The Self-Governed Republic of Me

Authority is a big word — it wears a crown, carries a gavel, and walks like it owns the world. But when asked, “On what subject are you an authority?” I could only grin and say, “Myself, mostly. And even that has mood swings.”

No PhD, no world records, no fancy awards — just me, ruling over my inner parliament where thoughts run like politicians, behaviour wears a tie, and attitude is the only one who shows up late but steals the show.

In this personal republic, I decide how to react when the milk boils over or when life does.
“You cannot control the waves, but you can learn to surf,” someone wise once said — probably after stepping on a Lego.

I may not know quantum physics or master the art of sourdough, but I know how to silence my temper before it throws a tantrum in public.
I know when to walk away, when to dance like no one’s watching, and when to act like someone is watching (especially my kids).

Sometimes, I fail. Sometimes, I forget that I’m the ruler here. But then my inner voice — that tiny, underpaid voice — says, “Hey, you’ve got this. You’ve done worse with less sleep.”

So, no. I may not have authority over chemistry or climate change. But in the tiny universe between my ears, I am the queen, the cabinet, and the court jester.

Thought to ponder:
“You may not rule the world — but rule yourself well, and the world won’t matter as much.”