Identity is such a wild thing to untangle.

I’m sitting here realizing how “crazy” it is—in the best way—that I just officially named the niche I want to focus on in my business. I signed up for a speaker’s lab, declared who I’m here to serve, and suddenly a lot of my life makes sense: the journals, the voice notes, the podcast urge, all the times I’ve gravitated toward speaking without fully owning that identity.

Looking at a transcript from a recent voice recording, I caught myself tracking old patterns: the discipline I had as a young violinist, the structure I lived in for years, and the ways I let that slip as life got loud and other priorities took over. I’ve asked myself: was I just “born disciplined,” or did I build that muscle and then slowly let it atrophy while life happened to me? The honest answer is probably both—and the beautiful part is, discipline is rebuildable.

Right after I completed the first part of this new program, I stumbled across an article about a woman whose free training deeply moved me. I haven’t even read her book yet, but her message cut through the noise. The article described her “leadership lens” being anchored in discipline—habits she developed in the military that most professionals want to skip past. That line hit me hard: so many people say they want a better life or business, but they never truly build the discipline to follow through.

I’m not here just for “professionals” in the usual sense. I’m here for the women (and the men who are ready) who are silently holding the family together—carrying the emotional labor, the caregiving, the mental load, the burnout—and still under‑expressing themselves. I’m especially called to women because we’re often the ones who feel everything, notice everything, and report the truth… and yet we’re taught to water ourselves down. The tools I want to create are for the woman who’s over‑serving and under‑speaking, and for the man who knows he’s been biting his tongue, too.

What’s interesting is how little I let outside voices shape my own. I don’t “follow” celebrities or thought leaders the way many people do. I stay aware, but I intentionally limit how much influence I take in because I want my thought‑stream as pure and unpolluted as possible. So when I do encounter a teacher whose words echo my own, it feels like a cosmic nod. It’s not “copying”—it’s recognition. It reminds me that there really is nothing new under the sun; we’re all feeding off one another energetically, telepathically, spiritually.

You know that thing where you text someone and they say, “I was just thinking of you,” or they call you right when you were about to call them? We brush those moments off, but they’re signals. The deeper invitation is: what happens if you pull back from all the noise and actually discover what your own signal feels like? What does your mind sound like when it’s not trying to imitate everyone else?

I read a Psychology Today piece recently about identity that’s been lingering in the back of my mind. The author wrote about how our identity often forms around exclusion—what we’re left out of, where we feel on the outside. As kids, we’re inevitably excluded from our parents’ inner lives. That’s our first big “you don’t get to be part of this,” and it shapes us. Later, our identities form around the activities, interests, and even vices that bring us attention—swim meets, grades, porn, money, rebellion. We keep repeating the version of ourselves that gets a reaction.

Until it starts to feel… stale.

At some point, the identity we’ve been performing gets exhausted. We outgrow the role, the aesthetic, the storyline. The identity that used to keep us safe becomes a cage. The article called this a second identity crisis—often at midlife, but it can come sooner. Depression, boredom, or frustration can actually be invitations: something in you is asking to be updated.

That resonates deeply with what I see in people:

• Men squeezing themselves into a caricature of masculinity—hard, detached, always in control.
  
  

• Women shrinking themselves, playing helpless or “less smart” to feel chosen or taken care of.
  
  

Those masks might have worked at 10, 20, even 30—but they don’t age well. It is not sustainable to be 40, 50, 60 still clinging to who you had to be in middle school to survive. At some point, the cost of holding onto that old armor is higher than the cost of laying it down.

Here’s what I believe at the core:

• Your past is a story, not a sentence.
  
  

• Once you see it as a story, its power over you starts to dissolve.
  
  

• You are allowed—invited, actually—to re‑author who you are, without betraying yourself.
  
  

I’ve never been interested in copy‑and‑paste identities. Even in the kitchen, I’ll read five versions of the same recipe just to understand the foundation—and then I add my own spin. That’s how I see life design, too. Yes, there are structures we can’t completely reinvent, but we can reimagine how we move through them. We can keep the skeleton and bring our own flavor, our own fingerprint, that “je ne sais quoi” only we carry.

That’s the work I’m doing in myself right now—reclaiming discipline, refining identity, and choosing a niche that feels aligned with my actual soul, not a costume someone handed me. And it’s the work I feel called to do with others: helping you see the places you’ve been excluded, the roles you’ve over‑performed, and the narrow version of yourself you’re tired of dragging around.

If you’ve been feeling that quiet tug—that sense that your old identity is too small, too noisy, or just too tired—consider this your sign to look closer. You don’t have to burn your life down; you just have to get honest about what no longer fits and what wants to emerge.

And if, as you read this, you feel something in you whisper, “That’s me… I’m exhausted by my own performance and I don’t know what comes next,” you don’t have to figure it out alone. Part of my work is walking with people through these in‑between spaces—helping you name the old story, loosen its grip, and gently uncover who you are beneath the roles.

If you’re curious about what that could look like for you, reach out. Sometimes the next version of you unlocks faster when you’re talking to someone who’s walked through big transitions and managed to stay rooted in herself. You already carry the raw material; together, we can start sorting what’s truly you from what you simply outgrew.

Mocking contradictions. Irony. Serendipity. Hypocrisy. Optimism. Idealism.

I sit with these words and watch how they play out in real people—people I know, people I love, people I meet, and people I only observe. I think about that line, “The last thing you want to do is cause anxiety in someone else or transfer your anxiety to them,” and immediately my mind jumps to “misery loves company” and “practice what you preach.”

We repeat phrases like, “I’m my own worst enemy,” “I’m my worst critic,” as if they’re just cute captions instead of warnings. These sayings become staples on the pages of our lives, while in real time we’re trying to beam out positivity and “good vibes” with one hand—and quietly doing the opposite with the other. We want to transmit helpful, hopeful messages, but we don’t always live them. That gap, that quiet hypocrisy, is where a lot of our inner turmoil lives.

When I practice Vipassana, I hear the same lessons over and over: balance of the mind, observation without reaction, truth without decoration. I think about words and how we use them. Take “disease”—dis‑ease—no ease. It is not easy to break a disease, but it is absolutely necessary to understand its components and its roots. To pull them up. To seek, find, investigate, observe. That is not a cute opinion. That is a universal truth: we don’t have to be doctors or masters of anything except honest observation of ourselves and nature.

By simply watching, I’ve seen my own body shift moment to moment. Tiny changes. Improvements. Mistakes. Pains. Sensations. Memories. Elements. Hot, cold, stiff, loose, soft, tense, oily, wet, dry, itchy, prickly, tingling, tickling, popping, cracking. Jaw clenching, shoulders dropping. Inhale, exhale. Remembering, hoping. They say we contain multitudes, and I believe that. I watched a character on HBO’s “Industry” say maybe we don’t—but I think the truth is we just suppress most of what we are. We distract ourselves in a heartbeat, in a finger snap, and become “inconsistently consistent” with the lies we tell ourselves.

