VILLAGE Voice- Episode 3
Hello.
This is the Village Voice.
And it’s the first Friday of the new year.
No fireworks.
No damn lists.
No resolutions.
And there is zero pressure to start fresh.
I’m not here to hand you a strategy for the year.
I’m not here to tell you how everything is supposed to go.
I just want to talk for a couple minutes about something small.
So small you might think, that’s fucking stupid.
Whatever.
It works.
Especially when shit gets heavy.
Welcome to the Village Voice - your Written Identity podcast.
I’m Alli.
Your walking, talking, tiny perspective shift.
Your chaos interpreter.
Your menace of clarity.
So yeah.
Let’s chit chat.
I want to take this all the way back to the beginning.
Not strategies.
Not systems.
Not what I’m building or selling or scaling.
Yada yada yada.
Just the why.
Why does this exist at all?
Why did I build Written Identity?
Why is there a Village Voice?
Why did I build the Village?
And why do I keep telling you to write
even when you swear you’re bad at it
or you hate journaling
or you think you’re doing it wrong?
Here’s the truth.
I didn’t build this because people need advice.
You don’t.
I don’t.
Nobody does.
I didn’t build this because people need another motivational post,
another self-help guru,
or another shiny planner
though yes, I love a good planner.
I built this because I kept watching smart, creative, remarkable people
disappear inside their own heads.
They stopped trusting themselves.
Not because they were broken.
But because they never slowed down long enough
to actually hear themselves.
So let me say this clearly.
You’re not “stuck in your healing era.”
You’re not broken.
Lock that shit up.
You don’t need fixing.
You don’t need more tools.
You need a village.
You need to be witnessed.
You need to trust your own goddamn voice.
Because you’re moving too fast.
Reacting.
Managing.
Coping.
And when you live that way, you stop seeing patterns.
You don’t even realize how drained you are
until you’re fully burnt out.
And then it’s too quiet to hear what mattered.
That’s when you turn it on yourself.
“I’m bad at life.”
“I should be better at this.”
“Why can’t I figure it out?”
You’re not bad at life.
You just forgot how to pause
and hear your own voice.
Sometimes you don’t need insight.
You just need to press pause.
Right in the middle of it.
Whoa.
Pause.
That’s why I tell you to write.
Not pretty.
Not polished.
Not for an audience.
Just long enough to slow down
and notice what’s real.
I don’t teach journaling the usual way
because that way trips people up.
It’s not about word count.
Or cute notebooks.
Or sounding clever.
Or “finding clarity.”
You can’t find clarity.
Fun fact - it finds you.
People fail at journaling
not because they can’t write
but because they get lost in the fucking sauce.
You think it has to be meaningful.
Transformational.
A whole big thing.
Why does honesty need a production budget?
Sometimes it’s just:
“Today sucked.”
That counts.
Sometimes it’s six words:
“Damn it. I hated today. Try again.”
That counts too.
So here’s the dare.
Six words.
Two minutes a day.
Write it.
Don’t reread it.
Don’t analyze it.
Just write it down and walk away.
Reflection can come later.
Right now, this is field work.
You don’t need to perform.
You deserve to stop performing.
And please, for the love of god,
don’t get lost in the sauce.
As the proverb says,
a man with no sauce is lost.
But a man in the sauce?
Also lost.
And I see too many incredible people
lost in it.
Don’t do that.
Don’t break my heart.
Because you might fuck around
and start to feel better.
This is what we do here.
We write ugly & feel better.
Before clarity, there has to be honesty.
Action comes after awareness.
Otherwise you’re just spinning your wheels,
taking action that feels hollow,
wondering why it doesn’t work.
You can’t act in alignment
if you don’t know how you actually feel.
So write it down.
Sit with it.
Let it be ugly.
Clarity doesn’t come from sounding smart.
It comes from hearing yourself
without a filter.
That’s why this exists.
That’s why we have a Village.
Not to impress anyone.
Just to give you a place to show up
as you are.
Messy.
Unfinished.
Real.
You don’t need to earn the right to be heard.
Most people don’t need a louder voice.
They just need a place
where they can finally hear their own.
So here’s the final dare.
What if, on the first Friday of the year,
instead of resolutions,
instead of “new year, new life” bullshit,
you just paid attention
to the life you already have?
Start with six words.
One line.
No edits.
That’s enough.
I’ll see you in the Village.
I love you.
