The Unanswerable Question

Someone asked me recently,
“Where do you see yourself in ten years?”
And like every time before, I hesitated.

Not because I didn’t care.
But because the shape of my life has never come from sharp plans,
only from soft persistence—
like water finding its own path through stone.

Ten years is a long time.
Ten years ago, I thought different things mattered.
I said yes to people I should’ve let go.
I said no to risks I still think about.
I thought life moved like a straight line.
It doesn’t.

It bends, folds, loses pages, finds new ones.
Sometimes it moves like jazz.
Sometimes it just sits in the corner and waits.

So I don’t answer the question anymore.
Not directly.
Instead, I ask better ones.

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What If the Path Isn’t a Ladder, But a Circle?

The truth is, I don’t want to be climbing anymore.
Not if the ladder leads to rooms full of fluorescent lights and performance reviews.
I want to build things that feel like me—quiet, honest, strange in just the right way.

And I want to sell—not in the loud, shiny way.
But in the true way.
Selling, after all, is just communication.
It’s the art of saying, this is what I made, and this is why it matters.
It’s giving your work a way to walk out into the world without you.

In ten years, maybe I’m still writing.
Still restoring broken things.
Still learning how to build—systems, stories, maybe small businesses with soft edges.

Not because I want to be unstoppable.
But because I want to keep going,
gently, sustainably, with purpose.

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What Building Has Taught Me

I’ve spent time creating things people never saw.
Websites that never launched.
Projects that quietly failed.
Handwritten notes that sat in drawers for years.

But every act of building—even the invisible ones—teaches you something:

• How to turn thought into form.
• How to take an idea and give it texture, structure, consequence.
• How to sit with something long enough that it starts to breathe back.

Building teaches you patience.
It teaches you how to stay with the uncomfortable middle,
when nothing makes sense
and no one claps.

If you want to shape your own life,
learn to build.
Not just products, but paths.

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Why Selling Matters (Even If You Hate Selling)

Selling isn’t manipulation.
It’s clarity.
It’s empathy.
It’s standing inside your work and saying,
“I see you. I made this for someone like you. Here’s how it helps.”

If you learn to build and you learn to sell—
even softly,
even imperfectly—
you’re free.
Not immediately.
But eventually.
Free to shape your time.
Free to walk away from things that steal your soul one checkbox at a time.
Free to spend an afternoon writing, or fixing, or just staring at the rain—
without asking permission.

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The Wabi-Sabi Path to Becoming Unstoppable

You won’t look unstoppable.
You’ll look quiet.
Inconsistent.
Maybe even a little lost.

But you’ll know what you’re doing.
Because the people who last aren’t the loudest—
they’re the ones who learn how to return to the work.

Wabi-sabi reminds us:

• It doesn’t need to be perfect to be valuable.
• A small, handmade life is still a life well-lived.
• Cracks in the path don’t mean you’re off-track—they are the track.
• Simplicity doesn’t mean easy. It means clear.

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A Better Question

So no, I don’t know where I’ll be in ten years.
But I know I want to keep building things that matter.
I want to get better at showing them to the right people,
without apology,
without armor.

I want to live a life where each year deepens the truth,
rather than decorating it.

I want to be the kind of unstoppable
that feels like water—
quiet,
patient,
and always finding a way through.