Aristotle's Space

I want to create. To write. To make something that feels like it’s mine.
But right now, my life feels paused—caught between work, survival, and this constant hunger to learn something “useful,” without ever having enough time. It eats at my soul.

I work two jobs, and I study. I scroll through social media and see people my age making six figures without ever clocking into a 9–5. And no, this isn’t about comparison anymore. You might say, “But you chose to work two jobs.”
What if I didn’t?

I didn’t choose the circumstances. I chose the only safety net I could build. I chose stability. And to do that, I traded softness for structure, femininity for productivity. There’s a free-spirited, adventurous version of me who wants to lock the to-do list in a drawer and throw away the key. But if you passed me on an average day, you’d see someone with everything in her calendar, a planner in her bag, and twelve-hour workdays stamped across Monday to Friday—with Saturdays booked too. From May to October 2025, I worked seven days a week until I finally told my manager, “I’m taking a day off.”

Let me be clear: my manager is incredible. I can set my own schedule. I love my job. I teach children English online and get to add value to their lives from anywhere in the world—New York, London, Madrid, wherever I am. I’m deeply grateful for that. But being a self-funded student abroad means I pay for everything myself: studies, rent, food, life. So Sundays became a sacrifice until I could find balance.

In 2026, I don’t want to just consume anymore. I want to create.

Yes, teaching and working are forms of creation—but I’ve started to realise how much we consume just to show up. I tie my worth to productivity. I binge content about “getting my life together.” I watch reels titled “How to Take Control of Your Life in 2026.” I admire the Pinterest aesthetic, the beautifully curated lives—but beneath it all, consumerism feels louder than ever.

Buy this and you’ll become that.
Try this and your life will change.

I don’t want to buy another version of myself. I don’t want a 30-day challenge to prove I’m disciplined. I don’t want to watch other people paint, crochet, and vlog while I sit on a train scrolling through their lives instead of living my own.

I used to paint portraits. I used to blog. I used to make art.
Now I’m standing on the edge of a quarter-life crisis, realising how quietly work, social media, and survival have taken over. Younger me would be proud of what I’ve built—but this version of me has stolen something from her: her creativity, her softness, her feminine ease. I’ve replaced curiosity with checklists. Art with algorithms. Stillness with spreadsheets.

So what do I want?

I want to travel.
I want to laugh with my friends—really laugh.
I want to crochet.
I want to paint portraits for the people I love.
I want to learn salsa.
I want to pick up my guitar again and fall in love with progress over perfection.
I want Saturdays with nothing to do and no guilt attached.
I want to read all day and dance all night.
I want to eat gelato in Italy, ride scooters through Thai markets, island-hop in the Philippines, and meditate in Bali.

I’m not trying to escape my purpose.
I’m trying to return to myself.

I don’t want a to-do list for the rest of my twenties.
I want a bucket list.

I am young.
I want to create.
I want to live.
I want to explore.

So I’ll ask again—because maybe now you understand the question better:

Where do I start?