When you observe your breath, you notice your emotions. You see how fast they can flip—like the pull of a trigger. The same instant it takes someone filled with hate or numbness to shoot a 16‑year‑old walking home from school. Shots in the back. One blink and a life is gone. To be alive and not grasp how precious, miraculous, and wildly complex life is—how many moving pieces had to align for a single human to exist—and how fucking easy it is to destroy that… that disconnect is insanity.

They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. I’d add this: feeding ourselves negative inputs, over and over, and expecting a peaceful, grounded life is its own kind of insanity. Everything we take in shapes us: what we watch, listen to, sniff, taste, touch, scroll, sleep with, obsess over. Sound is invisible. Toxins can be invisible. Words can be invisible. And yet they seep in. We soak them up like sponges—into our brains, skin, hearts. We are porous, fragile, magical, strong, resilient, all at once.

Right now has to be the time we decide to accept that. To accept that we can all improve, all keep learning, growing, evolving. That we each have a purpose in our lives and in our communities. And then to imagine—really imagine—what it would look like if those communities were organized around that truth.

Imagine the healers, writers, cooks, doulas, aunties, elders, children, animals, growers of food, stewards of land—all knowing their role and looking out for each other. Imagine living somewhere people are so in tune with nature and with one another that support isn’t a charity project, it’s just how life works. You notice someone needs help, you respond. You hear a child’s silly banter and remember your own inner child matters, that joy matters, that laughter is medicine. You notice your breath and audit yourself before you burn out and snuff out your own flame.

Because that’s the real tragedy: when we extinguish our own light long before the world ever could. You are made of magic. You are made of magic. And there is so much important work you could be doing with that magic. So what are you doing instead?

When’s the last time you looked in the mirror and said, “I wish I were more ____” or “I wish I were less ____”? Start there. Fill in those blanks. Be honest. Be brutal if you have to, but be kind enough not to look away. Use your words. Say it out loud. Let it be messy. It will not come out perfectly packaged at first. That’s okay. Clarity takes practice. Communication takes practice. That’s the kind of consistency we actually need: consistent self‑audit, consistent self‑expression, consistent truth‑telling with ourselves and others.

To me, the core ingredients are simple:

• the honest work of self‑reflection,

• speaking authentically with ourselves and with others,

• and two anchors—meditation plus prayer, in whatever form makes sense to you.

Because no matter what you believe, when you have faith and you have focus, you become capable of so much more than you were told. And from that place, anything—change, healing, new patterns, new communities—becomes possible. 

Dear Doctor: You are not listening... and today, more than ever, I believe that doctors should be interviewed by patients who have major concerns. We were never taught how to advocate for ourselves as we move through this thing called life; we were taught that “doctor” was either an aspirational title or one to be automatically revered. As a woman of color who lives with one of the most severe pains described in medical textbooks—cluster headaches—I can’t stay quiet anymore. I have to talk about this, and about all the ways women and people from every background are failed when they seek care.

When I was younger, I dreamed of becoming a surgeon or a neonatologist. That wasn’t just about prestige; it came from a genuinely curious, scientific mind that still shows up in how I live. I love tiny details—whether I’m creating small pieces of art or noticing minute changes in my body—and I bring that same attention to my health. Over the years I’ve seen more doctors, neurologists, and holistic practitioners than I can count. I’ve gone to hell and back telling my story, again and again, with a level of detail that would rival a chart note. And yet, not once has a doctor looked me in the eye and said, “Your case is a difficult one, but I will do my best to coordinate with your other doctors and search for new answers with you.”

Instead, the pattern is painfully familiar: make an appointment months out, wait forever in the lobby, talk mostly to nurses or assistants, finally see the doctor for five rushed minutes, receive a prescription, go home, and hope for the best. That is not care. That is throughput. That is symptom management, not healing. It is neglect dressed up as efficiency.

I don’t need another glossy commercial with cheerful people walking on beaches while a voiceover speeds through a list of terrifying side effects. I am not comforted by marketing that suggests I should accept a “maybe” improvement in exchange for a guaranteed list of new problems. When I weigh that against the agony I already know, sometimes the devil I know feels safer than the devil I’m being sold.

Cluster headaches are often called “suicide headaches” for a reason. That is not dramatic language; it’s a desperate attempt to communicate the level of pain. I write this not only to tell a very real part of my life and to talk about something that is rarely acknowledged, let alone adequately treated, but also to put it on record: I would never harm myself. I thank my Vipassana meditation practice for that. When I am ripped out of sleep by “the beast,” I use the only tools that are always available to me: breath and awareness.

In those moments, I am forced to sit with images that feel like torture devices: a boot pressing into my skull, a red‑hot ice pick lodged behind my eye, muscles in my jaw and neck seizing and spasming, lightning and a drill boring into my temple. I am not exaggerating. I don’t want pity. I want understanding. I want people to know this is not “just a bad migraine.” Some good people who should still be here are gone because the pain was relentless and the system around them did not offer real relief or real partnership. They were left with suffering and silence. Take a breath and hold a moment of silence for them, because too often no one did while they were here.

I am acutely aware of my own privilege in this landscape. I have health insurance. I have people who love me. I have the flexibility to be in a dark bathroom at 3 a.m., breathing through an attack, and to have two small Shihtzus who sense my distress, lick away tears, curl up on my chest to slow my heart rate. I have meditation and prayer and faith and a stubborn hope that I will one day live in a body where this never happens again. I know many people do not have these resources, and that difference haunts me.

For most of my life, I never raised my voice at a doctor. Then came this current episode. Weeks of broken sleep. Four or more weeks of not being able to work. My life shrinking down to the next dose, the next shadow of pain, the next ER visit. Finally, something in me snapped—not in a reckless way, but in a boundary way. I said, out loud and loud enough: “You aren’t listening to me. All I want is more testing, but you just want to give me more drugs and it seems like you don’t care.” Her response, verbatim, was: “If I did not care, I would not have called you four times. You are not my only patient.”

I understand she has other patients. I know she is overworked in a broken system. But I also know what it feels like to be terrified in my own body and told—implicitly—that my fear is an inconvenience. I tried to explain: I had gone to the ER, endured her recommended and designed “headache protocol,” reminded the attending doctor about oxygen therapy he had forgotten, finally slept for an hour under pure oxygen and an IV cocktail, and was then discharged with no meaningful plan. I wasn’t asking for miracles; I was asking for curiosity.

Instead, she snapped: “I think we should cancel your appointment tomorrow because you don’t seem happy with my care.” That is what a God complex looks like in practice—a threat disguised as self‑protection—and it arrived at a moment when I needed her most. I knew then she was not the right doctor for my long‑term care. I salvaged the appointment because I needed the visit, but my trust was fractured.

