Just Start.

Two words. That’s all it took to haunt me for the better part of my twenties.

“Just start.” It sounded so simple. So clean. Like a mantra that held within it infinite doors, infinite lives I could live. I carried it like a secret key in my back pocket, waiting for the right lock to appear. The right project. The right business. The right passion.

But here’s the thing they don’t tell you:

Start what?

That part? That part will mess with you for years.

In my early twenties, I figured I’d just start something — anything I was remotely passionate about. I threw myself into digital art, graphic design, affiliate marketing, Amazon dropshipping, web design. I took on roles in print design, content creation, basic marketing. I tried to mold myself into whatever the moment demanded — hoping one of these lanes would quietly turn into a highway.

But the further I walked, the more that question echoed: what am I even building?

I’d loop between excitement and burnout, obsessed with the idea of momentum but haunted by the absence of a singular direction. “Niche down,” I’d whisper to myself like a corporate angel on my shoulder. “Pick one thing. Brand yourself.”

And for a while, I tried. I’d shave off parts of myself, smooth out the edges, hope that if I just committed to one path, the others would stop calling.

They didn’t.

Now, at 29, I sit here with a strange collection of skills -an amalgamation of disciplines, mediums, and identities. A Frankenstein resume. At first glance, it looks messy. Like I lacked direction. Like I never chose.

But with a little distance, with a little grace, I can finally see the thread.

I wasn’t flailing. I was assembling.

Every pivot was a lesson. Every short-lived hustle was a tool added to the belt. Every “failed” start taught me something the polished routes never could.

I didn’t niche down. I zoomed out.

The truth is, “Just Start” was never about picking the right project. It was about movement. About trusting that the act of starting is the seed, not the blueprint.

And if you start enough things, something wild happens:

Eventually, you don’t find your niche. You forge it.

So if you’re where I was floating, unsure, spinning in your head trying to find the “right” thing; maybe forget about the outcome for a minute. Forget about the perfect brand or the scalable funnel or the five-year plan.

Just start.

Do something.

Make anything.

Let it be messy. Let it be cringe. Let it not go anywhere.

Because the doing changes you.

And one day, you’ll look back  like I am now and realize that all those seemingly disjointed starts were quietly building a foundation for something only you could build.

‍