When I was a senior in college, I remember begging my parents for a DSLR camera. It wasn’t just a tool; it was the seed of something transformative. That camera gave birth to my very first business. At the time, I was juggling school and a job at a jeweler, where I learned to romanticize timepieces and gems. By day, I absorbed the art of timeless beauty and by weekends, I was capturing fleeting moments of the sublime through weddings and portraits.

Photography became my alchemy, a way to freeze time, to immortalize the ephemeral. Each frame held a fragment of eternity—a laugh caught in golden light, a tear reflecting joy. Whenever I found that perfect combination of lighting and emotion, it was as if the universe was speaking directly to me. That rush, that indescribable excitement, felt like a gift.

Yet, as with all gifts, there was a weight. The long hours—ten, sometimes twelve-hour shoots—combined with the demands of school, wore me down. Art has always been my soul’s love language, a way to speak when words failed. But even love, when commodified, can lose its magic.

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I had a knack for turning passions into businesses, but the cycle was always the same: joy turned to exhaustion, inspiration to burnout. Yesterday, in a workshop with Ali Abdaal and his wife, Izzy Sealey, we explored vision boards and quests, discussing the art of creating slow, meaningful outcomes. The idea of pursuing freedom, fun, and fulfillment resonated deeply.

During a visualization exercise, I became emotional. I realized that every venture—my photography business, my skincare brand, my Etsy shop—was a chapter, each teaching me lessons that brought me here. My mission now is clearer than ever: to educate, to help others find balance and healing while staying aligned with their values.

The true 1% are not those with wealth or status but those who embrace the ebb and flow of life. They do what they love, connect deeply with those they serve, and find balance in the process.

But how do we truly find what we love? That question lingers like an eternal riddle. To me, the beauty lies in the quest itself. I often tell my clients that we are like knights in a story where the king has entrusted us with a mysterious gift. At first, we don’t fully understand its value, but over time, we gain skills, tools, and clarity to uncover its purpose. Along the way, we must face dragons—our fears, discomforts, and doubts—but also moments of profound bliss and connection. It is a never-ending transformation, a journey of becoming.

"Be here now," spiritual teachers often say, and I’m finding that more and more relevant. The present is where the magic happens. When clarity begins to emerge, it’s as if the pieces of our inner puzzle fall into place, creating momentum and coherence within ourselves. We start to see the trail more clearly—the one that will eventually lead us to the village where the people we are meant to serve are waiting.

Lately, though, I’ve been… well, rotting in my bed. Last night, I had a whole bowl of popcorn while listening to René Girard’s mimetic theory, followed up by watching Bluey. Cathartic, not gonna lie. I think so much—it’s like I think about thinking. It’s kind of my thing. But I’ve realized I have to actively slow my mind down because it can run faster than a squirrel on cocaine.

I’ve always been multifaceted, a seeker of many paths. Truthfully, I rarely know exactly what I want, but I love trying new things and learning about them. And sometimes, that’s okay. We are each on our own timeline, and comparison is the thief of joy.

Healing runs deep, but so does transformation. Recently, I’ve been feeling stuck in the thick fog of healing—abandonment patterns, self-perception struggles, ancestral wounds. I believe in seeing the patterns, understanding them, and taking aligned action.

I’ve been immersing myself in René Girard’s mimetic theory and Nietzsche’s philosophy. Their insights remind me why stoics seek detachment—not from life, but from distractions. The journey to truth requires clarity and focus, not validation from others.

I've always wondered why so many Stoics and great philosophers didn’t marry, content instead with their writing and the legacy it created. Nietzsche suggests that their focus on philosophy was their calling—an almost divine compulsion to seek truth, no matter the cost. Writing became their way of living, their way of grappling with the chaos of existence. For many of them, the absence of traditional attachments like marriage or family wasn’t about rejection, but redirection—channeling their energy into ideas rather than progeny. It’s not hard to see why nihilism might run rampant in their lives; when you peel back the layers of reality in search of universal truths, you often find yourself staring into the void.

But writing was their lifeline, their rebellion against that void. In words, they carved meaning out of meaninglessness, shaping thoughts that could transcend their own mortality. It wasn’t just an intellectual exercise; it was survival. The act of writing anchored them to life, giving them a sense of coherence and purpose amidst the swirling uncertainty. And the more I write, the more I understand that—it’s not just about creating something; it’s about being. Writing is a dialogue with existence, a way of making sense of our struggles and our joys.

As I reflect, I feel as though I’m beginning a new chapter. I’ve lived experiences that some reserve for later years—businesses, lessons, reinventions. Now, I yearn for something deeper: to explore the world, tell its stories, and be fully present in the unfolding moments of life.

The quest is never about the destination but about the becoming. For now, I am here—popcorn crumbs and all—moving the needle forward, trusting the process, and finding peace in the knowledge that the best stories are written one moment at a time.