Back at the ER, just days before that phone exchange, I had already experienced the other side of “care”: being pumped full of drugs. Two meds, then two more, then “we’ll try this one if you really need it.” I did need it, or at least I thought I did, because I was desperate for any pause in the agony. The steroids, the diluted Benadryl that made my body run cold and my teeth chatter, the fog of sedation layered over existing exhaustion—it all left me feeling intoxicated by pharmaceuticals, but not actually cared for as a whole person.

The ER doctor tried to connect by talking about his wife’s migraines. I understand that impulse. But I remember thinking how I have never envied anyone except the person whose headaches were “only” migraines. I say that with respect for migraine sufferers; it’s just that cluster pain is a different beast. Meanwhile, my life was on hold. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t sleep. My body and mind were wearing thin, and I could feel how quickly a person can unravel under that weight.

And yet, even in the middle of all of this, there were points of light. Sunlight on my face. My dogs grounding me. Small systems and supports that let me step away from the world when the beast arrived. Meditation. Prayer. Faith. A future self I refuse to abandon—the one I picture living days, weeks, months without a single attack.

Then, what I’ll call serendipity—because “coincidence” doesn’t quite fit.

I had previously taken my mother to see a doctor named Yoshua Kohrs for her own urgent pain. I watched him work on her and saw her moved to tears in real time. It was not just the physical adjustment; it was the intensity of his focus and the obvious intention behind his hands. Something changed in her posture, in her energy, right in front of me. I noticed his name and, being who I am, asked about it. I read aloud: “Derived from the Hebrew Yehoshua, meaning ‘God is salvation’ or ‘The LORD saves.’” He joked, “It’s a lot to live up to,” and we laughed, but we also both knew the weight of words like that.

I remember thinking: here is a doctor I would trust to lay hands on me, too.

Fast forward to my own turmoil. Out of the blue—or so it seemed—he reached out with a simple message: “Hello again, how are you? I’m at a new location if your mom is ready for a follow up!” My mom wasn’t sure yet, but something in me lit up. I asked him, “Do you have experience with cluster headaches?” He said yes. The floodgates opened. I sent him a selfie: just my limp arm, an IV in my vein, a dim hospital room. I sent an entire page documenting all the drugs that had been “tried” and failed.

We compared schedules and I booked an appointment.

I hadn’t been able to fly for over a month. An earlier attack had hit me while I was on duty, leaving me incapacitated in front of a classmate who did her best to help while also doing her job. (If you’re reading this, Liz, I’m sorry you had to witness that—and I’m grateful it was you.)

During my first session with Dr. Kohrs, he took the time to assess me and then performed a full‑body chiropractic and soft‑tissue treatment: neck, jaw, spine, shoulders, massage, cupping. When I stood up afterward, I felt like a different person. My eyes no longer drooped. The rock‑hard knots in my jaw felt like smooth concrete. For the first time in weeks, I felt reconnected to myself.

Did I have another attack after that? Yes. But it didn’t arrive with the same relentless clockwork. When it came, I experienced it with a different internal narrative: my body is healing, and sometimes muscles will ache as they relearn how to release. The pain was still real, but so was my sense of progress. I know my system isn’t yet trained to stay loose and aligned, but I now have evidence that change is possible. Nothing worth having is easily gained—but that does not mean it’s impossible.

I could write much more, and likely will, but here are the most important things I want you to take from this:

• Stop accepting less care than you deserve.

• Remember that you are allowed to interview your doctors, dentists, therapists—anyone you trust with your body or mind.

• Ask who they collaborate with, whether they will review records, whether they’re open to integrating non‑pharmaceutical supports.

• Notice who validates your experience and who dismisses it because it doesn’t fit neatly into their protocols.

Empower yourself to take the reins of your life. That includes who you trust to clean your teeth, who you trust to teach your children, and which voices you allow to fill your mind—whether it’s mainstream channels saturated with fear and violence, or quieter, independent journalists, local farmers, and small business innovators who are working on problems that actually matter to you.

For me, a lot of this starts close to home: my family, my community, my own nervous system. But I also know my home is bigger than that. I am connected to this whole planet, and anyone reading this is, potentially, part of my tribe. That’s why I am getting more comfortable with what might look like “oversharing.” Because in telling the truth about what I’m living through, I’m not just venting. I’m educating. I’m bearing witness. And I am hoping—very sincerely—to enlighten and inspire someone who needs to hear that they are not alone, not crazy, and not powerless.

Thank you for reading, for sharing, and for supporting what I’m building with Speak and Center. My wish for you is simple and hard‑won: may your future days be clearer, calmer, and held by people who truly listen. Be well.

Honey or Vinegar? I subconsciously return to this question, turning it over in my mind like a stone I can't quite put down. In my marriage, in conversations with friends or family who often vent, in every exchange that matters—I find myself wondering: what do they actually need from me? Thoughtful advice, or simply to be heard? Perhaps the wisest thing would be to ask directly, though I rarely do.

Since learning the Socratic method at Young Women's Leadership School, I've been drawn to asking questions rather than giving answers. There's something clarifying about this approach—I can validate someone's journey without forcing my own map onto their path. I trust the dance between intuition and technique, though I'm always aware that my words carry weight. When I speak, I do so from both heart and mind, fully present. I make sure I'm truly there—connected, listening, engaged—before offering anything someone might carry into their own decisions. That's a responsibility I take seriously.

Recently, I revisited The Secret Language of Birthdays to my page and read: "Day of the Tough Cookie." The phrase stopped me cold. People have called me this my entire life, and I've never known how to hold it—insult or compliment, armor or essence. Now I wonder if I've been both simultaneously: the person who knows when to offer tenderness and when to speak hard truths, constantly calibrating between the two.

Sometimes I imagine a world where we all took tests like Myers-Briggs or Mensa—not to segregate, but to understand. I thrive on information and over-communication; the more I know, the clearer I see. But I've learned that not everyone operates this way. People often miss the scientist in me because they see the social butterfly first, the goofball who loves connection. It's strange to contain multitudes and have others see only one.

I think about parenting styles, about the tension between protection and freedom. Without children of my own, I can only observe from the outside, but it seems to me that the question isn't which approach is right—it's whether parents remain attuned enough to sense what their child needs moment by moment. How many of us have become desensitized to each other, even to those closest to us? The thought unsettles me. Yet I choose to believe that the universe conspires to keep us connected, one thread at a time.

Looking back at past relationships—especially with men—I notice a clear pattern in myself. Conversations usually begin gently, but when I sense someone being willfully obtuse or unreasonable, something shifts. I step out of my "nice shell" and offer unflinching truth. I value objectivity deeply, though I rarely encounter it in others, which leaves me feeling both isolated and certain of my own lens. I've teetered between relief and regret in those moments, but relief wins far more often.

What reinforces this for me—and I say this not to brag, but as confirmation—is when old friends resurface years later to tell me they finally understand what my counsel meant. That delayed recognition, the "I finally get what you were saying" conversations, validate something I've come to trust: I'm on the right path with my professional purpose. Sometimes people need time to step on that landmine of truth before they're ready to hear it echo back.

