1. That life comes with a set order.
I used to think there was a checklist. Finish school, go to college, get the job, get married, buy the place, have the kids. Everyone seemed to be ticking boxes on time. I didn’t go straight to college, and for a while I felt like I’d failed before I’d started. I thought I’d let my parents down.
Now I know there’s no single route. You can go a different way with a big plan, a small plan, or just the next step. Late isn’t a thing when it’s your own timeline.
2. That I should keep my dreams small so I’d fit in.
My dreams never quite matched the people around me. So I’d say a smaller version out loud, the one that wouldn’t get a look, and keep the real one to myself. I thought feeling different meant I was the one who was wrong.
Then I noticed the people I admired most had all done the same thing: felt out of step, and kept going anyway. Now I say the full version, even when it gets a look.
3. That home is the house you grew up in.
Home used to be one street in London: football with the neighbours, the place that raised me. I wanted to stay close to it. Then I moved to Nigeria, and later to Atlanta, and found friends, connection and a whole new life each time.
The more I moved, the more confusing “home” got, until it clicked. Home isn’t only where you’re from. It’s the people you love, the atmosphere you feel yourself in, and where you choose to be.
Home is a decision, and it’s mine to make.
4. That everyone needs to understand my journey.
I wanted people to get it: my choices, my thinking, my path. Maybe that’s part of why I tell stories now. But I’ve realised not everyone has the capacity to come on the journey with me, and that’s OK.
My need to be understood is real, but it’s my need to meet. I meet it by telling the story, not by waiting for everyone to nod.
5. That fear was something to get rid of.
The first time I sang in front of a group of people, my voice shook. When I listened back, I wanted to do it again, but the moment was gone. I’d let fear shake my voice, and I couldn’t get that moment back.
So the next time I didn’t fight the nerves. I breathed into them and let them push me. Afterwards people came up to tell me what the song meant to them. That’s when I understood that fear had been holding me back from connecting with people. Now, right before I step out, I breathe in and let it drive me.
What have you changed your mind about? Reply and tell me.