Sometimes, I think about how everything began — not just the universe, but us.
A flicker above zero.
A thought that became a word.
A word that became a path.
That’s how my life began again after secondary school. I had nothing — no network, no mentor, no clue how to build a life from dust. But I had a flicker: a desire to change my story. And that was enough.
These are the five lessons I learned from that flicker — lessons that still multiply every day, quietly, invisibly, beautifully.
1. Start Small, Stay Consistent
The universe rewards beginnings.
After secondary school, I worked at a construction site just to buy my first Android phone. That phone became my passport to possibility — not because it was smart, but because it connected me to knowledge.
I began a small blog. No followers, no readers — just me shouting into the void. It felt foolish, but so did the Big Bang when it first echoed into nothingness.
Mark Zuckerberg started Facebook in a dorm room. Steve Jobs started Apple in a garage. The pattern is always the same — something tiny insists on existing, and the universe multiplies it.
That’s what I’ve learned: you don’t need to start big; you just need to start existing.
Every article, every blog post, every sentence compounds. The algorithm might ignore you for now, but the universe never does.
2. Borrow Belief Until You Own It
Sometimes the name you start with isn’t the one you’ll end with.
When I first joined Medium, I discovered that writers from Nigeria couldn’t get paid. I was heartbroken. I had words, but no permission.
So I borrowed a name — “John Emmanuel,” my brother’s name — just to belong. And that name opened doors my real one couldn’t.
It wasn’t deceit; it was survival.
Steve Jobs didn’t know how to build computers. He borrowed Wozniak’s genius until he built his own. That’s how belief works — sometimes you borrow confidence until you’ve earned your own signature.
The universe doesn’t care about perfect beginnings; it only cares that you move. Because faith — even borrowed faith — compounds faster than talent.
3. Learn Publicly, Fail Forward
The only real zero is silence.
For years, I wrote into the void. No claps, no readers, no validation — just digital echoes.
But that’s how everything compounds: quietly.
Elon Musk blew up rockets in public. Each explosion was data. Each failure, fuel. I wasn’t building rockets, but every unread post was a lesson in persistence, rhythm, and self-worth.
I learned that if you’re learning publicly, you’re already winning. Failure compounds into experience; silence compounds into regret.
You can’t multiply what you hide.
So write. Speak. Build. Even when nobody’s watching. Especially when nobody’s watching.
4. Multiply Meaning, Not Just Metrics
Purpose is the real algorithm.
When I finally “made it” — thousands of dollars on Medium, readers from everywhere — I thought I’d arrived.
Then, it all crashed. Medium changed. The algorithm shifted. My audience disappeared. I felt lost.
That’s when I realized: compounding doesn’t always look like numbers. Sometimes it looks like clarity.
Steve Jobs once said, “You can’t connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backward.” I get that now. Every setback, every dry season, every “zero view” post — they were all dots.
The metrics may reset. The meaning remains.
Your purpose isn’t to grow followers; it’s to grow roots. Because when the storm comes — and it will — only meaning keeps you grounded.
5. Surrender to the Infinite
You don’t need to control the compounding — you just need to stay above zero.
Now, I write again. Wiser. Freer. More human.
I no longer chase perfection; I pursue presence. I’ve stopped forcing outcomes and started trusting patterns. The same way galaxies expand without permission, life unfolds in its own rhythm.
We don’t grow by controlling; we grow by allowing.
Compounding isn’t a straight line — it’s a spiral. You’ll circle back to familiar places, but each time, you’re higher, clearer, lighter.
So breathe. Create. Believe.
Because anything — anything — above zero compounds.
The higher design
Maybe the higher power — whatever name you give it — isn’t a man in the sky or a law in a book.
Maybe it’s the very pattern that connects everything: the atoms, the galaxies, the code, the math, the writing, and the faith.
Maybe creation itself is the designer — and we are just the continuation of that first spark, still compounding, still growing, still becoming.
Because the moment something exists, the story begins.
And as long as we stay above zero, everything compounds — our pain, our purpose, our love, our belief.
And in that, I find peace.
I write stories about creation — not just in the cosmic sense, but the human one. Stories about how small things become infinite when touched by belief.
