How to stop waiting for proof and just begin

On: what happens when you choose to believe in the unknown?

Day 01 of the Optimism course begins by reframing the way we think about optimism—not as blind positivity or wishful thinking, but as a grounded choice to trust yourself in the face of the unknown.

“It isn’t the surface-level hope that things will magically work out. It’s the grounded decision to believe that you are capable of meeting life as it comes, even without knowing what’s next.”

That idea has been sitting with me, especially in moments when the unknown feels heavy and self-belief feels like something I need to earn before acting on it.

When it comes to self-belief, external validation has a stronger hold than most of us want to admit. Beneath the need to present a certain way is a deeper desire to be seen. In this course, being seen means making your dreams visible. The ones that have followed you quietly, waiting for your permission to move from your inner world to your outer world. Many of us avoid these dreams or postpone them because we don't trust ourselves to follow through. But the people who choose to believe in themselves anyway carry a rare kind of energy. That energy reminds others that it's possible.

Yesterday, I heard life described as a series of levels. Right now, I might be on level four. I can see level five ahead, but it requires a decision to choose differently than I have before. Fear or habit can keep me walking through the same door, looping back into patterns I’ve already outgrown. That next level doesn’t require perfection. It asks for clarity. The kind of clarity that comes from knowing what needs to be released in order to move forward.

That’s the paradox of self-work. It wakes you up to your potential. It stirs up hope, momentum, clarity. But it also reveals what you have to shed to grow, and that’s often the part that makes us stall. Today is about noticing what still holds you at the current level and deciding what part of you is ready to move forward. That choice is where optimism begins. Not through force or performance, but through self-trust.

Here’s my response to Day 01–

Prompt: Where in your life have you been waiting for proof before giving yourself permission to begin?

I’m noticing how easy it is to trap myself in the cycle of waiting—waiting for proof, for validation, for some invisible sign that it’s safe to share. Especially on my personal social accounts, where the line between expression and performance feels razor thin. There’s a deep desire to let people in, to share my voice and perspective more openly, but I keep hitting this internal wall. I tell myself I need more consistency first, or better ideas, or a clearer vision, but the truth is, I’m just scared. Scared that what I say won’t land, that it won’t be seen, or worse, that it will and still won’t feel like enough. I know that thinking keeps me small, keeps me circling the same loop of wanting to begin and then pulling back.

That’s why Substack has felt different. I gave myself permission here in a way I haven’t elsewhere. I started from a place of self, not strategy—just wanting to write, to connect, to be real. And because of that, it’s felt healing. I’ve allowed myself to share from a vulnerable place while still honoring my aesthetic and values. But even here, I feel the creeping edges of performance begin to show up as more eyes land on the page. That’s why journaling, right now, here, like this, matters. It helps dissolve the mask, quiet the noise, and remind me why I started. This is the practice. Letting the work begin on the page so it can ripple off of it. Choosing to believe in what I have to say before it’s validated, and letting that belief be enough to take the next step.

Scenes from Day 01

Notes:

• The feeling heading into this course is hope. This perspective on optimism feels fresh—like it has the potential to spark something meaningful over the next week of journaling.

• This essay is such a powerful way to set the tone for the course. It captures that quiet fear of time passing and the ache of not acting on the dreams that matter most—waiting for the moment you finally feel like enough. Essays like this are my favorite kind. The kind you want to reread every morning to remember what’s possible and why you’re here.

• Ayushi’s essay on existential courage puts words to feelings that are often hard to name. It’s the kind of piece that stirs something deep and reminds you what it means to live fully. I loved this part—

“courage, in this context, is faint. it’s the act of keeping your mind open when everything in you wants to shut down. it’s the act of being curious about your own dullness instead of shaming yourself out of it. it’s asking, not with panic but with patience: what am i needing that i’m not naming? what kind of life have i built around myself, and how much of it actually reflects the world i want to belong to? what if the numbness isn’t a flaw, but a message? what if this disconnection is an intelligent response to a life that’s become too tight, too curated, too performative to feel real?”

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This course is about practicing radical vulnerability with yourself because that’s where real self-trust begins. It starts on the page, but it doesn’t end there. It continues in spaces like this, where your reflections have the power to remind someone else they’re not alone. If you feel comfortable, share what came up for you in Day 01. Where have you been waiting for proof before allowing yourself to begin? Comment below – your honesty might be exactly what someone else needs to read.