Obstacles, Imaginary Friends, and the Circus in My Head.

There’s this quote I keep circling back to like it’s a spiritual HomeGoods aisle—

“You’ll encounter many obstacles along the road to living your dreams…” . You know the one. Francine Ward said it, and I swear she wrote it just for me and every version of me I’ve ever outgrown, outlasted, or had to drag kicking and screaming into a better life.

Every time I hear this quote, I feel like I’m standing at a crossroads, except the road is made of wet spaghetti noodles, I’m barefoot, and someone in the distance is yelling, “You manifested this!”

Let’s talk about obstacles.

Not the fun kind, like American Ninja Warrior or “people from your past who suddenly view your Instagram stories like it’s a limited series they regret not auditioning for.” I’m talking about the ones that show up uninvited: fear, self-doubt, imposter syndrome, comparison, perfectionism, other people’s voices in your head, your own voice in your head, the voice of societal norms telling you to be smaller, quieter, prettier, busier. And let’s not forget your 7th grade gym teacher’s voice in your head saying you’ll never make it across the monkey bars of life.

And just to make things spicy, life also throws in some very real ones—money, illness, grief, bills, responsibilities, time, broken ankles (ask me how I know), rejection emails, and the entire month of June.

Francine said it best: some of these obstacles are real, and some are self-imposed. I’d add that the self-imposed ones are often wearing a trench coat and fake mustache pretending to be “reality,” when in fact, they’re just your old beliefs trying to sneak into the VIP section of your life without a wristband.

Here’s the thing nobody tells you when you’re trying to “live your dreams” (cue gentle harp music and a vision board that looks like Pinterest threw up): the dream itself is often the easiest part. It’s the living it that’ll shake the glitter out of your soul.

When I was walking across America with nothing but my chariot Gertrude, a pocketful of purpose, and a stubborn streak big enough to rival Texas (which, yes, I also walked through), you’d think the biggest obstacles were things like sprained ankles, snakes, and weather. And sure, those were annoying. But the real obstacles? The sneaky ones? They were all internal.

The thoughts that crept in after mile 17 on day 42 when my hips ached and the silence was louder than the traffic.

The whisper that said, “What if nobody cares?”

The old ghost that muttered, “You’re not strong enough for this.”

The fear that snuck in late at night and made itself a snack out of my confidence.

That’s the part Francine nailed: “You will always be given the choice as to whether you give them power.”

Now listen—I’m not some bumper sticker guru telling you that every obstacle is a mindset issue. Some things are real. Trauma is real. Systemic oppression is real. Grief is real. Rent is due on the first whether your chakras are aligned or not. I am not here to toxic positivity you into thinking you can yoga-pose your way out of everything hard. Please. I’ve tried. My hamstrings filed a formal complaint.

But—and this is the part that keeps me tethered to hope—I’ve learned that the loudest, scariest obstacles are often the ones I have a say in. Not always control. But a say. A breath. A pause. A “hey, I see you, and I’m still going.” A “you don’t get to steer just because you’re screaming.”

I think sometimes we confuse being cautious with being smart, and we confuse comfort with safety. I know I have. I’ve let imaginary roadblocks stop me more than real ones ever have. And I’ve given other people’s doubts more airtime in my head than my own dreams.

You know what’s harder than failing? Regret.

You know what’s more exhausting than fear? Pretending you’re not meant for more.

You know what’s worse than facing an obstacle? Building a house around it and calling it home.

I’m learning—slowly, stubbornly, beautifully—that I don’t have to knock down every obstacle with a sledgehammer. Some I can walk around. Some I can dance over. Some I can politely ignore and watch them dissolve without attention. And some? Some I just need to name, out loud, so they lose their power.

So when the next obstacle shows up—dressed in logic or lace or good intentions—I’ll ask myself one thing before I hand it the keys:

Is this real… or am I just giving it power?

And just like that, I take a little of it back.

One brave no, one quiet yes, and a wink at the chaos on my way out.