Golden child.
Victor Rivera
Here’s to you—the Golden child.
You did everything they never had to say out loud. You met the moment, time and time again. You ticked every box and checked every item on the list. You became the one they could count on, the one who wouldn’t let them down.
It looked tidy from the outside—a perfect life presented in PowerPoint. Goals were met, expectations exceeded.
But something has shifted, hasn’t it?
You want to slow down your performance, quiet the praise, and listen to your own thoughts. In the quiet, the questions start to surface:
Who am I if I am not performing?
What is left when I stop trying to be good?
Lately, things feel messier.
Maybe you’ve started doing weird little things: leaving dishes in the sink, not answering texts right away, listening to songs you loved when you were thirteen, to feel something. You’re messing up the edges, and it’s kind of beautiful.
You’re starting to feel again, just like you did before they put you on the pedestal. Before “being good” meant being less of yourself. Not just producing or pleasing.
Not this time.
And something inside you knows—this is good, this is real.
I know the script; I've lived it too. It served me well—until it didn’t. Once, I even left a work email unanswered for a week and survived. I also told a client we couldn't work one weekend. The world didn’t collapse.
So yeah. If you’ve been drawing outside the lines lately, I hope you keep going, even if it’s ugly, even if no one claps. Especially then.
You might not have the words for it yet, but you’re getting closer—closer to yourself, and closer to a kind of success that isn't measured by applause.
If this letter speaks to you, and you feel like telling me, I’d love to know:
What you’re drawing outside the lines these days?
Here with you, Golden child.
See you next Sunday.
