What Does It Mean to Be Norm:less?
I should warn you right from the start.
There is a very real chance that by the end of this, I’ll find out I’m actually a wuss.
I am trying not to think too hard about it.
But here we are anyway.
Once upon a time, and yes, I’m aware that sounds like the start of a bad self-help book, there was a person who believed life could be debugged with enough caffeine and color-coded Notion dashboards.
If you optimized enough.
If you thought harder.
If you built the perfect system.
Then, and only then, you’d finally reach the mythical land of Clarity.
Spoiler: I did not.
“Normal is a setting on a washing machine.”
A wise philosopher I just made up. Possibly me.
The Question I Was Too Afraid to Ask
Every time I pulled back the curtain, expecting to find the promised clarity, I discovered another version of me squinting at a to-do list, wondering if any of this was actually helping.
Norm:less didn’t begin as a brand or a project or an empire-building exercise.
It began with a question I was too embarrassed to say out loud:
What if this entire performance of certainty is just another way to hide?
Wait. Let me back up.
I was raised in structure but allergic to templates.
Trained to optimize but called to feel.
Hungry to create but terrified of the noise.
I spent years convincing myself that if I just kept building better frameworks, I could outgrow the nagging suspicion that maybe, deep down, I was just... too soft for all this.
Too earnest.
Too unfinished.
Too afraid that someone would look at me and see the truth.
He’s not serious.
He’s just trying to look brave.
“You don’t have to tidy the mess before you share it.”
Possibly Anne Lamott, or maybe just the voice in my head that sounds like her.
Where This Actually Started
This project didn’t come with a business plan.
It arrived like a glitch with a theory behind it.
One morning, when I was too tired to pretend I had answers, I scribbled something in a notebook:
Live left of conformity. Right of chaos.
It wasn’t a tagline.
It wasn’t positioning.
It was a compass for anyone tired of pretending they needed one.
Norm:less is not a productivity blog.
At least, I hope it never becomes one.
It’s a survival journal. A debug log.
A collection of unfinished thoughts and inconvenient questions.
This isn’t where you’ll find blueprints.
This is where you’ll find something more dangerous:
Ideas you were never supposed to entertain.
What You’ll Actually Find Here
This is a space for high-functioning misfits. (Let me be clear here, I still don’t know if I am one…but this is my publication so I’m taking that freedom.)
The ones who think too much.
Feel too much.
Ask why five times before doing anything.
It’s where ambition collides with burnout, clarity feels like an accident, and life looks more like a sandbox than a script.
If you’ve ever suspected your chaos is actually the most interesting part of you, you might feel strangely at home here.
“The more I try to organize my life, the more it insists on becoming a jazz concert.”
Me, probably, in the middle of a meltdown.
The Part Where I Admit I’m Still Scared
What does it mean to be Norm:less?
Maybe it means refusing to flatten your questions into bullet points.
Maybe it means staying curious when the world rewards certainty.
Maybe it means writing your own manual, even if you suspect you’ll revise every page later.
Honestly, I still worry that I’ll discover I’m a wuss.
That this is all just one long diary entry about being too sensitive for the internet.
But if that’s the cost of telling the truth, I’ll pay it.
This is not a tidy story.
It’s a field report from the edge of becoming.
If you’ve ever wondered whether overthinking was your hidden superpower or your downfall, you are in the right place.
The Invitation
I won’t promise you clarity.
I won’t promise you transformation.
I won’t promise you that I have any of this figured out.
But I can promise you this:
You don’t have to tidy your questions before you share them.
You don’t have to finish before you start.
You only have to begin.
Welcome to Norm:less.
Let’s misfit properly.
Ahhh…just a send off.
If you’ve ever journaled at 2 a.m., convinced you were the only one overcomplicating your life, know this:
You’re not alone.
And yes, I’m still afraid I’ll find out I’m a wuss.
But maybe that’s exactly why I’m here.
And maybe it’s why you’re here too.