So here's what I wonder: Do you learn better through gentleness or through raw truth? When someone speaks honestly to you, does it sit dormant in your mind—a landmine waiting until you're ready to step on it and finally understand what your ego kept you from seeing? I believe ego is the great barrier, the defense mechanism that walls us off from simple truths that keep recurring. I'm not exempt from this. I know I'm imperfect, still evolving. But at least I'm aware.

"Admittance is the first step to recovery," I often say. Some people joke back, "I don't want to recover." When I tell people to "make good choices," they laugh and say, "Why would I do that?" It saddens me, this reflexive resistance to growth. But I also understand it. We all get there eventually—or we don't. Either way, the choice reveals something.

So I ask you, and perhaps I'm asking myself: Would you rather have sweet or honest? And more importantly—why?

I've been thinking a lot about how people find professional counsel—through insurance networks, referrals, or simply Googling like they're shopping for a new pair of cozy socks. And maybe that comparison isn't so ridiculous. You know almost instantly whether the fabric and fit feel right, whether comfort or functionality takes priority. But what does it mean when you find yourself with a drawer full of unused socks—counselors you tried once and never returned to? I think I've figured out the answer to this problem, and I'm looking forward to putting it to the test. If you're curious about whether we might be the right fit, I'd love to have a genuine conversation about it. 

Book a discovery call by texting 

"Aloha Nikola" to +1 (401) 343 - 0134

 and let's see if this feels like the pair of socks you'll actually want to wear.

There's something funny about how we figure out our life's purpose. I've been getting really into podcasts lately—something I've wanted to try for years. Only now do I see this as what people call finding yourself: when all the scattered pieces of who you are finally come together into something clear.

Sure, I love that I don't have to get dressed up or worry about how I look on camera. But there's something deeper here. In our crazy, fast-paced, visually overwhelming world, there's real power in just using your voice. You can connect with people through ideas instead of appearances. There's something intimate about being heard without being seen.

I've never been someone who follows celebrity drama or keeps up with every trend. I stay aware of what's happening, but my curiosity pushes me toward doing my own research and having my own experiences. This isn't me being snobby—it's just that information loses something when it gets passed around secondhand.

What I love about how I'm approaching podcasts now is how intentional I am about it. Instead of just randomly listening to whatever, I'm actively looking for voices that speak to me—maybe one or two new shows each week. I trust my gut on this, believing that when I find someone worth listening to, it's not an accident.

Recently, I discovered this woman named Paola Soares who created "But First She Failed." What caught my attention wasn't just her journalism background (though that matters—most people I know personally don't ever use their expensive degrees). It's that she has real experience backing up her message.

Her concept completely changed how I think about failure. She mentions being Inspired by the founder of Spanx's story; her dad used to regularly ask his daughters, "How did you fail this week?" Think about that. This simple question makes failure normal—something to learn from instead of something to be ashamed of. It's brilliant and life-changing when you really think about it.

This connects perfectly to something I've been working on myself. Three weeks ago, driving to work early one morning, I had this realization: if something scares me, I should lean into that fear. Fear isn't just what stops us from doing things—what we call laziness is usually just fear wearing a disguise. Once you recognize this, you can start breaking down what's really causing the fear and make it smaller and smaller until it disappears.

This insight inspired some content I'm creating for social media. I was thinking about something Erykah Badu said to young female musicians: "suck really hard, girls." It sounds controversial, but it got me thinking about this message: Suck, Fall, Fail, Repeat—make this your strategy.

Every time you stumble, it's not the end of the world. It's a lesson. Every failure makes you stronger and sets you up for something better. Each time you fail, you're less likely to panic the next time you mess up. This is how you build toughness and momentum—and momentum is what you need to really take off.

My work life reflects this same philosophy. After years doing event marketing as an independent contractor, then working as a flight attendant, I've realized the limits of thinking you're truly independent when you're not. Corporate decision-makers don't care about my personal interests the way I do. Having multiple income streams isn't just smart—it's necessary.

Through all these job changes, one thing has stayed the same: I love learning and sharing what I learn with others. Learning excites me because it shows how much we can accomplish when we teach each other what we know.

Lately, I'm more drawn to talking about the Bible than ever before. Since I was seventeen, something inside me kept saying I should be a youth minister or something similar. I'm not scared of that feeling anymore.

I look at the Bible practically—I know it's a collection of stories written by people who aren't around anymore, and I'm aware that women have been edited out and that some religious leaders have used it for their own benefit. But I still see it as a powerful tool that gets people talking about important things: loving each other, respecting our neighbors, living with morality in mind and giving back to the world.

Here's a story that shows what I mean: I walked into a used bookstore in Houston one day and randomly picked up this standard red leather Bible. When I opened the front page, my birthday was written inside. Not the right year, but close. That Bible sat in my garage through three different moves, just sitting in a box. A few weeks ago, I finally pulled it out and had to fix the binding. Turns out it's also a dictionary concordance version, which I'd never seen before or since. Given how much I love learning about where words come from, this doesn't feel like a coincidence.

I'm really passionate about exploring how science and spirituality connect—basically how nature connects with everyday life and events. What does spirituality even mean? Can you develop it, or do some people search their whole lives and never find or it?

These questions matter because I meet people who hold tight to labels—atheist, agnostic, religious, "spiritual but not religious." Since I wasn't forced into any specific belief system growing up, I really value independent thinking as necessary for getting along with people from all over the world. We need more open minds and fewer fights, more peaceful conversations and less destruction.

I understand why the Ten Commandments matter through my own experience, but I don't think they belong in every American classroom—we need to respect how diverse our culture and religions are. The politicians pushing for this are being hypocritical when we have way bigger problems to focus on.

My main passion project focuses on teaching young men foundational knowledge. I truly believe that if we strengthen young men's willpower, determination, and sense of right and wrong, it creates an amazing ripple effect for everyone. Men in general aren't held accountable enough, and you can see this everywhere.

I recently saw a video that was heartbreaking—it reminded me of the movie "Hotel Rwanda." The most horrible things you could imagine, and some people have lived with nothing but these awful crimes against humanity their entire lives. Crimes against women and family units. I feel helpless a lot of the time when I’m reminded of these realities.

So this feels like my one contribution to the world: strengthening my own voice enough to create even the smallest crack in the idea that men's way of doing things and men's decisions are perfect and don't need any fixing. Because that's just not true.

I think a lot about nature versus nurture and what influences young people and young men around the world. How this shapes them for the future affects everyone around them—other people, women, animals, and nature itself. I know everything's connected, and this feels like such an important angle for creating something that can actually help people.

I'm definitely facing things that scare me. I've even joked with the guys who watch my live streams about surviving a stalker and abusive men in my past - and I let them know I do not welcome or tolerate this energy around me because I call it out. Now I'm comfortable putting myself out there to specifically target young men and parents of young men as my audience. I know I'll need to figure out all the different ways to get my message, educational programs, and books out there including reaching parents of young men– and I embrace these challenges.

