I used to be ambitious. Now I’m just alive.
Releasing who I used to want to be
I used to have big dreams. Huge. I thought, for sure, that at this age, I would be living in a co-op commune off the coast of somewhere beautiful, harvesting coffee and mangoes and making money by DJing boat parties and hosting retreats on the land.
It would have been glorious. I would be surfing at sunrise, eating prepared dinners at sundown, and reading books in the hammock in between. I thought my only grievance would be having to write postcards to the children in between their summer visits — watching the replay of milestones and birthdays on a screen.
Instead, I’m 36 years old and I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up. I live in Charlotte, North Carolina, the city I grew up in. Born, raised, and returned. The jungle outside my window is an old folk’s home and a fire station. I hear sirens instead of ocean waves. My sister’s children are my children. They make up 90% of my social life. There’s not a milestone I miss.
Surprisingly, I like it here.
I believe that a life well lived is simply a life that reflects the things we care about.
Our core values are the meaningful qualities that we must experience in order to feel satisfied, joyful, aligned, and fulfilled.
I used to be ambitious. But then my sister died, and the things I cared about changed.
In my early twenties, it was all fun and games. I cared most about having a good ass time. I cared about adventure and achievement. I cared about feeling good. I wanted to be having fun and making money. I wanted to be rich and I wanted my life to feel like a vacation. My world revolved around these endeavors. I wanted lovers in every corner of the globe. I yearned for the thrill of not belonging to anyone or anywhere. I wanted to have a fabulous social life — regularlychilling poolside, serving looks and making cool art with my free-spirited friends.
Deep down, my ambitions were driven by a desire to experience life to the fullest.
I did not want to be another cog in the machine — another person slogging through the daily routines of a cookie-cutter lifestyle that didn’t have space for my truth or my wildness. I was hungry for the feeling of freedom, and I wasn’t gonna let nothing or nobody hold me back.
Until life happened.
When my sister died, I didn’t just lose her, I lost myself. I had to grieve her and the death of the person I had spent so many years trying to become.
The thing about loss is that it changes you forever.
Once, I was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed — eager and energized and ready to take on the world! But then grief kicked my door down and stole all of my ambition. I was sad and tired a lot and my loftiest goal was to just be okay.
I tried to keep up with the hustle. Lord knows, I tried. I quickly discovered that “trying to get there” came at the expense of my mental health, and this was too high a price to pay
Nowadays, the extent of my ambition is getting 9 hours of sleep and having a bowel movement every day.
God. It all happened so fast.
Sometimes, I miss the old Jamila. I miss the me that could stay up all night for weeks on end, working on a passion project, high on life from making my dreams come true. I miss the me that felt like I could do anything I put my mind to, no matter how grand the task was. I miss the days when pleasure was my priority — when life had yet to sink its teeth into my neck.
I wish I could say, “I wouldn’t change it for the world.” But no. I, in fact, would change my circumstances if I could. I would un-do my sister’s death in a heartbeat. I would disappear the cancer from my father’s bones.
Though I wouldn’t have chosen these circumstances, they did create a lot of space for me to heal and grow.
Because when I stopped reaching outwards, I started settling in.
These days, I care most about inner peace and interconnectedness. Hustle and grind became heal and grow. I care about being in right relationship with the Earth, with God, and with the people in my orbit. I care about being well-rested and nourished. I care about nurturing strong, healthy relationships — planting seeds of joy for decades to come.
I pour into these goals every day, and I feel like I’m winning.
I don’t have a timeshare, but I do have time.
I’m not being wined and dined at Michelin-star restaurants, but I do get to host karaoke parties for the kids in the living room. I don’t have a six-figure business making money while I sleep, but I do have a partner who loves me so much it regularly brings her to tears — who holds my hand tightly under the covers at night, calling God on the mainline to ask that I have sweet dreams.
I feel so settled into non-ambition. I’m no longer chasing the bag, I’m sitting on the porch watching that bag drift in the wind, trusting that it will eventually float my way.
Once I gave up ambition, I realized that the constant desire to achieve had been disconnecting me from the present moment. With my eye always on the prize, I couldn’t fully focus on what was right in front of me. I was so busy trying to get there that I didn’t appreciate where I already was.
Today, wealth is hearing the birds chirp as I write to you. Wealth is an open screen door in a peaceful neighborhood. It’s being home alone with space for my energy to unfurl and stretch out. My only goal right now is to learn the birdsongs, so when I hear them singing, I will know them by name.
I do have goals and dreams I’d like to manifest. (God, if you’re reading this, to be clear: I still want all the things I’ve been praying for). But I’ve learned how to want more life and to live fully at the same time. I’ve found the balance between effort and ease.
There’s an old saying that “A watched pot never boils.”
I used to wear myself out trying to make that water boil faster. Now, I put the pot on the stove and walk away. I know that I could stand over it, eagerly waiting for that first bubble, or I could spend those very same moments dancing while some incense burns, listening to my favorite songs.
Choicepoint after choicepoint, I create the energetic signature of my life.
I write, I feel aligned.
I tell the truth, I feel authentic.
I design the space, I feel grounded.
I plan the gatherings, I feel connected.
I take breaks, I feel energized.
I pray, I feel supported.
I practice breathing, I feel calm.
I go dancing, I feel free.
I open my heart, I feel loved.
I choose to be present, I feel alive.
Thank you, as always, for reading my words.
I love you.
‘Til next time,
Jamila