This One’s Not About Growth. It’s About Wanting What I Want.

Not every piece of writing needs to uplift. Not every confession needs to be turned into a breakthrough. And not every experience is waiting to become a stepping stone on the path to becoming some higher version of myself. Sometimes, I want to say the thing no one expects from someone like me. I am not always trying to grow. Sometimes, I am just trying to feel.

This is not an invitation to reflect. It is a permission slip for indulgence. And for once, I am signing my name at the bottom without checking the consequences.

I have mastered the art of control. I have lived entire years inside the choreography of discipline. I have led, I have mentored, I have spoken of purpose with elegance and poise. But there are moments when purpose feels like a prison dressed as a virtue. Moments when the soul begins to itch under the weight of constant direction. Moments when I no longer want to move forward. I want to get lost.

Yes. I want what I want. And this time, I will not negotiate with the part of me that is always trying to reframe desire into something socially acceptable. I will not romanticize restraint. I will not apologize for craving fire after years of performing coolness.

What I want is rarely practical. It rarely makes sense. It often walks in wearing the wrong shoes at the wrong time with the wrong history. But it wakes something ancient in me. It touches the part of me that no award has ever reached. It stirs a rhythm in my chest that all the meetings, missions, and strategies have failed to silence.

Desire is not a flaw. It is not a weakness. It is not something to outgrow. It is a language I have learned to suppress in the name of achievement. But it never stopped speaking. It only waited for a quieter night to remind me that I am still a body. Still a heartbeat. Still human.

I do not want to be decoded. I want to be devoured. I do not want to be explained. I want to be experienced. I do not want my intentions studied like a map. I want my presence to be felt without the need for coordinates.

And no, this does not mean I am reckless. It means I am done pretending that my longing is a liability. I am done shaving down the parts of myself that do not fit into perfect sentences. I am done editing out the heat in the name of harmony.

There are things I want that are not noble. They are not curated. They are not filtered through the language of self-development. They are raw. Physical. Personal. Some of them have names. Some of them have eyes that hold too many stories. Some of them make me forget how many versions of myself I am supposed to be in public.

I have noticed beauty and turned away too many times. I have felt the pull and stayed still out of fear of misinterpretation. I have written entire pages about restraint and yet the memory of one voice, one look, one almost-moment lingers longer than any lesson I’ve ever shared.

So no, this one is not about growth. It is not a sermon. It is not a motivational post. It is not a strategy. It is not a metaphor. This one is just about wanting. And not the poetic kind. The real kind. The kind that makes you check your phone at midnight just to see if they’re still online. The kind that makes you question whether you’re really too busy or just too scared. The kind that makes you remember you have skin, and senses, and pulse.

I am not seeking to rise above this. I am stepping fully into it.

Because I have realized something. The moments that shaped me the most were not the ones where I held back. They were the ones where I dared to lean in. Not because it made sense. But because it made me feel like I was finally more than the role I had learned to play.

So let this be a confession. A rebellion. A declaration. A night with no caption. A thought with no filter. A heart that is still wild enough to want more than clarity. I do not want to be understood tonight. I want to be wanted. And for once, that is enough.