Most of us grow up learning to orbit something external. We are taught, through subtle cues and social pressures, to anchor our lives to markers of outside validation.

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For some, this orbit is the search for validation from others, where being "chosen" is treated as the ultimate achievement. In this cycle, beauty becomes currency and attention becomes the only proof of worth. We begin to measure ourselves against desirability and external standards long before we even have the chance to understand our own identity.

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Others grow up centering the expectations of their parents, using external approval as a compass and defining success by obedience. Life choices from career paths to personal milestones are often made out of gratitude, fear, or duty rather than genuine passion.

There are also those who center their religion, where faith is transformed into a performance of perfection. In this orbit, spirituality is no longer a source of internal peace, but a rigid set of standards used to measure one’s goodness. Peace becomes conditional on how well one follows the rules, and the fear of falling short replaces the joy of connection. For these individuals, your sense of self is constantly negotiated against the changing whims of the world.

Some center their labour, where productivity becomes personality and burnout is worn like a badge of honour. We are taught to anchor our lives to these external structure’s partners, family, career, or reputation and for a while, it feels stable. But when you center your life around something outside of you, your peace is never truly yours; it is rented from the world.

Difference between being created and being constructed

To understand a different way of living, consider the difference between an airplane and a bird. An airplane is constructed. Every part of it is engineered for performance, and it must justify its design through schedules and efficiency. If it fails to perform, it is grounded. In contrast, a bird is created. It flies not to prove its worth or to meet a quota, but because flight is inherent to its nature. It is not evaluated midair for its altitude or praised for its speed; it simply moves in alignment with what it is.

Many of us are living like airplanes, constructed in our own minds to perform for whatever we have centered. We perform competence for employers, desirability for partners, and obedience for families or institutions. We measure our value by output, approval, and applause. When we cannot perform "well enough," we feel worthless.

But we were not constructed to perform; we were created.

The clarity of decentering

Decentering is not an act of rebellion, selfishness, or isolation; it is an act of clarity. To decenter something is to remove it from the throne you unknowingly built for it.

Decentering validation means you stop measuring your value by who desires you and begin asking what you desire. You shift from the passive state of being chosen to the active power of choosing. Decentering parents means appreciating their role without allowing their fears to dictate your future; gratitude does not require the erasure of your own soul.

Decentering religion means finding your own relationship with the divine rather than performing for the approval of a community; it is recognizing that grace does not require self-erasure. Decentering work means understanding that your labour is something you do, not who you are. Your worth is not attached to your output. When you remove these weights, space appears space to breathe, to think, and to define yourself on your own terms.

Reclaiming your authorship

Centering yourself means recognizing that you are the main character of your own story. Your pace, your timing, and your dreams matter, even when they are inconvenient to others.

When you center yourself, your vision clears, and decisions become about alignment rather than pleasing. You stop rushing to meet milestones that were never yours and stop competing in races you never signed up for.

There is a quiet power in a person who no longer seeks validation. Decentering is an act of reclaiming authorship. We only get one life, yet many live as supporting characters in stories written by expectations. We exhaust ourselves for invisible audiences and compromise ourselves for a belonging that should not require our disappearance.

The first thing we should center is our own awareness. A bird does not compare its flight to an airplane’s speed; it exists as it was created to exist. You are not a machine built for output. You were created. The most radical thing you can do is to place yourself firmly and unapologetically at the center of your own life.

The writer is an international relations and diplomacy enthusiast.