Real Freedom Comes From Structure

Quiet Clarity is a 2x/week newsletter and podcast for people who want to build a life of presence, depth, and deliberate intention.

If you’d rather listen to the audio version of this newsletter:

For years, I'd been chasing a lie about what it meant to be truly alive.

A lie that nearly extinguished the very flame I was trying to protect.

Recently, I discovered a metaphor about lanterns and glass that fit perfectly into what I felt.

Today, I want to share how this revelation transformed my understanding of life.

In college, I believed freedom meant having no container at all.

Every invitation was an opportunity.

Every late-night conversation that stretched until dawn felt like proof I was living fully.

I remember watching Indian movies like "Happy Days" and thinking that life was supposed to be lived by doing whatever, whenever.

But life doesn't work like movies.

I used to say yes to parties, spontaneous trips, and friends who needed to talk at 2 a.m.

I thought this was what it meant to be full of freedom. To be able to say yes to everything.

But here's what nobody tells you about living without boundaries: when you're open to everything, you become nothing.

My flame was lit in the moments I was with people, and dull when I wasn't.

I remember feeling 0 purpose in my life and trying to chase more friends, more parties, more events.

Deep down, I was exhausted and scattered.

It was like a candle trying to light an entire field while the wind slowly stole my heat.

So over a period of time, I began to change.

I'm not sure what compelled me, but I started building a very rigid structure.

Sleep by 10. Wake by 6. Write, lift, record, repeat.

I said no to almost everything that wasn't aligned with this new productivity.

I thought I'd found the answer, because my energy returned and I found purpose.

My work started growing. And I got even more recognition from people than before. Because now they started respecting what I was building.

But, something else happened.

Friends stopped calling—not because they didn't care, but because I'd become the person who always said no.

Worse, I'd become evangelical about my new way of living.

I was trying to convert everyone to morning routines and measured days.

I even remember telling a friend that he shouldn't be dating because it was a waste of time.

And soon I went from having no container to building one so rigid that even joy couldn't find its way in.

The flame was protected, yes, but it was also suffocating.

This is when I stumbled upon a truth that changed everything.

There's an image that I love: a lantern glowing steady in the darkness.

The flame inside is delicate and vulnerable.

Left exposed, the slightest breeze would extinguish it.

But surrounded by glass, something magical happens.

The flame doesn't just survive—it transforms into something beautiful and purposeful.

The glass doesn't imprison the flame. It gives it the conditions to thrive.

And here's what I'd been missing: the glass isn't meant to be opaque.

It's meant to be transparent, allowing the light to shine through while keeping the wind at bay.

The container of purpose doesn't kill excitement—it gives excitement a stage to perform on.

Think about it:

The container isn't the enemy of the flame.

The container is what allows the flame to become light.

These last three years, I've been learning to build better glass.

My structure remains: sleep by 10, wake by 6, write, lift, create.

But now I understand this isn't a prison—it's a foundation.

It's the solid ground that allows me to leap.

Inside this container, I've discovered something unexpected: I can say yes again.

And I'm much better at knowing what to say yes to vs. what to say no to based off my energy.

Because the container allows me to maintain my energy at all times.

I'm never scattered anymore.

So now these yeses don't knock me off course.

They add color to my days without stealing my peace.

And something beautiful has started to happen: I've begun attracting people who understand this balance.

People who have their own glass and their own protected flame.

We recognize each other now—the ones who've learned that true freedom isn't the absence of structure, but the presence of the right structure.

The ones who know that purpose without play becomes lifeless, but play without purpose becomes meaningless.

Maybe you're in your season of wild flame, letting every wind touch you, feeling increasingly exhausted by the exposure.

Or maybe you're in your fortress phase, so protected that even joy feels like an intruder.

I think both phases are very much needed.

I had to go through both in order to get to where I am now.

Either way, I found something. When you eventually find the balance between the two, something magical happens.

The lantern illuminates not just your own path, but lights the way for others who are still stumbling in the dark, looking for their own perfect glass.

You become both protected and radiant.

Both purposeful and playful.

Both contained and free.

The flame needs the glass. The glass needs the flame.

And the world needs your light.