The Courage to Look Like an Idiot

 I’m still relatively fresh off my last ketamine session — the one that felt like a rocket launching straight into space. That session didn’t just show me expansion — it forced me to leave the weight of old wounds behind. But not with bitterness — with love.

Because ketamine remembers EVERYTHING.
It grabbed the sight of my deepest pain and turned it into my launchpad.
And Fear-Nando?
Fear-Nando is fucking FLYING now. Fear-Nando is THRIVING.
I had to drop the cargo of other people’s smallness to claim my own space — and it feels so damn good.

Yesterday (as I started writing this) I showed up to work sick as hell, fresh off that rocket session. Dizzy, barely able to stand, threw up four times — my body begging for rest and integration. I went home four hours early. And you know what?
This is how precisely God / the universe works with me…

I’ve been talking for months about going back to Brazil. About craving my culture — its warmth, its family energy, its boldness. And then, right there in the middle of my shift, looking like shit, I meet this sweet Brazilian woman with her daughter.
We talk. We connect. We smile like we’re old friends who didn’t know it yet.

And when she’s paying — when my old pattern would’ve stayed frozen, stuck, shrinking into the corner — I walked up to her. Awkwardly. Heart in my throat. Scared as hell to “look like an idiot.”
And I asked for her number.
And she smiled like she’d been hoping I would.
And she gave it to me.

I don’t know where it goes. It doesn’t matter right now. It was a sign — a sacred little alignment that says: You are not invisible. You can still take up space. You can still do the shit that terrifies you — and be met with warmth instead of rejection.
A piece of Brazil, dropped right in my lap, on the heels of my Rocket.

Another chance to show the universe: Those who discarded me don’t get to keep me small. They don’t get to shrink my shine down to match their size.

I’ve been loudly repping Palmeiras these past few weeks in the Club World Cup — craving that roar, that family.

Turns out, my heart was craving it in every area.
And now it’s showing up:
🌍 I’m not “in the circle.”
I’m not “outside the circle.”
I’m the whole damn sphere.
I’m playing Club World Cup ball while the people who discarded me are still stuck in their intramural league, running in circles on the same old court in this case parking lot.

So here’s to the Rocket.
Here’s to the girl who smiled back.
Here’s to Fear-Nando, who’s flying.
Here’s to all of us, tentando não parecer idiota — but trying anyway.
Because trying is how the Rocket launches.
And this time, I’m not landing small.