There’s a difference between knowing things intellectually and knowing them because life insisted you learn.
The longer I live, the more I realize how much wisdom accumulates not from moments of clarity, but from lived repetition.

I’ve spent years paying attention to what drains me, what steadies me, and what consistently pulls me off course. Somewhere along the way, patterns emerged.
I noticed I was navigating familiar situations with a little more clarity each time—because I’d already learned what worked and what didn’t.
I started writing those reminders down, not as rules to follow, but as something more forgiving: a kind of cheat sheet to life. A reference point for when things feel overwhelming, decisions feel heavy, or I need to remember what experience has already taught me.
They were refined through moments of certainty and long stretches of doubt;
through seasons where life felt expansive and others where it felt unbearably small.

As I prepare myself for another birthday (I’ll be 34 on Feb 12), I focus on how every chapter—every risk taken, every boundary crossed or enforced, every version of myself I outgrew—quietly contributed to the person writing this now.

These aren’t ideals or advice pulled from a book; they are lessons earned through experience, reflection, and the ongoing work of becoming.

1: Put yourself in situations that allow you to experience as many firsts as possible. (Say yes more often)
2: Consider everything an experiment.
3: Pull everything you can out of your teachers / mentors / fellow students.
4: Never lose your inner child. Nurture them, hold them, keep them safe.
5: Don’t try to create and analyze at the same time.
6: Think one step at a time; fear comes from inexperience, not incapability.
7: Everything is a win when the goal is experience.
8: Be unreasonably delusional about what you want until it’s your reality.
9: Self-awareness is necessary in order to live a meaningful life.
10: Every time you avoid discomfort, you’re reinforcing the belief that you can’t handle it.

Looking back, I can see that nothing on this list appeared in isolation.
Each one was taught to me by a moment, a person, or a season that asked something specific of my attention.
Some lessons arrived gently.
Others were relentless, repeating themselves until I finally listened.
This has reaffirmed that the world is one big classroom—because life doesn’t move on from a lesson until you do.

What I’ve learned is that presence is the real work.
Being honest with ourselves about what we feel, what we need, and what no longer fits.
Staying open enough to let people reflect things back to us—even when it’s uncomfortable.
Every interaction, every ending, every unexpected turn offers something to learn if we’re willing to be awake to it.

These rules aren’t meant to be followed perfectly.
They’re meant to bring me back—to awareness, to alignment, to choice.
As we move through life alongside one another, learning in real time, the most important thing we can do is remain present, open, and honest—with ourselves and with each other.
That’s how the lessons land. That’s how we keep growing.
The classroom never closes, only our willingness to show up does.

If any of this resonates, I invite you to write your own cheat sheet to life.
Let it be honest, unfinished, and shaped by experiences rather than expectation.
Notice the lessons that repeat, the patterns that refuse to be ignored, the moments that quietly redirect you when you’re paying attention.
What keeps teaching? What keeps asking for your presence?
You don’t need to follow anyone else’s framework to live meaningfully.
You don’t need permission to rewrite what no longer fits.
Life is already offering you the curriculum…

The only real choice is whether you stay present enough to learn from it.