Love,

Celinne xx

The Unsung Renegade | C.F. Su is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Follow for more: blockmage.io, X: @blockmage222 Insta: @blockmage222

When I was a senior in college, I remember begging my parents for a DSLR camera. It wasn’t just a tool; it was the seed of something transformative. That camera gave birth to my very first business. At the time, I was juggling school and a job at a jeweler, where I learned to romanticize timepieces and gems. By day, I absorbed the art of timeless beauty and by weekends, I was capturing fleeting moments of the sublime through weddings and portraits.

Photography became my alchemy, a way to freeze time, to immortalize the ephemeral. Each frame held a fragment of eternity—a laugh caught in golden light, a tear reflecting joy. Whenever I found that perfect combination of lighting and emotion, it was as if the universe was speaking directly to me. That rush, that indescribable excitement, felt like a gift.

Yet, as with all gifts, there was a weight. The long hours—ten, sometimes twelve-hour shoots—combined with the demands of school, wore me down. Art has always been my soul’s love language, a way to speak when words failed. But even love, when commodified, can lose its magic.

Subscribe now

I had a knack for turning passions into businesses, but the cycle was always the same: joy turned to exhaustion, inspiration to burnout. Yesterday, in a workshop with Ali Abdaal and his wife, Izzy Sealey, we explored vision boards and quests, discussing the art of creating slow, meaningful outcomes. The idea of pursuing freedom, fun, and fulfillment resonated deeply.

During a visualization exercise, I became emotional. I realized that every venture—my photography business, my skincare brand, my Etsy shop—was a chapter, each teaching me lessons that brought me here. My mission now is clearer than ever: to educate, to help others find balance and healing while staying aligned with their values.

The true 1% are not those with wealth or status but those who embrace the ebb and flow of life. They do what they love, connect deeply with those they serve, and find balance in the process.

But how do we truly find what we love? That question lingers like an eternal riddle. To me, the beauty lies in the quest itself. I often tell my clients that we are like knights in a story where the king has entrusted us with a mysterious gift. At first, we don’t fully understand its value, but over time, we gain skills, tools, and clarity to uncover its purpose. Along the way, we must face dragons—our fears, discomforts, and doubts—but also moments of profound bliss and connection. It is a never-ending transformation, a journey of becoming.

"Be here now," spiritual teachers often say, and I’m finding that more and more relevant. The present is where the magic happens. When clarity begins to emerge, it’s as if the pieces of our inner puzzle fall into place, creating momentum and coherence within ourselves. We start to see the trail more clearly—the one that will eventually lead us to the village where the people we are meant to serve are waiting.

Lately, though, I’ve been… well, rotting in my bed. Last night, I had a whole bowl of popcorn while listening to René Girard’s mimetic theory, followed up by watching Bluey. Cathartic, not gonna lie. I think so much—it’s like I think about thinking. It’s kind of my thing. But I’ve realized I have to actively slow my mind down because it can run faster than a squirrel on cocaine.

I’ve always been multifaceted, a seeker of many paths. Truthfully, I rarely know exactly what I want, but I love trying new things and learning about them. And sometimes, that’s okay. We are each on our own timeline, and comparison is the thief of joy.

Healing runs deep, but so does transformation. Recently, I’ve been feeling stuck in the thick fog of healing—abandonment patterns, self-perception struggles, ancestral wounds. I believe in seeing the patterns, understanding them, and taking aligned action.

I’ve been immersing myself in René Girard’s mimetic theory and Nietzsche’s philosophy. Their insights remind me why stoics seek detachment—not from life, but from distractions. The journey to truth requires clarity and focus, not validation from others.

I've always wondered why so many Stoics and great philosophers didn’t marry, content instead with their writing and the legacy it created. Nietzsche suggests that their focus on philosophy was their calling—an almost divine compulsion to seek truth, no matter the cost. Writing became their way of living, their way of grappling with the chaos of existence. For many of them, the absence of traditional attachments like marriage or family wasn’t about rejection, but redirection—channeling their energy into ideas rather than progeny. It’s not hard to see why nihilism might run rampant in their lives; when you peel back the layers of reality in search of universal truths, you often find yourself staring into the void.

But writing was their lifeline, their rebellion against that void. In words, they carved meaning out of meaninglessness, shaping thoughts that could transcend their own mortality. It wasn’t just an intellectual exercise; it was survival. The act of writing anchored them to life, giving them a sense of coherence and purpose amidst the swirling uncertainty. And the more I write, the more I understand that—it’s not just about creating something; it’s about being. Writing is a dialogue with existence, a way of making sense of our struggles and our joys.

As I reflect, I feel as though I’m beginning a new chapter. I’ve lived experiences that some reserve for later years—businesses, lessons, reinventions. Now, I yearn for something deeper: to explore the world, tell its stories, and be fully present in the unfolding moments of life.

The quest is never about the destination but about the becoming. For now, I am here—popcorn crumbs and all—moving the needle forward, trusting the process, and finding peace in the knowledge that the best stories are written one moment at a time.

Love,

Celinne xx

The Unsung Renegade | C.F. Su is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

Follow for more: blockmage.io, X: @blockmage222 Insta: @blockmage222