Why do I feel a longing to just tell stories, and make people laugh, and make them cry, and help them see the world in a different way? Why? I'm not perfect. Look at me. I'm a fucking wreck right now. I oscillate between melancholy and euphoria. What can anyone learn from me?

Fuck you, intuition. Fuck you, curiosity. Fuck you, passion. Fuck you, soul. I thought you were supposed to be looking out for me. Whatever happened to that, huh? Whatever happened to 'follow your heart, and everything will all work out?'

I just don't get it. I don't get it. I'm done. I'm sick of this. God, if you want someone to solve this fucking riddle, maybe you should pay them for it. Isn't that what academics are for? Don't they get paid for all this stuff I'm doing for free? I'm twenty-seven, and I'm getting older, and I have to think about my future. I can't keep going on like this — being a slave to your childish agenda. I can't keep treating the world like a wondrous playground. Can you please just stop this storm raging in my mind and let me be? My God, what is wrong with me!?"

In that moment, and many moments like it, I hated myself. I loathed who I was. Unsuccessful. Undisciplined. Fucked up. Failure. Loser. Idiot. Fraud. Imposter. Unlovable. Worthless. There were so many colorful labels that I placed upon my own forehead.

What value do I add to the world? I wondered. What is the point of it all? If I follow my passion, I end up here. If I don't follow my passion, I get dragged into a dark sea of debilitating depression. What gives?

I needed some meaning in my life.

I leaned back against the wall and sunk to the floor, my face in my hands. I was in my room in Phuket, Thailand. I'd been training at a Muay Thai camp for the past few months, occasionally spending weekends at my Uncle's place. He and his wife lived by the water, a short fifteen-minute drive from the camp.

Over the past few months, I'd started to free-fall into another full-blown existential crisis. I could usually feel these waves begin to build up in my consciousness, and I wasn't very good at diffusing them before they crashed down on my life and obliterated everything in their path. This one was accompanied by an uncomfortable pressure in my solar plexus — like the power of a mighty ocean, trapped inside a little box.

I'd recently begun feeling constrained in my profession. It wasn't matching up with my interests anymore, and everything felt like a chore. I was scared and confused and disillusioned. What went wrong? I thought I was doing everything right — taking risks, working hard, overcoming obstacles, leaning into fear, allocating time for myself so I didn't burn out, staying active, following my passion and curiosity, making daily progress towards my goals.

I used to love this. I used to love building tech products. But now the thought of doing so seemed so humdrum. I loved my children's coding school, so I was confused as to why I suddenly felt complete apathy towards it — just like so many other creative projects that had faded in and out of my life.

Please don't do this to me again, I begged my mind. Can I please stay focused on this one? I like this creation.

Nothing was ever stable in my life. Everything was always transient and fluid — like sand, shifting through an hourglass. One minute, I was high on my existence. The next, I was crashing and tumbling and falling and lost.

And I judged myself so harshly for it, too. I'd tried corralling my mind when it wanted to change directions, but I was starting to learn that resistance was futile. I'd tried running in the opposite direction of my curiosity, with abysmal consequences. I'd tried smashing it into the mold that society had built for it, and that gave me no success. I'd tried muting it, and subduing it, and lassoing it, and yelling at it, and every time I tried to fight against it, the roaring ocean would rise up at full force and come crashing over my head, sending me tumbling down into the darkness.

The depressive phases were hopeless and debilitating and grey. I would swing down into these melancholy states for months on end, but it wasn't a depression in the sense that I had no will to live. No, not at all. I had plenty of will to live. My mind was a silent explosion of ideas in the depths of a pitch-black ocean.

The darkness only drowned me when my heart pulled one way, but my head resisted it because it wasn't what I "should" be doing. I should be doing this and this and this to be successful and be a good person and be responsible. I should be reaching my potential and earning more money. I knew I was capable of earning way more, but money didn't motivate me like it seemed to motivate other people. I only cared about money to the extent it gave me freedom to follow the white rabbit. Once that need was met, it ceased to provide any incremental value to my life.

I should be making my parents proud of me. They loved me and supported me, but I also knew they worried that I'd never grow up. It was hard for them. They wanted me to be safe and secure, but I wanted to be wild and free. I was their difficult child, and although they'd done everything right by the parenting books, I think they wondered where they'd gone wrong with me.

"But how is this going to earn you money?" my mother would ask. "I don't understand where the value is in all this work you're so obsessed with. Why does it matter?"

