I was always supposed to be born into immense privilege. Without my loving family standing there to support me and put a roof over my head when I fell down, it would've been a lot harder to take all the risks that I had in my life. My privilege was there so I could serve the world, not so I could feel guilty about having 'too much' when others had so little.

I was always supposed to be born a mutant, with strange gifts. My natural talents served me in many different areas of life, even if I muted them in a subconscious attempt to be a modest, respectable, well-liked female. More than anything, my gifts gave me a quiet confidence — an essential component when undertaking 'impossible' missions. If the male-dominated scientific establishment was going to laugh at me and call me a whimsical, mystical, 'woo woo' crackpot, I'd just have to shut up and get the job done in private.

I was always supposed to be bullied at school. I was always supposed to be on the outside, looking in. If I was a cool kid, I probably wouldn't have developed an extreme love of my own company, and a knack for independent thought. I also never would have started my first business when I was in school — a project that helped me discover my passion for entrepreneurship and technology. I would've been too busy gossiping about boys and going to parties, instead of spending my spare time learning new skills and indulging in creative pursuits.

I was always supposed to meet Zac at that university event eight years ago. He had the curiosity and creativity of a child in a man’s body. He treated the world like a giant game of Minecraft or a ball of Play-Doh, sculpting his reality into whatever he chose. To him, rules were more like suggestions: flimsy, invisible, man-made structures. He took great pleasure in breaking them — basically doing whatever the fuck he wanted as long as it aligned to his strict moral code. Being around his influence was pivotal for my character development. His craziness gave me permission to overcome my ‘good girl’ programming and embrace a world where I bowed to no one but myself. When you live outside the system, you have nobody to blame when your life goes to shit — and that is a beautiful, empowering place to be.

I was always supposed to experience that rock-bottom period in 99dresses, crying on the floor of my bedroom in Australia. I was always supposed to be nominated for that award and begrudgingly fly to Melbourne to receive it. I was always supposed to sit next to the lovely woman who suggested I move to the US. I was always supposed to meet Matt the next night at that conference. When he brushed me off, I was always supposed to run into him again, and again, and again, until he finally relented. And at that dinner, he was always supposed to suggest I apply for Y Combinator.

And then I was always supposed to fail at 99dresses after a difficult but magical journey. If I hadn't taken that risk when I was eighteen and started that business, I wouldn't have had the self-efficacy to attempt something as audacious as reverse-engineering the universe. During my 99dresses journey, if I hadn’t watched reality bend for me in a suspiciously rhythmic way, I never would've become curious about it. I never would've begun asking deep questions about why I failed. Those questions led me right here, to the riddle’s answer.

I was always supposed to publish my failure story, so it could go viral and touch the lives of thousands — if not, millions — of people around the world. My Akashic records were right when they said — "You will actually be utilizing this [the way you live your life] helping more people than you can see now. What you are doing and the way that you're doing it, is actually pretty valuable."

I was always supposed to find The Holographic Universe sitting on a bookshelf in my friends' apartment. I was always supposed to borrow that book and fall in love with its ideas. I was always supposed to carry that book around the world with me, re-reading it in bathtubs while I sipped peppermint tea. That book was a catalyst for my journey.

I was always supposed to meet Sam through my failure article. He was always supposed to be inspired by my story and quit his job. And we were always supposed to end up working together on CodeMakers several years later.

I was always supposed to fly to France and speak at that conference in Toulouse — an opportunity that only came my way because of the failure story I published. In Toulouse, I was always supposed to meet Benjamin, who would tell me all about the French Tech Ticket program.

Then I was always supposed to meet Jesse at that Friday night event, and we were always supposed to fall for each other. Our relationship was always supposed to be doomed from the start; from the moment I introduced him to Benjamin on the day we met, hoping that it might help him move to France one day. Jesse and I were two young, ambitious dreamers who chose to individually love ourselves, and each other, with such ferocity that it tore us apart. He opened my heart and taught me a painful lesson: sometimes the most loving choice you can make is to let someone go.

I was always supposed to learn how to code by making mobile games. I was always supposed to volunteer at my old school, teaching young girls how to create technology and not just consume it. That experience was always supposed to show me how underserved the market was, and spark the idea to build my own online coding school.

And then I was always supposed to join John’s company instead. Fear and rationality guided that decision, not love and heart. I thought I couldn’t handle going out on my own again when I was still licking my wounds from 99dresses. But then I was always supposed to get angry at John — so angry that I’d storm off and start my own business. That stressful, short blip in my career pushed me in a different direction. But it also taught me the power of forgiveness — a lesson I needed to use on myself as much as anyone else in my life.

