Sometimes sensemaking works and sometimes it doesn't

Wrote this weeks ago. Been down with the flu for two weeks, did nothing, and now restarting everything—even my daily routine—feels impossibly hard. Posting this anyway, because it’s exactly what I need to hear right now.

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I always say—and truly believe—that I should be honest about what I want in life and then go after it. More and more, I feel like that’s the only way to live.

But I also know it’s pretty abstract.

What I want isn’t small or simple. It’s a lot. And grabbing it all? Not easy—especially if I’m aiming for great things.

I believe I want freedom, a strong sense of fulfillment, deep connection, love, and little or great things created by my hands or my mind. I thought I wanted these things because, when I experienced them, I felt good. They felt like the essence of what mattered most.

But what do I even mean by “when I experienced them”? I didn’t experience freedom or love as big, abstract ideas. What I experienced were specific, tangible moments that made me feel alive, content, or connected.

Those moments led me to those words in ways that would make sense to both neuroscientists and spiritual practitioners. But at the same time, those big words—freedom, fulfillment, connection, love—can be distracting.

Sometimes, they can be convenient excuses to avoid things I’d rather not face: “I don’t want to do this because it doesn’t align with my values or identity.” Or: “I’m not passionate about that.”

Other times, they can feel intimidating—so heavy that they drain the energy or courage I need to take action. “Is this really my passion? My mission? My purpose?”

There have even been moments when people implied I wasn’t being honest with myself. That always frustrated me. Being honest is something I’ve always valued deeply. When someone questions that, it feels like an accusation that shakes me to my core. What do they mean? How could they possibly know?

But those moments—uncomfortable as they are—make me stop and reflect. Am I truly being honest? Or have I been hiding behind those big words, avoiding the real truths I need to confront?

I doubted myself for a bit, but not anymore. Only I know how much I’ve tried, how many limits I’ve broken through, and how deeply I understand that I can only grow by pushing myself while trusting myself—making mistakes while forgiving myself, asking questions and being critical about the answers, and trying, trying, and trying again.

I shared phases of my “trying” in the most recent post and briefly introduced my current stage:

This stage has two parts: one, becoming physically strong, and two, living a minimalist lifestyle while continuing to create and learn. Why these two? Intuitively and conceptually, they feel aligned with my values. I believe a strong body will carry me further, and I’ve always felt peace in the process of creating and learning. It’s not about chasing something external anymore—it’s about clearing space, both within and around me, for what matters most.

But I didn’t mention how I got here—or what I mean by it. Of course, I think I know why I’ve gotten here, and I know what I mean by it. But what I’m deeply aware of is that if I don’t elaborate on it, I might not understand it fully, or I might forget. I might lose track and momentum when life hits me hard again. That doesn’t make me dishonest—it makes me human.

While an ordinary human being wants to do great things, she needs to see things even clearer. She needs to be honest with greater granularity. She needs to sense those faint lights ahead when they glimmer and use them to navigate her direction. She also needs power and strength to grab the things she wants.

How do I know this ordinary human being wants to do great things? Or what do I mean by great things?

I learned it from myself. I look back, and since I was a little girl, I already knew I wanted to see a bigger world. I loved connecting myself with places I couldn’t yet imagine accessing. I loved big words. I loved abstract feelings. I loved talking with my friends about things we couldn’t fully understand yet. I loved traveling, feeling afraid but excited. I loved trains. I chose the school furthest from home. I chose to leave home at 13 for a boarding school hundreds of miles away. I chose to travel across the country. Then I chose to come to Europe, and I chose to live in Amsterdam.

I choose a bigger world, deeper connections, expansive experiences, breathtaking beauty, and ultimate freedom. I choose greatness.

But I indeed sometimes forget. Looking back at recent years, I spent a lot of time doing things unconsciously. I was busy reacting to life. I spent time with people I didn’t love, in jobs that traumatized me. I was defeated by waves of emotions. I allowed myself to please people who didn’t care about me. I coped with situations by using rusty systems that kept me from the bigger world and great things.

When I write this, I really want to be there for myself—and I know that version is not only in the past, it’s also now, at present, and in the future. I don’t want to forget, I don’t want to lose track of the direction, I don’t want to get distracted. I want clarity, honesty with greater granularity, real power and strength to grab things I want. That’s how I’ve come here. And that’s not enough, the journey is ongoing.

That’s why I write, to document, to share, to inspire myself, to remind myself, to protect myself—from the bullies out there and the ones that sneak into my head. As I said I know this process will repeat over and over. There will be waves of doubt, discouragement, and accusations.

That’s why I read different books—to dig deeper into those big words, to understand what they really mean, to find a path I am able to follow with enough knowledge and courage. Basically to learn how an ordinary person does great things and to build faith that I can do so.

I shared that one of the most comforting things I read this year is that passion isn’t something grand or extraordinary. It’s just curiosity combined with small wins. That’s how I decided on my passion, and I’ve committed to following it until the spark fades.

I also learned that power isn’t a feeling; it’s the ability to influence things to go your way. That’s why I decided to get stronger and change things. I solidify my daily routinue, I read, write, work on my projects, gain muscle, negotiate and get things I deserve, clean the house, eat well.

I’ve learned that fulfillment isn’t something to wait for. I can have it today, this moment, after finishing this piece, or even after cleaning the toilet. That’s how i started a project called Twenty Minutes Cleaning without Hatred.

That’s why I do what I enjoy and keep doing it—creating, making beautiful things, cooking delicious food, learning new things, and building something from scratch. While I’m doing these things, I learn deeper what those big things mean? What I truly want connects with what I feel. Most of the time, it feels like calm, peace, pleasure, enlightenment, or fulfillment. Sometimes, it’s excitement, ecstasy, or a racing heart. Those feelings, sparked by specific moments and experiences, remind me of what I truly want and help me accept the exhaustion, pain, loneliness, darkness, and mess that come with the journey. All of it is part of me. All of it is part of the journey. I choose to be myself. I choose the journey.

That’s how I go further.

The funny thing is, I feel like I’m doing many things to find the answer I want, but often, I realize that what I’m doing every day is the answer itself. When I write this sentence, the critic in my head—born from others’ doubts—whispers: “You’re saying this to avoid what you truly want. You’re not being honest.”

When I want to defend myself, I realize there’s partial truth in that doubt. But the thing is: if I only believe that what I am doing every day is the answer itself, it might not be fully honest. If I convince myself I’m working towards an answer or perfect life I want, isn’t it even more delusional?