These past few months have been really interesting, but I'm so glad I haven't let fear stop me. Now I'm actually letting fear fuel me instead, and I wish that feeling for everyone because it's really unique.

I hope you scare yourself and trip and face that fear, because the wins waiting on the other side are just extraordinary.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, goals, dreams, hopes, and challenges. Please share my journal and my mission with people you care about. Thank you for being here—you're reading this for a reason.

Let's continue this conversation!  You can reach me directly at NKC@nikolaknows.org - I read every message and can't wait to connect with you. Until then—love you, mean it.

Life has this funny way of teaching us things when we least expect it.

Sixteen years ago, I found myself in a peaceful place where I first learned to meditate. I thought I was looking for calm, but what I actually discovered was how incredibly noisy my mind had always been. It's pretty ironic when you think about it – I had to get completely quiet to realize how loud everything inside my head really was.

That experience gave me tools to quiet the mental chatter. But here's where it gets even more interesting.

Recently, I've been pulled toward isolating myself again. Not from everything, but from specific things I never realized were affecting me so much. TV shows, movies, certain social situations, even some relationships with family and friends. It wasn't a conscious choice at first. My gut just started steering me away from these things, like there was some invisible force pushing me in a different direction.

Here's the beautiful irony: by stepping back from all that noise, I actually feel more connected to people and the world around me than I have in years.

I'll be honest – I wasn't always great at keeping up with my meditation practice over the years. When people hear I've been meditating for 16 years, they sometimes assume I must be some kind of wise guru. But the truth is, consistency has been a challenge for me too. And that's okay.

One thing I've learned is that everyone you meet has something to teach you. It doesn't matter if someone has multiple college degrees or dropped out of high school. Book smarts and street smarts are completely different things. Some of the wisest people I know never set foot in a college classroom, while some highly educated people lack basic common sense about life.

What does this tell us? That wisdom comes from many places, and we shouldn't judge someone's ability to teach us based on their background or credentials.

Now that I've unplugged from those subtle influences I mentioned earlier, I can see them more clearly. I can observe how they used to affect me and how they affect other people. It's like stepping back from a painting – suddenly you can see the whole picture instead of just the brushstrokes up close.

This awareness has been huge for me as I work on my entrepreneurship journey and develop my new book project and educational program. Every day brings new insights, and I'm excited to share what I'm learning with others.

I'm also thrilled to be joining my first TikTok live streaming agency. It feels like the right time to connect with more people and share these ideas in real time.

Something I find myself saying a lot during live streams is this: you can't compare different types of intelligence. The person with no formal education might have life wisdom that puts a PhD to shame. And that's a beautiful thing about being human.

So here's my question for you: Have you been feeling any kind of magnetic push or pull in your life recently? Maybe your gut is telling you to step away from something, or move toward something new? I'd love to hear about it.

Sometimes the best way forward is to first step back and get quiet enough to hear what our inner voice is really trying to tell us.

Recently, I came across a thought-provoking video suggesting that we shouldn't expect to wake up with identical energy levels every day. In the comments, someone wrote, "Let's normalize rest as being equal to productivity." This resonated deeply with me.

The Balance Equation

Self-care isn't just a buzzword—it's essential. No one can master anything long-term without a well-balanced life. Even those we admire as paragons of success have their own behind-the-scenes methods of achieving balance that we don't see. And I emphasize "might" because we've witnessed "successful" people fall from grace in preventable tragedies, just as we've seen others rebuild and rebrand themselves—what we call "comebacks."

I've changed significantly in just the past few months. As 2025 races by, I find myself hungrier for knowledge than ever before. This thirst for learning is both invigorating and exhausting.

What's working for me is structuring my days around three energy states:

1. Passive energy - When I absorb new information and learn

2. Active energy - When I share knowledge through livestreams or journaling

3. Neutral energy - When I engage in activities with reckless abandon, like playing piano in a hotel lobby or meditating

Beyond Burnout

None of us exist in isolation, and none of us can maximize our potential without balance. While we can accomplish plenty through sheer determination, burnout is very real—and it's being discussed more than ever.

I've noticed generalizations about younger generations (born around 2000 and later) lacking work ethic or purpose. But I resist such broad generalizations. We are all uniquely individual. What's important is researching what helps us uncover our strengths and weaknesses, enabling us to find purposeful, fulfilling work.

Beyond Traditional Wisdom

For over two decades, I've encountered the same business advice: have a plan, maintain discipline, stay focused, define your ideal customer, find your niche. While social media has shifted some paradigms, the fundamentals remain unchanged—without substantial knowledge, one cannot authentically teach from a place of authority.

I've outgrown my wariness of the phrase "jack of all trades, master of none." True mastery doesn't imply that learning ceases. Individuals can indeed be masterful, as I experienced through my dedication to violin in my youth. Though that chapter has closed, the discipline it taught me remains valuable.

I've realized my varied interests serve a purpose: connecting with people from all walks of life. This diversity of knowledge reminds us that we're all connected through consciousness or energy—whatever term resonates with you.

The Reset Button

When life feels chaotic, when we feel misunderstood or lost, there's immense value in stepping back. Nothing replaces taking time to quiet your mind, focus, breathe, and reset from a neutral position before beginning again.

You likely have some sense of what brings you joy and peace regarding work and aspirations. And it's rarely about superficial goals like wealth, stylish wardrobes, or status symbols. I've experienced high-quality objects and experiences firsthand, and I can attest that happiness doesn't reside there.

My greatest happiness has come from the simplest, often free experiences: helping others, volunteering, multigenerational family playground adventures. These priceless moments shape us and remind us to get out of our own way, embrace vulnerability, and remain open to diverse opinions while questioning everything.

Objective Truths in a Subjective World

I often hear people say we're living in a "subjective era." Subjective means something depends on personal experience and feelings rather than external reality. For example, "This song is amazing" is subjective—anyone can agree or disagree. Contrast this with "This song sold one million copies"—an objective fact no one can dispute.

My personal truth emerged when I looked inward to understand nature and spirituality. Like throwing a rock into a pond creates ripples that extend beyond what we can see, we don't create new energy—we transform existing energy. Even better, consider a volcanic eruption: the lava devastates existing structures, and huge boulders can change the shape of entire bodies of water and land. Neither I nor the volcano creates new energy—we simply transform what already exists, though the volcano's impact is certainly more visible.

It's fascinating that I chose a water analogy, considering our bodies are primarily water. Understanding how waves, frequencies, and external stimuli affect us physically and metaphysically isn't subjective—it's scientifically proven. Research confirms that music affects us emotionally and sound waves influence us mentally, sometimes without our awareness.

It's a fact that governments possess technology capable of influencing weather patterns. I'm not religious, nor am I diving into conspiracy theories—I'm simply sharing truth. On a fundamental level, this proves that everything isn't subjective.

A Challenge for Self-Discovery

I challenge you today: Take a real pen and paper and conduct a personal inventory. I've created a guidebook (link coming May 2025) that covers everything you need to take stock of who you believe yourself to be in this moment. Write down all the things you identify with and what habits you notice about yourself.