I was always supposed to build an online coding school for kids that utilized Minecraft. CodeMakers allowed me to live a nomadic lifestyle while playing with children whose creativity and passion lit me up. Teaching kids, training new teachers, and writing all of our lesson plans taught me how to explain concepts simply, in a fun and engaging way. During my free time, I’d use the CodeMakers platform to run time dilation simulations, double-slit experiments, quantum eraser experiments, entanglement experiments, and various other things in Minecraft. That game was an essential part of my creative process.

I was always supposed to sit next to Richard White, the founder of WiseTech Global, at that university event when I was nineteen. He was always supposed to send me to that boot camp when I was twenty-five — an opportunity that only came about because of my failure story, and the fact that I’d started a coding school for kids. That learning experience rewired my brain and taught me how to question my assumptions so I could find simple solutions to complex problems.

I was always supposed to have a falling out with Sam over CodeMakers at the same time that Jesse moved to France. Chaos was always supposed to hit me all at once, when everything seemed to be going well. Sam helped me get the business off the ground before we parted ways. He handed back all of his equity when he left, and the split didn't affect our friendship. Yet without him, I would've struggled to get the tech up and running while doing everything else myself. He was a much more experienced developer than me.

Sam was always supposed to tell me I was a terrible planner, so I’d buy an expensive course on planning and productivity just to prove him wrong and fix my flaw. That course supercharged my business, propelling me to six figures of revenue after a few months of focused execution by myself in Chiang Mai. Furthermore, I was always supposed to introduce Sam to Jackie, so they would fall in love and move to the US together. They were always supposed to go off on their own adventure of self-discovery.

I was always supposed to meet Jiayuh via the planning course, and offer to jump on a call with her. She was always supposed to give me a free Akashic records reading to say thank you. I never would've purchased an Akashic records reading of my own accord, but hers was like a gateway drug. Its eerie accuracy inspired me to investigate the weird and wonderful underbelly of spirituality, leading me to that online energy school.

I was always supposed to watch reality break as my flip-flop moved across the floor of my Chiang Mai apartment. I was always supposed to pick it up, put it on my foot, and walk out the door to dinner, so I knew it wasn’t a hallucination. That event was a turning point for me. It was the moment reality exposed itself as an illusory construct. It was the moment I fully committed to figuring out this riddle. Whenever I doubted myself or someone laughed at me, I’d remember what I saw, and I’d know that I was onto something that the entire scientific establishment was missing. That flip-flop was the reason I never gave up, which explained why that surprising event occurred — it was minimizing vast amounts of expected free energy. This free energy was being generated by a single unanswered question swimming around in humanity's collective consciousness: why are we here? The same phenomenon happened with Neale Donald Walsch...

Yet I invite you to a new form of communication with God. A two-way communication. In truth, it is you who have invited Me. For I have come to you, in this form, right now, in answer to your call.

Conversations With God Neale Donald Walsch

My sandal was always supposed to break in the rain that day as I walked back to the office in Sydney. I was always supposed to plonk myself down at a desk, dripping wet. Then I was always supposed to talk to the stranger next to me while I waited for Pandora to finish her work and drive me home. That stranger introduced me to the Queensland Hotdesq program. He suggested I apply for it — which I did.

I was always supposed to have some of the best six months of my life in Queensland, living in Brisbane, growing CodeMakers, meeting new international friends, helping the local community, and creating a life I loved. I was always supposed to date Lucas and then part ways with him so he could move on to someone better suited to his interests and lifestyle. I was always supposed to reconnect with Rick, whom I hadn’t seen since primary school. I was always supposed to form many lovely, deep relationships with people who inspired me and supported me on my journey through life. Brisbane was a place where I truly felt a sense of belonging. It was a beautiful chapter in my story.

But then, six months later, when the Hotdesq program finished, I was always supposed to move to Colombia. The other entrepreneurs in the program had to leave when their Australian visas expired, and I’d felt that familiar sense of restlessness swirling in the pit of my stomach. One night I was talking to my friend, Lachlan, as we got drunk on cheap wine and raced our office chairs in laps around the coworking space. I told him I wanted a new adventure, and I needed to be in the US time zone for six months. "Why don’t you visit your friend in Colombia?" he suggested. As soon as he said that, it just felt right. I packed up my belongings and flew out two weeks later.

