I Am Inevitable.

One day, quite suddenly, you realize it is unbearably inelegant to live a life that isn't your own.

Not because it fails on paper... But because it fails in the body. It hums all the wrong notes. It requires far too much explanation. 

And a woman who is still explaining herself is, quite frankly, not yet done becoming.

A sovereign life is not about control. It is about taste.

It is the refusal to allow momentum to dress you in a life that does not fit.

You choose your pace. Your standards. Your availability.

You develop an allergy to urgency. A distaste for importance that smells faintly of panic. A fatigue with admirability that costs too much energy.

You stop asking permission. Permanently.

You abandon the habit of negotiating your worth. You refuse to live loudly for other people's applause.

You instead begin asking, "Is this aligned?"... Which is a far more stylish question.

Lately, the old formulas have lost their charm. The routines, the gravity, the "serious" obligations now feel stale.

Not tragic. Just outdated.

One does, after all, grow out of identities the way one grows out of silhouettes and the need for a trend.

The nervous system is a dear thing, and knows this long before the intellect will confess it.

I've learned that when life begins to feel noisy, it is not chaos.

It is the inner standards rising.

I have influence in many rooms. But influence without autonomy is merely decoration. 

And decoration, without intention, is nothing but clutter.

Inside, there has been impatience. A restlessness too elegant to name. A certain volatility that does not match the exterior. 

Outside, competence. Capability. Admiration.

A mismatch.

So my practice changes. Not dramatically - though I am an Aries and that is often my way.

Instead, I will channel my Capricorn Rising. Quietly. Elegantly. Entirely.

Resetting the compass. Moving my North.

Not by force. By refusal.

Refusal to perform. Refusal to explain. Refusal to belong cheaply. 

A private absolutism emerges. 

Boundaries refine into an art form.

Noise loses its seduction. 

Nothing loud. Nothing theatrical. Inhabitation only. Choice only...

And one essential truth, worn like scent: I belong to myself before I belong to the world.