Be Aggressive (but like, not in a scary way)

How bad do you want it? Because apparently whispering into the void isn’t working.

The Winged Victory of Samothrace

The cheer from the movie Bring It On—you know, "B-E AGGRESSIVE"—has been living rent-free in my head all week.

Sometimes I feel like an alien trapped inside a human body, awkwardly fumbling around, trying to figure out how to exist on this weird planet. The universe has been annoyingly clear about the theme lately, and whether or not you asked, here it is:

BE AGGRESSIVE.

Now, before you assume I’ve been brainwashed by tech-bro mantras—get after it, grind harder, take what's yours—let me reassure you, this runs much deeper.

For as long as I can remember, aggression hasn’t exactly been my strong suit. Dancing freely? Absolutely not in my wheelhouse. I couldn’t even manage it at my best friend's wedding (sorry, Amanda). To date, no amount of wine has been able to override my dance-floor inhibitions. Expressing myself beyond writing and painting? Still very much uncharted territory.

When arguments come up, I'd rather quietly retreat to a corner and cry until a calmer conversation can happen. Yelling sends me directly into panic mode—though I might squeal from excitement if something truly great happens. Anger? When it occasionally bubbles up, I deal with it about as gracefully as unclogging a garbage chute—frantically shoving it down with the broomstick handle and praying it disappears. (I'll spare you the clogged toilet analogy.)

The "aggression" theme recently found me at the gym, ironically providing a metaphor for my entire life. Self-work is annoyingly persistent like that. During clean-and-jerks, my (very patient) coaches are forever yelling, “Jump aggressively! Push your head through!” In kipping swings, my legs barely swing back—I apparently lack the magical "oomph." It's like I don’t care. (I do!) But somehow my desire doesn’t connect to action. In competitions, I’d rather politely hand over my spot than risk confrontation or seem pushy.

I cringe at being labeled "aggressive," yet damn—I still want what I want: fitness milestones, financial growth, and artist success.

So…do artists need aggression? I'm genuinely asking. But if I’m being totally honest, my default setting is passive. My go-to move is surrender, retreating at the first sign of discomfort or conflict, even internally. I coddle myself, shrugging off setbacks with a breezy, “Oh well, something better is coming.” I only proactively fight for things when there's literally no other choice.

But is aggression inherently bad? Does it automatically make you mean, power-hungry, or—gasp—a bully? Nah, I don’t think so. Ultimately, it's always been (and always will be) a YOU vs. YOU showdown. And while I'd love to befriend every part of myself, I’ve learned some parts simply don't have my best interests at heart. They’d much rather drown their problems in a wine-soaked evening alone than face challenges head-on.

Yet there’s undeniable beauty in strength, power in determination, and genuine respect when we fully harness our gifts. Passively waiting for a garden to flourish without planting or watering seeds won’t get us very far. Sure, we might luck out with a rogue dandelion, but real fruit takes actual effort.

So here's my self-invitation: Maybe I'll never morph into a UFC fighter or that motivational speaker passionately yelling on stage, but I can fiercely chase my dreams. I can stand firm, speak clearly, occupy space, and push my work forward boldly—even if it makes me squirm. It’s worth the discomfort.

Much like yoga practice, where each pose incrementally builds strength and flexibility, I'm determined to discover those elusive "aggressive bones" in my body. (What is an aggressive bone? Where exactly is it located? Asking for a friend) They’ve been buried beneath layers of conditioning: the fear of eviction, losing scholarships, upsetting others. My people-pleaser muscle—built from years of survival mode—still often overpowers my ambition muscle. But maybe they can find common ground, united by the shared fear of missing their full potential.

So, here’s to adding a dash of boldness. To catching the ball flying at your face rather than ducking and letting it smack you right on the nose. Here’s to testing our limits and remembering we live in an abundant, non-zero-sum world—no apologies needed for success or ambition.

Let’s elevate our work without fear, fully tapping into our voices, gifts, and bodies.

The trees this spring reminded me: don’t mourn the blossoms as they fall away. They aggressively burst forth with dazzling color, scent, and life—and then gracefully let go. Then come lush, brilliant leaves, followed again by release. Never holding back, never fearing change. Because when we fully express ourselves in every moment, we experience the true richness of life.