I must confess, writing this journal helped me create this new offering in real time. I'm becoming increasingly aware of what I'm meant to create in the world. It's not brand-new knowledge, but I am a channel, a vessel, and a creator within myself—using all the energy around me from knowledge, influences, and inner peace to reshape truths that already exist, offering them in ways that help others understand themselves.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, goals, dreams, hopes, and challenges. Thank you for being here—you're reading this for a reason.

My hope is to inspire exploration of self, truth, and continuous evolution. This is truly a journey. We're not meant to be the same person we were yesterday or even five seconds ago. And scientifically speaking, we aren't—change is constant. We can rewire our brains, and once we understand this, we understand everything.

Thank you for reading. Love you, mean it.

For weeks, I've had these thoughts swirling in my mind: "No such thing as coincidence, nobody you admire started with experience, what lights you up or breaks your heart..." But these ideas haven't just been recent visitors—they've been lifetime companions, now finally converging as I explore what drives me and why I'm focusing on men in this founding phase of my coaching business.

I've always wondered why, like my mother, I identified as a "tomboy" and felt more comfortable around men. The answer is simple—men communicate differently. They speak plainly, rarely sugar-coating their thoughts or hiding behind subtext. While they might lack emotional flowery language, their directness resonates with my objective, emotionally resilient nature.

At work, when I have planes full of male sports teams or businessmen, I can't help but call them "bros" and comment on their instant "bromances." I sometimes envy that camaraderie while missing my own friends with what the patriarchy would call "big d*ck energy." I wish "big vagina energy" had the same ring to it (and "big cunt energy" would cause worldwide pearl-clutching). Perhaps "Grand Goddess Energy" could work? Don’t get me started on ‘Kunti Kola Energy’ *giggle*.

This language discrepancy reveals something deeper: female-related terms are almost always derogatory, while male-related terms often connote power. Raise your hand if you've heard someone called a "pussy" or told they did something "like a girl." Being called a "dickhead" isn't great, but it doesn't carry the same damaging weight.  🎼Bars.

It reminds me of Jacqueline Novak's brilliant comedy "Get on Your Knees," where she hilariously points out the irony of calling an erect penis "hard as a rock" when, atomically speaking, nothing is truly solid—including your boner, sir. The gender bias in our language reveals our skewed reality.

What drives me in developing my coaching practice is understanding why "the patriarchy" feels compelled to exaggerate their prowess—perhaps because deep down, many men needed the same care and sensitivity girls received in childhood. A 2021 University of London study found that while young boys and girls experience similar accidents and express distress similarly, girls often receive more physical comfort. The implications couldn't be clearer.

As I reveal these realities, I recognize the work ahead. But who better than I—big sister to the late Alexander, cousin to seven Puerto Rican/Irish/Italian wolves, and lover of straight-forward no-BS banter—to create a path not to fix men, but to reflect them so they might fix themselves?

Before you go, here's a fun fact: the average woman's clitoris is actually 5-7" in length (mostly internal), while the average male penis is only 5". Not a competition, but knowledge is power when applied correctly!

We're living in an age where ignorance is a choice. Whether we identify as woman or man, there's so much more to us than meets the eye. We're not merely atoms that combined in the womb but also the sum of every conscious and subconscious experience driving our actions and emotions, because yes, even feelings are subatomic particles ma'am.

From a feminine perspective, we're divine clouds of stardust interacting with other clouds. From a masculine view, we're buncha tiny nuts bouncing off other nut bags. Either way, we deserve understanding and the freedom to express ourselves authentically during our finite time on this third rock from the sun.

Don't you think so? I'd love to hear your thoughts! Send me an email at NKC@nikolaknows.org and let's continue this conversation. I read every message and can't wait to connect with you. Until then—love you, mean it.

You know, I’ve been thinking about something that keeps popping up in my journey—whether it’s volunteering, entrepreneurship, or professional work. One major challenge I see for aspiring entrepreneurs without formal business education is the lack of proper guidance.

When I casually scroll through success stories (like we all do), I notice a common theme: successful people are almost always consulting mentors, making solid plans, and being consistent. It hit me that I haven’t had to wrestle with this challenge as much myself, probably because I’ve been pretty self-aware from a young age. One of my inherent strengths is being able to process information quickly and carve out roles that align with my ikigai—the Japanese concept of one’s reason for being.

That said, I can also admit that one of my weaknesses is emotional resilience, especially in personal relationships. I’m so used to logically discussing communication that sometimes my “over-communicating” style isn’t well-received by those who aren’t accustomed to that level of intensity. It’s something I’m working on—self-awareness and evolution are ongoing processes, after all.

Despite moments of self-doubt, I’ve realized that I’ve been tapping into my ikigai throughout my life. My experiences as a crisis counselor and my current role in aviation naturally intersect, reaffirming that I’m meant to be a mindfulness entrepreneur and perhaps continue working as a counselor. Honestly, I sometimes feel like a 'first responder in the sky.' Sure, some people joke that flight attendants are just 'glorified waitresses,' but I know that passion and integrity rise to the top—no matter the profession. I take comfort in knowing that the truth always comes to light, and bad behavior usually can’t thrive in a healthy environment. I also keep one of my favorite quotes by Margaret Mead close to my heart: 'Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.'

This all got me thinking about how Japanese society often referred to as “futuristic”—they’ve established practices that support both individual and community well-being. Meanwhile, over here in America, we’re caught up debating whether food coloring is bad for you or whether it’s acceptable for political leaders to discuss reprehensible behavior. Sometimes, I just want to challenge those in power to take a step back—like, imagine if someone like Donald Trump took the 10-day Vipassana Meditation Challenge and learned to look inward. Just think about the potential if world leaders embraced the mindset of “it shouldn’t have to happen to you for it to matter to you" as mentioned in my first newsletter.

It’s made me reflect on adulthood as well. We often think being an adult means making money, having kids, or taking on responsibilities, but those things alone don’t make you mature. It’s like we believe that the moment we hit 18, 28, or even 38, we can do whatever we want because we’re “adults” now. Reality check: maturity and growth take way more than just age or financial stability.

Honestly, being an entrepreneur is like riding a daily rollercoaster of small wins and massive self-doubt. Meditation has been my anchor through it all. I don’t know how people manage without it! I know there are mixed opinions about what meditation actually is—some say you can meditate while walking or cooking. Sure, mindfulness can be present in those moments, but there’s no substitute for sitting in silence and truly focusing inward. There’s just something undeniable about universal truths and science—like gravity. You can’t argue with it.

While humility is a constant in my life, one thing I’m proud of is my objectivity. I’ve learned to look at situations without letting emotions take the wheel. It’s a skill I’ve honed through experience, and it’s been invaluable when I’m in situations where clear thinking is essential.