"Mom!" I'd say, incredulously. "I honestly don't understand how you can't see this! It is the only thing that matters. It is the root cause of everything. What is the meaning of life? How is the illusion being constructed? When I throw an apple in the air, why does it move? Don't tell me it moves because of Newton's laws — that's a description of what it is doing. I want to know why it is doing it. I want to know what is happening at the lower dimension. And if I can just figure it out, then the world will finally make sense to me. And maybe other people would like to know the answer, too."

"Well, as long as 'other people' pay for it somehow, that's all I care about. You can't keep doing this forever, Nikki. You need to start thinking about your future."

She didn't understand. No one understood. I was all alone on my quest. And if I failed, I'd be all alone in that too.

So my mind would say, "do this responsible thing." But passion would whisper, "come over here, instead." Come over here and get lost in the middle of the night for hours on end, chasing rabbits down imaginary rabbit holes in your mind, and achieve none of those responsible goals. Oh, and don't worry about everything else in your life — I've replaced it all with apathy. I've removed all passion from everything you used to adore, and focused myself right here, in this neurosis that you can't fight. Come over here, or get lost in depression.

If I could just remove the cage of "should" I'd shackled around my mind, maybe I wouldn't feel this guilt and anger and frustration wash over me like waves smashing against rocks.

I just wanted to feel like I was useful to the world. What did I have to do to feel useful to the world?

Just be, Wisdom whispered. Just be.

No, Wisdom! I want to know what I have to do. What do I have to do to finally feel like I matter? Like I'm valuable? Like I'm in my element? Like my life has a purpose? What do I have to do to finally feel proud of myself? To finally feel like I'm not an imposter? A loser? A failure?

Tell me what to do and I'll do it!

I was so sick of working hard and building a skill, then having my passion change form, constantly manifesting in different areas. Every time I applied myself diligently and began to feel successful with a project, my curiosity would pull me in a different direction. I felt like I was being dragged through a winding path, over rocks with jagged edges that left scars in my confidence and ripped at my self-worth.

But for what purpose? It didn't make any sense. I'd spent four years running around, observing things, trying things, learning things. What was the point of it all, anyway? What was the point? I couldn't see the bigger picture. My life was a mish-mash of random brushstrokes. It was chaos.

I leaned back against the wall and began to cry. Alone, in the middle of the day, in my bedroom. I'd been crying a lot lately.

"What the fuck do you want from me?!" I yelled at my soul. The sobs were erupting from my mouth. I was a mess. "I don't understand what you want from me! I've followed you around the goddamn world, and here I am, miserable and alone on the floor of a Thai apartment.

Where's all the success I was promised, huh? I followed you, and followed you, and followed you, and you promised me it would lead to something. I worked my butt off in pursuit of my dreams. You promised me my dreams would come true if I just had the courage to pursue them. I trusted you, and you lied. I've followed you for a decade, and all I have are some beautiful and bitter-sweet memories.

I followed you with 99dresses, and that failed. I followed you with Jesse, and he left. I followed you with all the different skills I've learned and then lost interest in. I followed you with CodeMakers, and now I've suddenly fallen out of love with that business too and it's breaking my heart. It's too painful. I can't bear it.

And now, to top it all off, I'm starting to question my entire choice of career. I don't even think I want to build these tech products anymore, and I've been doing this since I was a teen. Why do I feel a longing to write and teach and talk instead? Why do I feel a longing to just tell stories, and make people laugh, and make them cry, and help them see the world in a different way? Why? I'm not perfect. Look at me. I'm a fucking wreck right now. I oscillate between melancholy and euphoria. What can anyone learn from me?

Fuck you, intuition. Fuck you, curiosity. Fuck you, passion. Fuck you, soul. I thought you were supposed to be looking out for me. Whatever happened to that, huh? Whatever happened to "follow your heart, and everything will all work out?"

I just don't get it. I don't get it. I'm done. I'm sick of this. God, if you want someone to solve this fucking riddle, maybe you should pay them for it. Isn't that what academics are for? Don't they get paid for all this stuff I'm doing for free? I'm twenty-seven, and I'm getting older, and I have to think about my future. I can't keep going on like this — being a slave to your childish agenda. I can't keep treating the world like a wondrous playground. Can you please just stop this storm raging in my mind and let me be? My God, what is wrong with me!?"

In that moment, and many moments like it, I hated myself. I loathed who I was. Unsuccessful. Undisciplined. Fucked up. Failure. Loser. Idiot. Fraud. Imposter. Unlovable. Worthless. There were so many colorful labels that I placed upon my own forehead.

What value do I add to the world? I wondered. What is the point of it all? If I follow my soul, I end up here. But if I don't follow my soul, I kill myself at twenty-seven and spend the next seventy years just waiting to die. What gives?

I needed some meaning in my life.