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What If You Fly: Composing Your Unique Life Story

“What if I fall?”
Oh, but my darling,
What if you fly?”
—Erin Hanson

I know what you’re thinking: Here we go, another self-help blog recycling the same metaphors and ideals we’ve heard a thousand times before. I used to think the same. For years, I avoided telling my stories, convinced they’d be drowned out by the voices of iconic celebrities and motivational speakers. Who would want to read about self-growth from, well, a nobody?

But here’s the thing: I’m just a regular Joe—or, as the youngins say, a “Regular Degular.” Not regular in who I am or what I’ve experienced, but regular in the sense that I haven’t solved world hunger, created the next big technological breakthrough, or become a bestselling author on self-development (yet). And that’s precisely the point. I’m just a person with an inner child screaming to be heard, trying to find her spark again, hoping to ignite that same fire in others.

I’m not here as an expert, a professional, or some seasoned yogi. I’m here as someone navigating life—just like you. It wasn’t until I listened to Rick Rubin on Jay Shetty’s podcast that something clicked. Rubin said, “There’s the same set of chords being used in every song, yet new songs keep coming.” That statement struck me deeply.

“There’s the same set of chords being used in every song, yet new songs keep coming.” – Rick Ruben

Think about it. There are only twelve musical notes—the same ones that have existed for centuries. Yet despite that simplicity, music is infinite. Every song, whether it’s a symphony or a simple melody, has its own heartbeat, its own rhythm. It’s not the notes themselves that make a song special; it’s how they’re arranged. How they rise and fall, come together and separate, like a dance. Each note, like a step in that dance, adds its own colour, creating harmony and movement. Every note tells its own story.

Our lives are no different. They’re composed of moments—each one, a single note. On their own, these moments may seem small, insignificant even. But when strung together, they form the melodies of our existence. Just as no two songs are the same, no two lives are arranged the same way. The people, circumstances, and experiences in our lives play their roles. Sometimes in harmony, sometimes in dissonance, they create the complex and beautiful soundtrack of who we are.

We all have access to the same basic elements, yet the way we choose to compose our journey is what makes our song unique.

I know the self-help world can feel overwhelming. Saturated, even—with books and blogs repeating the same themes over and over again. But Rubin’s insight reminded me: every person’s story, every song, is arranged differently. We each have something valuable to share, even if the core message has been heard before. We may all be striving for the same goal—growth—but the melodies we create along the way are entirely our own. We are both the composer and the dancer, moving to the rhythm of our own unfolding journey. Our experiences shape the rhythm. Our struggles set the tempo, but most importantly, our triumphs build the magnificent crescendo, making it all worth the song and dance.

And in the end, that realisation is what finally pushed me to start writing. For so long, I had silenced myself, convinced that my voice didn’t matter, that it would be lost in the noise of the big names—the motivational giants with their perfect formulas, their bestselling books, and their millions of followers. Every time I felt the urge to share my story, I’d push it down, thinking, Who am I to speak when the world is already listening to them?

The fear of being just another whisper in a sea of shouts kept me quiet. After all, why would anyone want to hear my story when they could tune in to the polished, rehearsed speeches of the icons? I thought my experiences wouldn’t hold weight against the vast knowledge and influence of those who seemed to have mastered the art of self-help.

“Their voices may be louder, that doesn’t mean mine is any less important.”

But here’s what I’ve come to realise: while their voices may be louder, that doesn’t mean mine is any less important. Their messages may resonate with millions, but maybe, just maybe, my words could reach the one person who needs to hear them the most. It took time to understand that my story—raw, imperfect, and unfolding—is still worthy of being told. That my journey, though different, holds value in its own right.

The turning point came when I realised that life isn’t about competing to be the loudest voice in the room. It’s about speaking authentically, even if only one person is listening. Each voice, like a song, has its own audience, and sometimes the most impactful connections happen in the quietest corners.

I began to understand that my experiences, my struggles, and my triumphs, though not as widely broadcasted, could still spark something in someone. My journey might be different from the “big names,” but it’s real, and it’s mine. And in that uniqueness lies the power to connect with others on a deeply personal level.

“we all have something valuable to share, and sometimes, it’s the quietest notes that linger the longest.”

So, I’ve chosen to compose my own song—not to rival the motivational icons, but to offer my story to those who need it, to the person who feels like their voice, too, is drowned out by the noise. Because if I’ve learnt anything, it’s that we all have something valuable to share, and sometimes, it’s the quietest notes that linger the longest.

I’ve stopped comparing myself to the motivational giants of the world. I no longer fear that my voice will be drowned out. Instead, I’ve come to embrace that my song, though softer, has its own melody worth sharing. And maybe that melody will reach someone, somewhere, who needs to hear it.

Because maybe, just maybe, you’re that person. And perhaps, like me, you’re wondering: What if I fall?

But here’s what I’ve learnt, my darling—What if you fly?