Back from holiday, I found myself panic-applying for jobs, chasing stability, and wondering why I’m not “further along.” But this week I’m reminding myself: learning takes time. Building takes time. And this messy middle? It’s part of the work.
“Just keep swimming.” It’s something an old boss once said, and it stuck with me. It’s the phrase I return to when the road ahead feels uncertain or too long, or when I think: maybe it’d be easier to just stay home.
Coming back from time away with my family, and landing back in Madagascar—where I’m trying to build a creative practice, grow my design and coding skills, and raise a toddler—I felt the weight of those words again. But this time, with a small addendum: Just keep swimming… in the direction you want to go.
That part matters. Because the truth is, I came back and panicked. Faced with the reality of not earning a regular income—and without the familiar comfort of a job title or a team around me—I started applying to every “good sounding” remote job I knew I could do. I wasn’t swimming so much as splashing around, arms flailing, hoping someone might throw me a rope.
But I’m learning, again, to trust that I am where I need to be. That time—while useful as a structure—does not tell my story. I found myself spiraling into thoughts like: You’re almost forty. Why aren’t you financially independent yet? Why are you doodling and learning about CSS when you have a child to feed? That voice that says the time has passed. That change is no longer an option.
But I’m trying to hold onto the belief that: everything takes the time it takes.
Learning takes time. Finding the right rhythm takes time. Building something from scratch—especially something that feels right for you—takes time.
So instead of swimming frantically, I’m slowing down. I keep telling myself: You’re not late. You’re on your own schedule. This moment is important. But it’s also not forever.
The unvarnished truth of trying to shift direction is that it’s rarely elegant. There are many moments when I think, this sucks—I just want a steady paycheck and to stop thinking so hard about everything. But there are also moments—often small and quiet—where I’m working on a layout, or finishing an illustration, or finding a way to tell a story visually, and I feel something click. A calm kind of joy. And I think: I want more of this in my life.
So I’ll keep going. Slowly. But in the direction I choose.