The Phoenix Diaries: The Chapter Where I Stop Apologizing for Having Too Many Tabs Open

For the curious, the restless, and the ones who were never meant to choose just one thing.

Phoenix Diaries
Personal stories of transformation, heartbreak, and rebuilding from ground zero.

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A friend and I were walking.
This was in my twenties, back when I thought every question about my life was secretly an exam I was failing.

We were mid-conversation, mid-stride, mid-whatever-comes-next, when she said it.

“Why can’t you just pick one thing and stick with it?”

At the time, I was trying to be an actor.
Also working as a computer programmer.
Because apparently my brain saw no issue with that pairing.

The question landed like a verdict.

I remember feeling it in my chest. A small drop. A quiet shame.
The kind that makes you nod along, even when something inside you bristles.

“Yeah. Why can’t I?”
”What’s wrong with me?”

That question didn’t go anywhere. It took up residence.

It followed me through the years like background noise you only notice when the room goes quiet.

Actor.
Nutritionist.
Operations.
Business.
Tech.
Efficiency.
Writing.

Dancing in New York one season.
Refinishing furniture in another.
Always learning something new. Always halfway curious about the next thing.

And always, the commentary.

“Oh, she’s doing that now?”
”Didn’t she use to do something else?”
”She can’t seem to settle.” As if life is a sofa you buy once and never move again.

Sometimes it was said plainly.
Sometimes it arrived via someone else, wrapped in concern.
Sometimes it lived in a pause, a look, or a tone that said everything without saying much at all.

It all carried the same implication.

This woman can’t get her life together.

I took that in for years. Let it sting.
Assumed it meant something was fundamentally wrong with me.

Meanwhile, my actual inner life was doing something entirely different.

Curiosity was running the show. Real curiosity.
The kind that asks how things work and then refuses to let it go.

People.
Systems.
Stories.
Why things break. Why some don’t. Why others are held together with duct tape and hope.

I want more contact with the world.

Travel.
Hiking.
Writing.
Building furniture.
Learning to sew.
Making films.
Building businesses.

History mattered to me. Still does.
Castles. Tombs. Old places that whisper to you, if you stand still long enough.

I want to know things. About birds. About the world.
Yes, puffins are on the list. Obviously.

I care about kids being fed. All of them. Every day.
I would absolutely go on an archaeological dig. Hand me a brush and a buried story, and I’ll be feral with joy.

This planet is extraordinary. Loud. Tender. Ridiculous.
I could never understand the appeal of experiencing it through one narrow window and calling it done.

The idea that choosing one thing equals maturity has always felt off to me.
Neat and a bit…beige.

For many people, one thing works.
It pays the bills. It creates the illusion of stability. It makes sense on paper.

I’ve never been built for paper explanations.

What took years to see, though, was this.

Nothing I did was random.
Nothing was a detour.

I was building something, even when I couldn’t name it yet.

An ecosystem.

Every role added a layer.
Every pivot taught me something useful.
Every “what’s she doing now?” quietly expanded my range.

Not the worst side effect, all things considered.

Acting taught me story.
Operations taught me structure.
Business taught me leverage.
Tech taught me systems.
Writing pulled it all into the same room and locked the door.

You need all the ideas to get the idea.
I’ve said that in business for years.

Turns out, it applies to life too.

Now it’s January 2026.
I’m looking back without embarrassment. Without defence. Without the urge to tidy the narrative.

Nothing was wasted.
Nothing was flailing.

I went the long way round because that’s how I learn.
Also, because the straight line bored the life out of me.

I’m not missing pieces. I’m made of them.

And here’s the quiet line I’ve finally crossed.

I don’t need to explain myself anymore.
I definitely don’t need to translate my choices into something easier for others to digest, and I won’t be sanding the edges so the story sounds more respectable.

I’ve no interest in shrinking my life so it fits neatly into someone else’s idea of sensible.
I tried that once. It ended in heartbreak.

If I’m working on five things at once and it brings me joy, that’s not chaos.
That’s information.

If my path changes every few years, that’s not failure.
That’s responsiveness.

This is my life.
My curiosity.
My ecosystem.

And if you’re reading this with a head full of ideas, a browser that never has fewer than twelve tabs open, and a quiet fear that something about you is “too much”…

Nothing is wrong with you.

Multi-passionate doesn’t mean unfocused.
It means awake.

It means alive.
Hungry. Curious enough to follow the thread instead of the script.

It means you’re paying attention.

To the world.
To what lights you up.
To the pull that keeps saying, there’s more here.

You don’t need to pick one thing to be taken seriously.
You need to honour the way you’re built.

This isn’t a phase.
It’s a nervous system that thrives on meaning, movement, and discovery.

So keep the tabs open.
Let the ideas talk to each other.
Build the ecosystem.

There are worse ways to live than being fully, gloriously alive.

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Tell me…

Are you someone with too many tabs open too? Tell me what’s on yours right now.

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