It All Started with a Question

Sometimes one question can reroute your whole sense of self.

Recently, I was listening to a random podcast — something I like to do while I’m working. The interview was with the musician Yungblud. He was sharing his life story and his path to stardom. I’d only heard his name in passing, so everything he said was new to me. Towards the end of the interview, he told a story about introducing himself to a manager. The man asked him, “Who are you?”

That question changed his life.
And little did I know, when I wrote that question down in my phone notes, how much it would change mine.

“Who are you?”
It’s a powerful question because it asks for more than a résumé. It asks for truth — the kind that lives under all the titles, roles, and achievements.

As an artist, I often know who I am through my work: the creator, the storyteller, the maestro of feelings, colors, and stories. But this question pushed me to look beyond that — to ask, Who am I without all the titles and labels?

For the last handful of months, I’ve been going through what I like to call “A Moment.” I’m not working through any big emotions or life-altering situation — there’s just been this nagging feeling inside me that wants to be validated. I’ve been shedding layers, moving through life a bit differently, and uncovering some long-forgotten version of myself.

Hearing that one question led me to a quiet kind of remembering — who was I before I started “adulting” so hard?

What’s funny is, I’ve done this kind of self-reflection many times before: connecting with my younger self, protecting her, being the person she always needed. And each time, there was always a good feeling afterwards.

But for some reason, this time — this question — it ripped everything wide open in my heart and put the pieces back together so quickly and so clearly.
It all just made sense.

What I remembered was simple, but it hit like lightning —
I remembered that I’ve always been powerful.

Not powerful in the loud, hustle-world way, but powerful in the quiet, creative, soul-led way. The kind of power that lives in your chest when you’re in alignment, when you’re glowing from the inside out. The kind that isn’t waiting for permission to show up — it just is.

That remembering brought tears to my eyes, because for the first time, I could feel that the girl I used to be — the one who moved through the world with curiosity, rhythm, and light — was still here. She’d just been waiting for me to notice her again.

And as we talked about that memory, another one surfaced — an anthem from those days that perfectly captured the feeling.
It was the iconic House track “Let There Be House.” One of the lines says:

“I am the creator, and this is my house.”

Hearing that line again after all these years hit differently.
Back then, it was a party song — now, it’s a mantra.
Because that’s exactly it: I am the creator.
This life, this art, this energy — this is my house.

Since then, I’ve been moving differently.
Not rushing to define every next step, not over-explaining my process — just allowing myself to be in my art, in my life, in my becoming. The reminder that I am the creator of my own reality hits different when you feel it in your bones.

I guess that’s what this whole season has been about — not reinventing, but remembering.
Peeling back everything that was never truly me and coming home to the person I’ve always been: the artist, the dreamer, the believer, the energy in motion even after the music stops.

So maybe this question will mean something to you, too.
Who are you — beneath the noise, the titles, and the doing?
Sometimes the answer isn’t something new to discover.
It’s someone you’ve known all along.

The next time life goes quiet, listen closely.
You might hear the sound of your own rhythm —
still dancing, still powerful, still you.