When Easy Isn’t Honest

This morning, I woke with a quiet thought:
Would life feel easier if I stopped wanting more?

If I could settle into the rhythm of quiet days — no big dreams, no drive to create, no desire to shape my space into something that reflects my soul — would life be simpler?

There are people who do this effortlessly.
They move gently through life, agreeable and steady. They don’t push against the current. They find peace in predictability. They’re often well-liked and rarely ruffle feathers. And truthfully, that path does seem easier.

But it’s never been mine.

I stand out. Even when I’m silent, my energy speaks.
People sense that I’m not someone who agrees just to keep things smooth. I carry a presence that doesn’t blend, that doesn’t bend without purpose.

And that difference? It can be lonely.

It’s tempting to wonder what it would be like to simply go along, to live small and silent. But then I remember — ease isn’t the same as peace. And peace never asks me to abandon my essence.

I was made to create, to question, to express.
I crave beauty with meaning, space with soul, and life with intention.
Yes, it can be exhausting. Yes, it makes me feel like I never quite fit.

But maybe that’s not a flaw. Maybe it’s the calling.

This is the soft side of grit — the quiet refusal to erase myself just to make others comfortable. The choice to keep showing up, fully me, even when that makes things more complex.

Because I know this much is true:
I wasn’t born to fade.
I was born to live deeply.