I've been wearing a false skin for years.
Not literally, of course. But the metaphor is a good one. I've spent most of my adult life wearing someone else's definition of success, reciting lines from a script I didn't write, playing a character I never auditioned to play. And the punchline? I was *good* at it. Good enough to get hired at Microsoft. Good enough to make six figures as a software engineer. Good enough to make everyone around me nod their heads in approval and say, "You've made it."
But here's what nobody tells you about "making it": sometimes the summit of someone else's mountain can feel like your own personal jail.
The Slow Suffocation of Should
Every job I've ever had—even the ones that looked good on paper—made me feel like I was drowning. Not because the work was hard. Not because people were cruel. But because every morning, I'd wake up with this nagging feeling that I was living out of obligation rather than desire. Like I *had* to keep working, not because I wanted to, but because. Well, that's just what you do, right?
I remember being a child and writing poetry. Words would flow from me effortlessly, and I was *alive* for the time being. But someone—no doubt well-meaning—told me I'd better do something that makes a lot of money. So I buried that part of myself. I thought maybe if I made a business, made enough money, then I could do what I wanted. The American Dream, right? Put off your life now for some theoretical freedom in the future.
That "later" only got further and further away, and I just felt more and more out of place. I actually questioned seriously at times if I was an alien. That's how out of place I felt. I perceived the world differently. I wasn't concerned about the same things people appeared to be concerned about—the car upgrades, the corporate ladder, the performative hustle culture. None of that had any appeal to me.
What did count was experience. I had this deep, gut-level pull to traveling the world, to writing, to building software that actually helped marginalized and underserved communities. Yet I kept pushing those impulses aside because they weren't included in the narrative I'd been sold.
The Breaking Point
My confidence slipped away so slowly that I did not even realize what was occurring. I woke up one morning and recognized I was simply going through the motions. Existing life as a to-do list. Work. Pay bills. Rinse and repeat. I was numb, and the numbness scared me more than anything else.
Nothing had any importance—until I went to East Asia. Thailand, to be exact.
That journey didn't just change my perspective. It shattered my entire worldview and rebuilt it from scratch. I realized that countries are a lot like people. They each have their own way of living, their own values, and their own pace. And if so, then maybe I should figure out which one actually suits me best instead of attempting to fit into the one I just so happened to be born in.
And then something deeper started to happen. I began to wake up spiritually. Not in some woo-woo way that I couldn't explain, but in the most enlightening way possible: I realized I'm pure consciousness having a human experience. That the "me" I thought I was—the resume, the job title, the bank account—was just a costume. A very convincing one, but a costume nonetheless.
The Veil Drops
I started reading Howard Zinn's "A People's History of the United States" and listening to thinkers who reminded me that life was supposed to be felt and experienced, not wrestled with intellectually like a game of chess. Whenever I tried to reason my way through what I should be doing, logic always led me back to work, to security, to the path of least resistance. But my gut—my intuition—was yelling at me to travel, to write, to see the world before I was completely numb.
I watched videos by Professor Jiang Xueqin on history, human nature, and the ideas that built our world. That's when something inside me broke—or maybe finally fell into place. I had this overwhelming realization: everything I had learned was a lie. Not a nefarious lie, necessarily, but a lie nonetheless.
Money? Fiction. Systems? Man-made. Rules we think are carved in stone? Just agreements we all agreed to follow along with. The only thing that seemed real—really real—was what gave me joy: my family, my friends, things that made me come alive inside.
All the things I once loved doing no longer had any appeal, with four exceptions: traveling, meditating, writing, and developing software that actually makes a difference.
Why This Blog Exists
So here's the real answer to why I started this blog: I needed to shed the artificial skin. I needed to stop the pretense. I needed to live genuinely before the stress of conformity choked out whatever ember was left in me.
But most of all, I started this blog for you.
If you're reading this and you're experiencing that suffocation, that same sensation of being trapped by routine and expectation—I see you. I was you. Hell, some days I still am you. But I'm through pretending the emperor has clothes on. I'm through playing like the script we've been handed is the only story worth living.
This blog is me living out loud, me pushing back against conformity, and me inviting you to do the same. Because here's what I've learned: you matter. Not due to anything you do or how much money you earn or what your title happens to be. You matter since you're a conscious being who is able to experience this crazy, beautiful, terrifying thing known as life.
The path ahead to happiness—actual happiness, not the Instagram highlight reel variety—is authenticity. It's trusting your gut even when your head screams that it's not sensible. It's honoring the pull you experience toward certain things, certain people, certain ways of being.
What Comes Next
I don't have all of the answers. I am making this up as I go along. But I am dedicated to chronicling the process, telling you what I discover, and developing an environment where challenging the status quo is not only tolerated—it's applauded.
If you've ever felt smothered by routine, if you've ever wondered if there is more to life than they've led you to believe, if you've ever had the sneaking suspicion that perhaps you don't quite fit into this world we've built—keep reading.
We're just getting started.
And trust me, peeling off that fake skin? It's terrifying. But it's also the most alive I've ever felt.
Welcome aboard the ride.
About SKIP x THONIC
I'm a builder at heart, but what I build is just a means to an end. As a Product-Focused Engineer, my true work is using technology; my tools of choice being TypeScript and the modern frontend ecosystem, to solve human problems. I'm here to create products that help people feel freer, more creative, and more connected. This mission fuels my persistent problem-solving in remote, collaborative environments and shapes everything I write about and build.