Like this one time in NYC, where I was with a group of five friends trying to find a spot to eat. After some back-and-forth, we found a packed but vibrant Mexican place with just enough space to make it work. I had already started putting together a makeshift seating area when one person decided they didn’t like the vibe because it was too crowded. So, we left and ended up at a quiet, almost-empty tavern down the street. Honestly, it was a buzzkill, and I couldn’t help but think how much the majority of us wanted to stay at the first place, but we all chose to acquiesce. It reminded me why I usually end up as the planner and problem-solver—sometimes you just have to know what environment you want and stick to it.

Reflecting on that night, I realized how important it is to be clear about your intentions and stand your ground. Communication can make or break a situation, and I know now that I can’t always expect others to see things the way I do. It’s just another lesson learned.

All of this feeds into what I’m doing now—turning my thoughts into blogs, social content, and strategies. I’m building my business as a mindfulness entrepreneur and establishing my own organization. Not because I’m just trying to “adult” my way through life, but because I’m a lifelong learner who knows my purpose: helping others become better communicators and more self-aware adults.

And who knows? Maybe along the way, they’ll discover their own ikigai. Stay tuned. And If you agree with anything I've said thus far, show your support by sharing this blog with someone you care about, I appreciate It more than you know!

I should be asleep by now, but inspiration is calling. Right now, I’m semi-off-grid, helping set up a meditators’ reunion/conference. I could have attended as a guest, but volunteering—being of use—just feels right. There’s something powerful about forming genuine bonds with like-minded people who share my values of service and connection. It’s a reminder that karma is real: the good energy we put out into the world comes back tenfold. I’m welcoming that energy, sooner rather than later.

All this has me reflecting on my past life—the one where I was a fearless go-getter, thriving as a young adult in Atlanta. I was living my dream: representing the world’s biggest brands, getting paid to travel, and immersing myself in the vibrant energy of live music. As a budding VJ, I interviewed legends like Common and Kanye West (back when he rocked the “Jesus” piece) and even caught the attention of one of today’s most famous comedians, who once said to me, “You should have your own show.”

That moment stuck with me, and here I am—knowing that it’s time for me to take the stage. As much as I love being a helper, I know it’s my time to reap what I’ve sown. I’ve always poured into others, but now I’m claiming my own purpose.

If you’re reading this, I want to make a sincere request: If my journey resonates with you, help me amplify it. Share my YouTube channel, follow me on TikTok—connect with “Nikola Knows” wherever you find me. I’m building something real, and I can’t do it alone.

I’m putting my whole heart into this—growing my content, building my team, and creating a space where passion meets purpose. I know I’m in the right place at the right time, with the heart of a lion, ready to roar. I’ve always done it on my own, but the truth is, none of us are truly alone. Each connection matters.

Join my tribe. Spread the word. Be part of this journey with me. Your support means everything—and together, we’ll make it count.

Alright, let's get real for a moment. I'm doing something that absolutely terrifies me – I've just posted my first YouTube episode after 10 years away from on-camera work I once loved. And you know what? It's far from perfect, but that's exactly the point.

The episode is basically a slice of my life right now – me dragging myself to work, capturing those chaotic moments that somehow make up my day, but also highlighting those sweet, peaceful late-night moments that keep me sane. Oh, and there's a surprise cameo of this amazing Mexican cafe that I just had to brag about.

I'm calling this my "Adventures with Purpose" series, and here's the deal: I'm committing to biweekly updates. Yep, you heard that right. Every other week, I'll be throwing myself in front of the camera, raw and unfiltered.

So here's my shameless plug: Like and subscribe! Episode 2 is dropping on Palm Sunday, and trust me, you won't want to miss it. I'm not promising perfection – I'm promising authenticity. Some takes might be awkward, some moments might be messy, but isn't that just life?

This is me, stepping out of my usual zone, and back into my purpose one YouTube vlog at a time. Who knows where this journey might lead?

Anyone who’s ever dreamed of being their own boss has asked these THREE questions: 

Can I do this on my own? Can I afford to start the business I want? How will I know if I’ll succeed?

Sure, there are a million other worries (trust me, I’ve been there—endless questions, infinite overthinking). But why listen to me, let alone share this with your people?

Here’s the thing: Have you ever wondered why you’re drawn to certain voices online? 

I’ve spent years figuring out how to grab the attention of big-deal decision-makers worldwide—and now I’m obsessed with sharing what I’ve learned. Why? Because I’ve clawed my way out of the same swamp of self-doubt. For years, I was stuck in cycles of worry until I finally snapped. I realized I had to rewire my brain—like a mental workout plan—before I saw real change.

Let’s get real: I used to stew in silent frustration, jealous of girls half my age who blew up online. No “talent,” just bold personalities or wild antics on camera. But here’s what shifted: I stopped side-eyeing others and started auditing myself. I ditched envy, leaned into hobbies, and forced myself to connect with people differently. And guess what? That “crazy” influencer? She did have skills—charisma, guts, the kind of personality that hooks an audience.

Take the Kardashians. Love ’em or hate ’em, you can’t deny their hustle. Decades later, they’re still thriving because they mastered the art of staying relevant. That’s strategy, baby.

My biggest “aha” moment? The only person I need to outdo is the me from yesterday. To become 100% my own boss, I had to stop overthinking and start doing.

So why stick with me? While others recycle clichés like “babies crawl before they walk,” here’s my twist: We can swim before we’re even born. It’s about tapping into that raw, natural state—your instincts—to move fearlessly.

Want more of that energy? Share this with someone who needs it. Let’s get out of our heads and into the game.

Have you ever woken up thinking "Today I'll meet my new best friend" or "Today I'll have the best brunch ever"? For me, I wake up, give gratitude, and tell the universe what I hope for. Whether I'm flying for work saying "I will have a great crew" or when the crew isn't great repeating "I love my job" until the trip ends safely—I always plan for purpose in everything I do. Purpose is why you do something or why something exists. The wiser I become, the more purpose matters in every decision.

When "Adventures with Purpose" launches this year, I'll be chronicling my journey as I shift from employee life to becoming a true business owner. 

Why tune in? In a word: integrity. With experience from over 100 contract jobs and insights gained from life as a practicing meditator with over 50 days of silent meditation amidst actual monks, I've learned and apply practical methods for mental clarity that actually work in the real world.

These insights have been battle-tested in real crises. When chaos erupts at 35,000 feet during an in-flight emergency, my colleagues often comment on my unusual calm. This same centered approach helped me navigate and ultimately escape an abusive relationship with a criminal who tormented me in my late teens. I've learned that clarity doesn't just improve your day—it can save your life.

But don't worry—this isn't just about surviving difficulties. It's about thriving and finding joy along the way. I firmly believe you can have both style AND substance. I keep my inner child alive through spontaneous adventures in travel and cuisine. One day I'm handling a medical emergency in the sky, the next I'm sampling street food in a country where I don't speak the language.

Let's face it, how many influencers do you follow who seem to offer either serious advice OR fun content? I'm here to deliver both because that's how real life works. By sharing my experiences—both the challenging ones and the joyful ones—I hope to inspire you to connect with me and step out of your comfort zone.

