From Every Color To Clarity

What I’ve Learned from Saying Yes and No

Over two years ago, everything looked good on paper — steady job, good friends, cozy apartment.

But even with all that good, something didn’t feel right.

Something inside me stirred. A quiet knowing that I had outgrown the life I once loved.

I wasn’t ready for what came next, but I knew staying put wasn’t an option.

Doors started closing: friendships shifted, my lease ended, and work felt more like a grind than a calling.

It was as if life was gently or maybe not so gently pushing me toward the unknown.

Giving me permission to leap.

So I did.

To get back in touch with the girl who ran face first into freedom and the unknown with a smile plastered on her face, giggling like a lunatic.

And that yes changed everything.

THE DECADE OF YES

In many ways, my twenties have been one long, loud, glorious yes.

Yes to movement.

Yes to messy, magical, unpredictable adventure.

Yes to backpacking, to one-way tickets, to dancing in unfamiliar cities and trusting strangers with my stories.

Yes to loving hard, leaving often, and learning as I went.

Saying yes was how I learned to taste the colors of life.

It wasn’t just about adventure, it was about becoming.

About figuring out who I was when no one else was watching.

I was reintroduced to who I was becoming, not something new or old but a mix of both.

And how beautiful that is.

Somewhere along the way, I began to crave something else.

Not less freedom just more intention.

That’s where the noes started to matter.

Not no from fear — no from clarity.

From finally knowing what fits.

From not needing to say yes just to prove I could.

I already knew how to say yes.

I had to learn to say no.

The yeses opened doors. The noes started building home.

THE SHIFT

I wandered solo through places I’d only dreamed of.

I missed ferries and flights, took wrong turns, met people who weren’t quite right.

But none of it was a mistake.

Every moment even the hard ones shaped me.

I got to slow down and speed up at the same time.

It’s wildly intoxicating to not have a plan sometimes.

Letting life humble you in places you knew nothing about.

I found peace in my own company.

Strength in solitude.

Joy in not needing to be understood to keep going.

I lived alone and with strangers all at once and found so much peace in that.

And then came the quiet power of no.

No to places that dimmed my light.

No to jobs that didn’t respect me.

No to people and patterns that no longer felt true.

Saying no became a way to love myself better.

Not about shutting the world out, but inviting more of myself in.

Saying no was the most radical form of self-love.

ON CONNECTION

Eventually, I realized that no wasn’t just about plans or places.

It extended to people, too.

I started raising my standards.

Not in a loud way but in the way I stayed quiet and walked away.

I began choosing connection that felt like returning home to myself.

The kind that doesn’t ask you to perform.

The kind that sees you clearly and stays.

Because choosing yourself isn’t selfish.

It’s the most honest thing you can do.

THE NOW

And now, I’m here again in another in-between.

Once more walking away from something that almost worked.

But almost isn’t enough anymore.

This no is heavier.

It carries heartbreak and distance and the ache of what could’ve been.

But beneath that is clarity — quiet and unshakable.

I said no to an almost-good life.

I know what alignment feels like now and what it doesn’t.

I’ve outgrown versions of myself I once clung to.

And I’m starting to invest differently with depth, with trust, with vision.

I don’t chase. I don’t run.

I show up and I trust what’s meant for me will arrive.

Because now I know:

What I bring to the table is enough.

And I’m no longer willing to abandon myself to be invited in.

I’m building a life I wasn’t ready for before.

Life doesn’t always look like art until you step back and see the masterpiece.

YOUR TURN

If you’re in your own in-between, I hope this reminds you:

You haven’t missed your moment.

You’re allowed to change your mind.

You get to begin again and this time, it gets to feel like yours.

I’ve spent most of my twenties saying yes to life, to growth, to movement.

And now, I feel the shift. The quiet pull toward something deeper.

Still bold but more rooted.

I’m starting to invest differently. To build something I wasn’t ready for before.

Not just to chase life, but to shape it.

May you keep tasting the colors of life —

and trust yourself to know when to pause the palette and paint something new.

This chapter has been a mess of motion, color, learning, and becoming.

The next? It gets to be more intentional.

Still wide open, still full of wonder but shaped by everything I now know.

I get to choose again.

And so do you.

A life filled with little yeses, quiet noes, and the choices that shape us.