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Nobody’s Thinking About You, and That’s Your Superpower

There’s something oddly liberating about reaching your late 30s. It’s that sweet spot where you’re finally old enough to know better but still young enough to make poor decisions like always —just with better skincare and a stronger coffee addiction.

I remember my 20s, when I would spend 30 minutes crafting a text so I didn’t sound too eager, too cold, or—heaven forbid—too much like myself. My 30s? I send voice notes mid-yawn, mid-coffee sip, mid-existential crisis or video calling with my messy bed hair. Why? Coz why not...  Because I have finally realized the truth: Nobody is thinking about me. And honestly, neither are they thinking about you.

Now, before you spiral into an identity crisis, hear me out. For years, we curate our lives as if we’re the main character in some grand Truman Show-style production. We overanalyze texts, replay conversations in our heads, and convince ourselves that Karen from other departments is judging us for anything that we do. Spoiler alert: Karen is too busy worrying about whether she left her straightener on or perhaps fixing her face... opppsie daisy....

By the time you hit your late 30s, you start embracing this reality, and it’s magical. That time you tripped over nothing in the one big company gala dinner ? Nobody remembers. That Zoom call where you accidentally unmuted yourself and cursing how bad your day was? It’s already forgotten. People are too preoccupied with their own chaos to give you more than a fleeting thought. And that, my friends, is your superpower.

So, what do we do with this newfound freedom? We wear the bold lipstick, we take the solo trip, or perhaps thinking launch the business... oh man I'm so tired with this corporatelife, or or ...we dance terribly at public toilets, and we stop caring if someone might think we’re "too much". Because the truth is, they’re just as distracted by their own self-doubt as we are.

You are not the sum of people’s fleeting thoughts. You are not defined by how well you perform in the imaginary judgment court of public opinion. You are simply *you*, and that is enough more than enough.

Now go flirt with somebody's son. Karen isn’t watching.

Love, 


Chits!


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