We have such precious little time in this lifetime. Why not make the most of it? Whether you're looking to advance your career, heal from past trauma, start a business, or simply find more meaning in your daily routine, I'll be sharing actionable insights from my uniquely diverse background.

My promise to you: practical wisdom, authentic stories, and a reminder that growth doesn't have to be all serious all the time. You're here now, so enjoy joining me on this adventure, with purpose.

There's a popular quote that says "it's never too late to learn something new" and "better late than never." What I love about timeless quotes is how relevant they become at pivotal moments—like now, as I transition from employee to business owner.

I launched Nikola Knows inspired by a myriad of successful businesspeople I've discovered over time. One woman particularly influences me—I don't know much about her yet except that Mark Cuban invested in her business after she overcame homelessness (she once lived in San Francisco Airport). Her YouTube content and books offer straightforward, no-fluff guidance that resonates with me.

While I appreciate motivational speeches and positive feedback—whether for my work as a flight attendant or for my well-behaved pups—I've discovered I'm more analytical than I previously realized. I'm embracing proven processes that successful entrepreneurs follow, taking stock of my knowledge and experiences as I make this transition.

My Background

Growing up in New York City provided me exposure to diverse perspectives that helped shape who I am. Thanks to creative parents and the cultural richness of the city, I developed a broader worldview than someone from a more isolated environment might have.

This isn't to disparage quieter upbringings—I know brilliant people who emerged from such backgrounds by seeking out literature, art, travel, and diverse friendships. I mention this only because I want to be clear: I'm not positioning myself as someone who knows everything. Nobody likes a know-it-all.

Truth in a Confusing World

In 2025, misinformation is everywhere. I frequently hear from passengers, colleagues, and strangers: "I just don't know what's true anymore." This saddens me deeply.

There are still trusted sources we can rely on—verified texts, practices, and direct experiences that help us understand what matters and how much richer life can be "in the light versus in the dark."

The Heart of NikolaKnows.org

I created this platform to share what I know and whom I trust. If I discover certain information or connections aren't fully trustworthy, I'll take accountability and make adjustments—no sweeping things under the rug.

As I tell flight attendant trainees: "I will never give you an answer unless I am sure it is correct." This principle of integrity is central to my approach. It's too easy to blindly trust without fact-checking, and I'm committed to being a reliable resource.

What You'll Find Here

NikolaKnows.org serves as my digital home base where I'll document my entrepreneurial journey with complete transparency:

• Journal Entries: Honest updates about my business experiences—successes and failures alike

• Freelance & Interview Mastery: Practical advice from my years of experience navigating professional transitions

• Meditation Guides: Practical approaches for clarity and motivation—no mystical jargon

• Travel Insights: Lessons from my life as a professional traveler

I once had a little pink diary with a yellow penguin on it, secured with a massive padlock I installed myself. Back then, I guarded my thoughts carefully. Now, I understand the value of transparency and sharing knowledge.

Connect With Me

I've created multiple ways for you to engage with my content:

• This Website: Your hub for all core content and updates

• YouTube: Travel + foodie vlog "Adventures with Purpose"

• TikTok/Instagram/Threads: Daily inspiration, meditation made approachable and business journey insights

Choose whatever format works best for you. My goal is making these insights accessible in whatever way you prefer to consume content.

Remember, it's never too late to learn something new. I'm on this journey of transformation and invite you to join me—as an active participant or interested observer. Wherever you are in your own journey, there's a place for you in this community.

I look forward to connecting with you and sharing this adventure together.

My Journey Toward the TEDx Stage

I was pleasantly surprised to learn about opportunities with TEDx. At this point, I had grown tired of the endless stream of so-called experts I come across in my daily research. But what caught my attention was discovering that TEDx Talks offer a more accessible platform than traditional TED Talks for sharing important ideas.

That's something I've envisioned for myself, even before I fully realized it.

I love deep, philosophical conversations, especially one-on-one. That's when real connection happens, in my opinion. And more often than not, when I share personal experiences, I end my passionate tangents with a joking, "Thanks for coming to my TED Talk." It always gets a laugh, but deep down, I've always known that I had something important to say.

And then I watched a powerful TEDx Talk about scaling empathy—and I cried. No, I sobbed.

Because what I heard aligns so deeply with what I believe: empathy, self-awareness, and the truth that, no matter what we've been through, we all have the capacity to grow, to evolve, and to reconnect with the purest version of ourselves—the inner child that still lives within us.

The speaker talked about how children are naturally empathetic, how their innocence keeps them open, and how harnessing that empathy encourages action.

Children say the funniest, most unfiltered things—not because they're cruel, but because they simply don't know any better. They haven't been shaped, stifled, or scarred by the world.

But exposure changes that. Exploitation changes that.

And I know that all too well.

Loss, Love, and Scars That Never Fade

Stepping out of my comfort zone and sharing my past hasn't been easy. But if there's one thing I've always longed for, it's connection.

As an only child, I used to watch siblings playing together and long for that kind of connection. So when I found out I was going to be a big sister, I was ecstatic. I imagined all the memories we would create, the bond we would share.

And for a while, we did.

My little brother, Alex, would have turned 30 this year—on February 20. He was incredible. With our 10-year age gap, we didn't fully connect when he was younger, but as he grew, I saw how much we had in common. His wisdom amazed me, even at a young age. I was so proud to be his big sister.

But life doesn't always give us the time we expect.

At just 21, Alex's life was cut short. One devastating day, my parents found him unresponsive in his room. My father—who had medical training—performed CPR on his own son. But nothing could bring him back.

The loss was earth-shattering. And yet, even in his absence, Alex continues to shape the way I see the world.

That moment is burned into my brain like a scar that will never fully heal. But here's what I've learned about scars: they make us stronger, they make us tougher. And more often than not, they are earned in moments of childlike wonder—when we were fearless, when we explored without hesitation, when we embraced life with open hearts. They never truly fade, but they serve as reminders—not just of pain, but of the love, joy, and laughter we once had. I want to remind people of that joy, to help them reconnect with the wonder, the playfulness, and the resilience that still lives within them.

Turning Pain Into Purpose

For a long time, I guarded my story. It felt too personal, too sacred. But as I continue this journey of self-discovery, I realize that the more I align with people who inspire me—people who share their stories on stages like TEDx—the more I understand the power of sharing my truth.

Success isn't just about personal achievement. It's about using our voices to reach more people, to help more people. And that's exactly what I intend to do.

Keeping our inner child alive means embracing balance, seeking community, and learning from one another. When we step outside of isolation and engage in open conversations, we realize we are never truly alone—not in our curiosity, not in our fears, not in our scars.

So I will keep telling my story. And I welcome others to share theirs. Because once we stop hiding behind our pain and start embracing play, connection, and understanding, we can heal.

We can evolve.

And together, we can write a new chapter.

Thanks for coming to my TED Talk.