The Permission to Change — Becoming Many Versions of Ourselves

When a child says they want to be a teacher, a mother, a secretary, and then a singer — all in one lifetime — we smile. We find it adorable. Imaginative. But somewhere along the way, we stop smiling. We start demanding clarity, cohesion, a single label. We forget how expansive it is to be alive.

In a world obsessed with consistency, we have made change look like betrayal. We question those who shift — in career, in belief, in appearance, in voice. Influencers are called sellouts. Politicians are labelled flip-floppers. Everyday people feel ashamed for outgrowing dreams that no longer fit.

But what if we honored change as a natural part of being human?

Why We Struggle With Change

From a young age, we are taught to specialize, to narrow down, to “figure it out.” The Kenyan education system reinforces this with its early sorting into career tracks. Society praises clarity — the student who knew they wanted to be a doctor since they were six, the entrepreneur who never wavered.

And yet, very few people live that way. Most of us zigzag through jobs, identities, friendships, even faith. But we are made to feel guilty for changing course. Like we’ve let someone down — especially if we had an audience.

For creators and public figures, this guilt is amplified. They fear disappointing those who loved their original work. Pivoting feels risky, even selfish. But staying stuck can be even more dangerous — it breeds burnout, resentment, and inauthenticity.

The Myth of the “One True Self”

Part of the problem is how we talk about identity — as something to “find” and stick to. But identity is not a fixed destination. It is a living, breathing process. We are meant to evolve. We are meant to try things, quit things, return to them, or abandon them entirely.

That small girl who wants to be many things is wiser than most of us. She knows that life doesn’t have to be a single lane. That you can be a teacher and a singer. That motherhood can exist alongside ambition. That curiosity doesn’t have to be tamed.

We don’t need to perform consistency. We need to live expansively.

The Courage to Pivot

Changing direction often requires courage — especially in a culture where survival depends on predictability. In Kenya, where many grow up with limited resources and high societal expectations, experimenting with identity can feel like a luxury. But change doesn’t have to be dramatic. It can begin gently:

Taking up a new hobby without monetizing it.
Allowing yourself to dislike a career path you once loved.
Shifting your beliefs without shame.
Trying a new voice, a new look, a new rhythm to your life.

We evolve because we’re alive — not because we are fickle. The person you are now is just one version. There are others inside you waiting to be lived.

Letting Others Change Too

The grace we give ourselves must extend to others. We are often quick to dismiss people who change, especially if their change confronts something we’ve grown attached to.

When a writer stops writing about trauma and starts writing about joy — we owe them the freedom to grow. When a friend leaves religion, or redefines their gender, or steps into stillness after years of hustle — we must meet them with curiosity, not correction.

Change is not always a rejection. Sometimes, it’s a return. Sometimes, it’s a leap forward. Always, it’s human.

Conclusion: Becoming, Again and Again

Maybe the goal is not to be one thing forever. Maybe it’s to be true, moment by moment. Maybe we’re not supposed to arrive. We’re supposed to become.

And maybe we should ask children what they want to be — not to corner them into a life plan, but to remind them that the world is wide and so are they.

Becoming many things is not a lack of commitment. It is a full embrace of the human experience.

Daniel Arap Moi — The Shadow and the Shepherd: A Deep Dive into Kenya’s Second President

If Jomo Kenyatta was the founding father, Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi was the long-reigning stepfather — sometimes protective, often punitive, and almost always enigmatic. He ruled Kenya for 24 years, the longest of any president to date. To some, he was the gentle teacher, Mwalimu , who kept the nation from tearing apart. To others, he was the architect of a surveillance state, a master of patronage and fear, the man who perfected repression through calm. This is a portrait of Daniel Arap Moi — not just as a ruler, but as a man shaped by modest beginnings, colonial violence, and the hunger for order in a chaotic time. Early Life: The Boy from Sacho Daniel Arap Moi was born on September 2, 1924, in Kurieng’wo, Baringo, in Kenya’s Rift Valley. He came from the Tugen sub-group of the Kalenjin community. His father died when he was just four. Raised by his uncle, Moi’s early life was marked by hardship, discipline, and deep Christian missionary influence. He trained as a teacher at Tambach ...

Not All Disabilities Are Visible

Some pain does not leave a mark. Some exhaustion does not show in the face. Some people are carrying weights that have no name, no diagnosis, and no outward sign. We are used to recognizing suffering only when it can be pointed to — a bandage, a crutch, a cast, a wound. Something we can see. But the human interior is its own world, and often, the heaviest struggles live there. The Quiet Work of Holding Yourself Together There are those who walk into a room smiling, contributing, present — and yet they are holding themselves together one breath at a time. Not because they are pretending, but because they have learned to live with what would overwhelm another person. Some battles are fought inside the mind: The slow grey of depression The relentless hum of anxiety The sudden, unbidden memory that takes the body back to a place it never wants to return The deep fatigue that sleep does not cure And yet, life continues. The world moves. The dishes still need to be wa...

Know Thyself: The Quiet Power of Naming Your Nature

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung We live in a culture that equates good intentions with goodness, and ambition with ability. But very few people in Kenya—or anywhere—truly know what they are made of. We can name our qualifications and our dreams. But ask someone their vices or virtues, and they hesitate. Worse, they lie. The Danger of Self-Unawareness In Kenya today, many of us are wandering through life making choices—big, small, and irreversible—without truly understanding who we are. We end up in jobs we despise, relationships we shouldn’t be in, or positions of influence we aren’t emotionally or ethically equipped for. And at the root of this dysfunction is a simple truth: we don’t know ourselves. This is not a spiritual or abstract dilemma. It’s a deeply practical one. To know oneself is to understand your vices, your virtues, your weaknesses, and your strengths—not in a vague sense, but in detail. Let’s ge...

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