The Wind Changes Direction, and So Do I

There’s a strange kind of stillness that settles in when the wind finally stops thrashing at your sails.

For the longest time, I felt like my energy was blowing in a thousand directions. Professionally, I wore so many hats I lost track of where one ended and another began—web design, development, social media management, graphic design, SEO, Google listings. I was my own Swiss Army knife, ready to slice into anything the digital world threw my way.

But behind the sharp edges and polished surfaces was someone constantly trying to meet invisible standards. Not just my clients’, but my own. The inner perfectionist had a checklist for everything. It whispered that if I just did everything, if I just kept expanding my skill set, I'd eventually feel accomplished. Fulfilled. Worthy.

Spoiler: I didn’t.

I was working so hard to be everything that I stopped feeling anything. My to-do list was a monument to overwhelm. I would jump from platform builds to Instagram content calendars to graphic revisions, all the while wondering why my brain buzzed with static and my chest never felt quite open.

And then, quietly, almost unnoticed, the wind changed.

It didn’t happen in a dramatic way. There wasn’t a lightbulb moment or some grand epiphany. It began with a book—Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. I picked it up on a whim, not expecting much beyond a few organizational tips. But what I found between those pages was something I hadn’t felt in years: permission.

Permission to let go of what no longer sparked joy.

The concept seemed deceptively simple, but something about it sunk deep. I began tidying not just my home, but my work. My inbox. My service offerings. My ambitions. And what I uncovered underneath all that clutter was a version of myself I’d neglected: the writer.

Writing had always been a quiet thread running through my life. Not loud or flashy. Not something I ever thought to lead with in my professional identity. But when I started leaning into content writing, blogging, copywriting, and storytelling—something shifted.

I felt light.

Not light-headed from the burnout I’d normalized, but light-hearted. As if I was finally moving with the wind instead of against it. And for once, I didn’t feel the pressure to be perfect. I didn’t feel the need to cover every service category like a digital buffet menu. I just wanted to write—and surprisingly, that was enough.

What I’m offering now feels honest. It feels real. SEO blogs, creative writing, brand storytelling. These are the places where I can offer clarity and voice without the weight of pixel-perfect mockups or never-ending social analytics. I’m still creating, still serving, but from a place of alignment, not exhaustion.

I didn’t expect that narrowing my services would make me feel more expansive. I didn’t expect that saying “no” to what no longer fits would give me the room to say a truer “yes.” But here I am, breathing easier.

Maybe it’s the KonMari effect. Or maybe it’s just time.

All I know is this: letting go has given me more than holding on ever did.

The wind will keep changing. That’s its nature. But this time, I’m ready to move with it—not because I’m chasing the next thing, but because I’ve finally found what doesn’t need to be chased. It’s already here.