In Colombia, I was always supposed to experience a new lifestyle, a new language, a new vibrant culture that opened my mind and engaged my senses. I was always supposed to go on more crazy adventures with Zac, and meet new friends, and struggle with my business as I continued to grow and change as a person.

I was always supposed to meet Mikel at the gym in Colombia. He was always supposed to encourage me to go to Phuket by mentioning sword fighting — a recurring motif in my consciousness.

I was always supposed to sink into a miserable, depressive existential crisis in Phuket while I trained Muay Thai several hours a day. I was always supposed to get angry at my intuition for leading me down that chaotic path. I was always supposed to feel like giving up on myself as I explored the deepest depths of my self-loathing.

I was always supposed to re-listen to my Akashic records reading while crying on the floor of my Phuket apartment, fifteen months after it was first recorded. I was always supposed to fall out of love with CodeMakers and feel a calling to change careers — to inspire, to teach, to tell stories, to offer the world a different perspective on life. That reading had prophesied the whole thing:

So down the road when you feel called to do it, just do it the way you always do it. Allow it to happen. If you're called to share with people about how you live your life and how things work for you, feel free to share it. So this is just something your records want you to have some heads up about. Because your gift is not just teaching kids coding for the game. There is a lot more that you'll be able to share with the world.

When I was in Phuket, I was always supposed to throw my hands up in the air in frustration, pack my bags, and fly home to Australia. I’d never had a job before, and at the time I couldn’t understand why my intuition was telling me to find one in Sydney. The reason now became clear: I was always supposed to hear my father say, "You’re twenty-seven years old with nothing to show on your resume." I was always supposed to confront my own feeling of inadequacy. It was a shadow monster lurking in the dark depths of my subconscious, waiting to attack. Dad’s words exposed my incessant feeling of never being good enough, of not being seen and appreciated for exactly who I was instead of who everyone else thought I should be. The next day I engaged a coach to help me unshackle my self-worth from external influences. My dad’s opinion was outside my locus of control, and I refused to be a victim of my environment, being triggered by the whims of other people. After just a few sessions, my coach and I had made huge progress.

And then, finally, I was always supposed to end up here, sitting at a desk, resizing the typeface on a website, wondering if this was all I had to offer the world. I was always supposed to run into Darren at the coffee machine, reminisce about our Shanghai antics, and mention my career change. And then Darren was always supposed to email me that article about Karl Friston.

I’d never believed in destiny. I always thought it seemed like a nice, romantic idea relegated to myths and fantasy novels, where heroes slayed dragons, and witches cast magic spells, and oracles made prophecies. And yet there I was, staring Destiny in the face, no longer able to deny her.

Everything I’d ever experienced had brought me right here, to the riddle’s answer; to my future self. If I hadn’t traipsed through such a winding, chaotic path, I never would've understood the significance of Karl Friston’s work when I saw it. I’m sure many people have studied his work and still can’t connect the dots. They hadn’t been on the journey like I had — picking up information from different disciplines and tumbling down various intellectual rabbit holes with a sense of childlike wonder. My journey made no rational sense in a world that demanded incremental order. And yet, without my journey, I never would've seen the signal in the noise. It was like God said — "Words may help you understand something. Experience allows you to know."

My chaotic curiosity was a gift, not a burden. My intuition and passion lit my path like a lantern, illuminating the next step to take. My heart would whisper, "Come here, fly there, say this, read that," and I’d oblige — somehow believing, deep in my soul, that a beautiful painting would emerge from the random brushstrokes of my life. God said — "Indeed, the Master knows intuitively that passion is the path. It is the way to Self realization."

When I ignored my intuition — like that time I joined John’s company — the universe unfolded a series of events to smack me back on my path. Or rather, I was never really off my path in the first place. I was always supposed to deviate and get lost and doubt myself. My perceived mistakes and sinful transgressions were all part of a mathematical masterplan to bring me here, to my destiny; to who I truly was.

The irony of the journey took my breath away. This whole time I thought I was searching for the answers to the universe; for God. But, in the end, I was really just searching for myself. They’re the same thing, after all.

"Nikki," a voice said.

I blinked a few times and snapped out of my reverie.

"Nikki? Are you okay? You’ve been staring out the window for a while…"

I turned to see my colleague, Georgia, standing beside me. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I’m fine." I glanced at my phone. Three hours had flown by in seconds.

Georgia sat down in the chair next to mine. "I was actually wondering if you’d finished-"

"What? No. Sorry. Umm… I’ve got to go." I threw my laptop in my handbag and bolted out the door, onto the busy Sydney street.