The White Canvas

As I stand in front of the white canvas I just bought, I feel a strange heaviness, and apprehension. I whisper to myself, “Take the plunge. Have fun with this,” but a quiet pressure lingers. I want to create something good, yet how can I trust that what emerges from my hands will be enough? And what defines “good”?

That question pulled me into a reflection about life. These last eight years of studying were like imagining a finished canvas without ever touching a brush; just as I now hold images in my mind of what I want to paint. I can see the lines, the shapes, the overall picture… but I still haven’t dipped the brush in paint. I studied, planned, and pictured everything: my life in France, my Master’s degree, joining a team. I told myself, When I get there, I’ll be happy.
But the truth surprised me. I wasn’t.

Stepping into office life felt like locking myself inside a cage. Something deep in me resisted every minute of it. My body tightened, my mind dulled, and the need for freedom—space, creativity, uncertainty—grew louder. I started to realise that the life I had painted for myself didn’t fit the person I actually am. I’ve discovered I need space, creativity, and uncertainty. It’s in this frightening in-between that I feel the most like myself.

Like any creative pursuit, the magic lies in the process. Doing the thing—without knowing the outcome—and losing yourself in the making. That’s where the truth is. The first step is always the hardest: the first words on a blank page, the first stroke of a brush, the first attempt at anything. You simply have to be brave enough to begin.

I don’t regret the years I spent studying. They shaped me, layer by layer. But I can finally admit that much of what I pursued was tied to ego: proving I was worthy, capable, smart enough. Reinventing myself into someone “defined.”

But the body refuses to let you live someone else’s life. It whispers, then nudges, then knocks until you have no choice but to listen. I’m grateful for that knock. It pushed me back toward myself, even though I still don’t fully know what my purpose is. Everywhere we look, we’re told we must know: choose a career, choose a label, choose a box— But I’ve realised I don’t want a box.

I want to wander. To seek. To live in the strange and beautiful space between birth and death without needing to define myself at every step. I want to lose myself in the process, not in the image I think I “should” produce.

And now I return to the canvas.
Not with certainty.
Not with a perfect plan.
But with a brush in my hand, finally ready to make the first stroke.