I’ve been reflecting a lot lately on having fun—not as a reward or something we earn after working hard enough or healing sufficiently, but as a practice.
The most self-actualized people I know are disciplined. They work hard and take responsibility for their lives. They don’t avoid difficulty or outsource their growth.
One thing I’ve also noticed is that they know how to have a good time. This observation has led me to wonder whether having fun—real, embodied fun—might actually be one of the most powerful states we can experience.
When I’m having fun, I notice a subtle yet significant shift. I’m less tense, less controlling, and less preoccupied with how things should go. I become less self-conscious, more receptive, more curious, and more willing to meet life as it is, rather than trying to manage it.
Things don’t magically become perfect, but they tend to align better. Ideas come faster, timing improves, conversations flow more easily, and opportunities appear without force. It feels as if I’m no longer blocking the flow of life with stress, pressure, and constant self-monitoring.
And when I’m in a good place internally, I’m better for the people around me as well. My joy doesn’t remain contained—it radiates. That’s why I don’t think joy is indulgent; I believe it’s responsible.
I’m not advocating for toxic positivity. There is space for all human experiences: curveballs, adversity, setbacks, illness, heartbreak, survival mode, grief, and failure are all real. However, joy can serve as a buffer during these times. Humor can help ease our stuck places. If we’re chronically depleted, tightly wound, or perpetually correcting ourselves, we tend to shrink. We become less available—not just to pleasure, but also to creativity, intimacy, and truth.
So maybe the next right step isn’t more effort or more fixing—
maybe it’s finding more ways to have fun.
- 2 min read
I once heard someone say that the fastest way to change your life is to meditate. I’ve been thinking about that recently, and for me, it’s partially true.
Meditation doesn’t usually change our lives overnight. But it can change our relationship to our lives very quickly. And that shift often creates real-world change faster than hustling, fixing, or forcing ever could.
One of the first things meditation changes is awareness. We begin to notice patterns as they arise — the over-giving, the scanning for other people’s moods, the reflex to “just handle it.” Once a pattern is seen clearly, it often loses a surprising amount of power.
Meditation also supports nervous system regulation. A calmer baseline tends to lead to better decisions. We’re less reactive, less hijacked by old survival roles, and more able to choose from the present instead of the past.
Over time, it can restore a sense of inner authority. We begin trusting our own signals again. For many people, that alone helps dissolve years of confusion. That’s why people often report feeling “different” within days or weeks.
But meditation isn’t magic.
It doesn’t set boundaries for us.
It doesn’t have the hard conversation.
It doesn’t change our bank account, relationships, or schedule on its own.
Those things still require action. In my experience, real transformation happens fastest when insight is paired with small, aligned steps.
Meditation doesn’t usually make life easier first. It makes things clearer. And clarity can be uncomfortable, because once we see something, we can’t unsee it — when something is draining us, when we’re betraying our own needs, or when a situation is already complete.
That discomfort isn’t a failure of the practice. It’s often the doorway to real change.
When we’re willing to face what becomes clear — gently and honestly — life tends to open up. And often, much faster than we expect.
It has always been easy for me to orbit other people. Probably a strategy I learned early to stay safe. I could bask in the brightness of charismatic people for days — absorbing their energy, their confidence, their momentum. I dated bad boys and worked for caustic bosses.
Part of me felt comfortable as the easy-going, cool girl. Or the secret CEO quietly making things happen from the edges. It was a way to belong without risking too much.
I grew up being vigilant too— managing other people’s moods, expectations, or reactions — and became very good at positioning myself. I learned where to stand, how loud to be, when to speak, and when to disappear. From the outside, it may have looked like humility or flexibility. Inside, it often felt like a quiet form of erasure.
Because visibility isn’t just about attention. It’s about exposure. When you step into the light — when you share your work, your opinions, your desire, your joy — you give people the chance to respond. And not everyone will respond kindly.
For nervous systems that learned love was conditional, that risk can feel enormous. So we stay half-hidden. We downplay our ambition. We laugh things off. We make ourselves easy to be around.
But easy is not the same as alive. At some point, the ache of staying small starts to outweigh the fear of being fully seen. It might show up as envy toward people who take up space easily. A boredom with your own self-minimization. A low-grade anger or restlessness you can’t quite name.
That longing is not selfish. It’s your aliveness asking for room.
It doesn’t mean becoming louder or more performative.
It means letting yourself be more real. Letting yourself want things.
Letting yourself have preferences. Letting yourself take up emotional, creative, and physical space.
That kind of visibility is tender. And it’s powerful.
Because the truth is, the people who want to meet you can’t find you in the shadows.
The lives you want to touch can’t be touched when you’re invisible.
And your life opens up. When you stop orbiting other people’s brightness and begin trusting your own.
I'm a life coach based in Vancouver, BC. I work with creatives and professionals looking for support in growing into the next version of themselves.
