Not a productivity talk. The story of a manifesto I wrote on a Post-it, broke twice, and finally believed — twelve scenes, one turn, and the sentence I kept coming back to.
January 1st, a Post-it on my monitor: no editing the invitation. Say yes first, figure out the rest later. I had no idea it would end with me on a stage in Lisbon.
March, Ohio. A woman I'd met once on a train invited me to her sister's wedding. I said yes before I could think — and ended up giving the toast.
June. A voice memo from a podcast producer: "come tell your story, tomorrow." I bought the ticket standing in my kitchen.
August. Six Tuesday nights, one hairline fracture, and the first thing I'd made with my hands since college.
October. Yes also meant the hard conversation I'd dodged for four years. My sister and I talked until 2 a.m.
On stage, someone asked why.
I realized I'd been saying yes
to fill a silence I feared.
That's the sentence that ended up on my apartment wall: "Yes is not the goal. Yes is just how you find out what the goal is." Openness was never just a feel-good slogan.
# found taped inside my journal, October rule_01: "say yes before you finish reading the invite" # the fear talks fastest — outrun it rule_02: "one exception: never yes to erase someone else's no" rule_03: "log the regret AND the relief, same day" # most days: no regret rule_04: "at month six, tell someone the whole truth" # Lisbon happened because I did days_kept: 341 / 365 # the three yeses I said no to anyway, and don't regret
Write your own napkin rule. One exception only: never say yes to erase someone else's no.
Tell someone the whole real reason why. Mine happened on a stage in Lisbon; yours can happen over coffee.
Read your invitations back to yourself in one sitting. That's the manifesto — the one you lived, not the one you planned.
This is my manifesto, told the way I'd want to hear it back. If you're mid-way through your own year of yes, tell me the scene you'd tell first ♡