A Quiet Confession

I want to begin with a confession.

For many years, I chased external success—believing more information, more mastery, and more momentum would finally lead me to fulfillment. I was constantly learning, constantly doing. Like many, I was obsessed with staying ahead—especially in New York, where ambition pulses through every street. If you’re not going after something big, you’re wasting time.

If you had met me then, you would have seen a different version of Isabella, who checked all the boxes of what the world defines as success: titles, figures, recognitions, and more. But inside, something didn’t feel quite right.

It was like I was wearing someone else’s skin—high-performing, yet disconnected sometimes. I did not realize that the apparent success defined by external validation was pulling me away from where I thought I was going. I thought I knew who I was until the picture became too blurry to recognize.

And the world had certainly told me. I just didn’t know how to stop listening.

When the World Went Silent

Everything began to shift when I started writing my book in 2021.

The world slowed down. The pandemic emptied our calendars, our cities, and our expectations—and in the silence, something deeper stirred.

The plan was to write something strategic, smart, and impressive. Something that would reinforce my expertise and credibility to bring more businesses.

Then the blank page was like a mirror, asking a quiet but powerful question: Is this the road you want to continue on?

And then later that year, my grandma passed away.

She had raised me until I was 9, and her love shaped the foundation of who I am. Losing her cracked something wide open in me. There was grief, of course—but also a strange kind of clarity. A reminder of what really matters. A reckoning with time.

When I was a child, I asked many questions. I challenged what didn’t make sense. I couldn't settle for answers that didn't feel true.

When I was 16, a near-death experience planted a strong seed in me—a quiet understanding that we only have one life to live, and it is up to us to live it fully and honestly.

Years of building and hustling taught me to be resourceful, resilient, and relentlessly curious. I understand how to start from scratch, how to navigate risk, and how to proceed in the face of uncertainty.

Despite all I had learned and "achieved," I realized I had been channeling my gifts in a direction that wasn't mine. I was trying to fit into a world I never quite belonged to.

I decided to start operating from my heart, not my brain. I threw away an early draft that felt polished but empty. It didn't sound like me. It didn’t say what I truly wanted to say. I scrapped the entire draft and started over.

Where I Come From

Sometimes it’s only in looking back that I see the pattern.

I was born and raised in China until I turned 18. That is where I learned to question things and speak up even when it seemed odd to others. I was surrounded by traditions, competitions, and high expectations. The structure shaped me in many ways—discipline, focus, diligence. But I always had thoughts that didn’t quite fit inside the framework.

At 18, I moved to the U.S. for school. I thought I was just crossing an ocean. But really, I was stepping into a new identity. Living in New York for 15 years sharpened me. It taught me courage and how to survive. But also how easy it is to escalate your ego and lose yourself in a city built on constant motion.

And then... Europe started calling.

After the book came out, it unexpectedly attracted a wide European audience. I had never really explored this continent—and something inside nudged me: Go.

So I did.

But instead of excitement, I felt an eerie sense of déjà vu. I was walking through the streets of London—alone, accomplished, and strangely empty. I had made it here... so what? Another chapter of doing, achieving, and striving?

I didn’t feel alive. I felt lost.

And then, life sent a detour.

Looking back, the most pivotal choices in my life rarely made sense on paper.
They weren’t strategic. They weren’t optimized.
They were quiet yet determined. Sometimes impulsive. But deeply connected with my true calling.

Like choosing to stay in New York alone at 22, walking away from a secure future in China—family networks, guaranteed jobs, a mapped-out life—because something in me needed to learn how to build from nothing.

Or leaving my business partner, even when we had traction and plans—because I could feel our vision drifting apart, and staying would have meant betraying myself.

Or throwing away the entire first draft of my book. The one that was polished, positioned, and full of ‘best practices.’ But it didn’t feel alive. It didn’t feel like me.

Or saying yes to a stranger who told me to walk to Camino de Santiago. I’d just arrived in Europe with a 50-day plan mapped out. That conversation rerouted everything. Nine days of walking changed something inside me.

Or the moment I extended my stay in a city that wasn’t even on my list—Budapest. I wandered, I listened. And that’s where I met the person who would become my life partner.

These tiny disruptions from the soul create massive echoes.
And I followed them—every time.

And each time, life met me there.

Not always immediately and predictably, but always, eventually.

Not always easy. But it’s always worth it.

Looking back, every turning point came from a small, honest choice.

My journey is still unfolding. I’m not at the mountaintop—I’m still walking, still listening, still becoming.

But here’s what I know in my bones:

• You are allowed to build a life that feels true—not just one that looks impressive.

• You are allowed to begin again. Even if no one else understands why.

• You are allowed to follow signs no one else can see, and trust a path that’s still invisible.

• You are allowed to rest. To wander. To create without a business case.

The universe really does respond when you move from sincerity.

Not strategy, not status—just sincere presence.
Every small, quiet moment of alignment sends ripples far beyond our ability to imagine and measure.

From China to America to Europe, each of these cultures, which span three continents, has shaped me. And through them, I have learned to listen to something deeper than a location: my heart.

If you’ve read this far, then maybe…
You’re on the edge of your own beginning, too.

And if so—
Maybe it’s time we talk.