Some time ago, I came across a TikTok video that suggested having weekly executive meetings with yourself. The idea was simple: if you can't run the most important company you'll ever own—yourself—how can you expect to build anything else?
I decided to try it.
The only difference is that I don't do it weekly. I do it every single day.
And because I don't really have anyone to brainstorm with on a daily basis, I do it with AI.
The impact has been much bigger than I expected. The first realization was that I have been burning enormous amounts of mental energy on things that simply don't matter anymore.
For years, I've spent a lot of time trying to understand people from my past whose behavior was deeply narcissistic. Those kinds of personalities are complicated, and my brain always wanted to solve the puzzle.
But lately I've realized something liberating.
I don't actually need to understand them anymore. I can simply let them exist without carrying them around in my head every day. The mental space I've been using to analyze the past can be redirected toward building my future instead.
The second realization was about TikTok.
Ironically, my TikTok feed is excellent. It's full of history, politics, psychology, and other fascinating topics.
The problem is that I can't watch just one video.
Every video sends my brain into another rabbit hole. I start analyzing, connecting ideas, questioning assumptions, and before I know it, I've spent a huge amount of my daily mental capacity thinking about something that has absolutely nothing to do with my own goals.
So I've made a simple rule for myself.
I can still upload my own videos to create visibility for my future business, but I don't need to consume the endless feed afterward.
As funny as it sounds, I simply think too much.
This week I've been actively avoiding both TikTok scrolling and mentally revisiting people from my past.
The difference has been remarkable.
Instead of spending my energy elsewhere, I've had enough of it left to think deeply about my own future.
And that's when something clicked.
I've finally figured out how I want to structure my jewelry business.
Every necklace starts with a treasure hunt.
I spend hours wandering through flea markets looking for necklaces that other people have overlooked. Most people see inexpensive costume jewelry. I see interesting shapes, beautiful colors, crystals, pearls, gemstones, and endless possibilities.
I take those necklaces apart, sort the components, combine them with new spacers, clasps, and wire, and create something completely different.
The materials themselves often cost just a couple of euros. The value doesn't come from expensive components—it comes from seeing a design that wasn't there before. For a long time, I thought that was also my biggest limitation. If I sold a necklace, that was it. I'd move on to creating the next one.
But then I realized I had been looking at the problem from the wrong angle.
Instead of only selling the finished piece, I could also sell the blueprint that made it possible.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized that the same design can have different kinds of value depending on who's buying it.
Someone who simply enjoys making jewelry could buy an affordable PDF to recreate the necklace for themselves or as a gift. That version would be strictly for personal use.
Someone who wants to build a jewelry business could buy the commercial version, which would include the right to sell necklaces made from that design.
And for someone who wants something truly exclusive, there could even be the option to purchase the design outright. Once the rights are sold, that particular design disappears from my catalogue and belongs entirely to its new owner.
It's still the same creative idea, but it becomes three completely different products for three completely different customers.
That's when I realized I actually need to divide myself into two.
One side of the business is me as a designer.
Under my own name, I'll sell the creative work itself: the blueprints, the layouts, the bead sequences, the technical details, and the different licenses that allow people to recreate my designs.
The other side is Reloved by Pauliina.
That's where the finished necklaces will live.
Every time I create a new design, I'll also create the PDF.
Then the necklace itself gets to do what it was always meant to do—find a new home.
I don't want my creations sitting in boxes collecting dust. I want people to wear them.
The physical necklace becomes a one-of-a-kind piece that someone can own, while the blueprint continues to exist as a digital product for hobbyists, entrepreneurs, or anyone who simply falls in love with the design.
The funny thing is that I could recreate these necklaces if I wanted to.
I simply don't want to.
I'm a creator first.
What excites me isn't manufacturing the same necklace fifty times. It's walking into a flea market with no idea what I'll find, spotting a forgotten necklace that costs a couple of euros, taking it apart, and seeing possibilities that weren't there before.
I love the moment when a pile of unrelated components suddenly becomes something beautiful.
Once one necklace is finished, my mind is already chasing the next idea.
For the first time, I can clearly see a path that lets me keep creating while also building something sustainable.
Of course, none of this exists yet. Right now it's still a business plan. I still need to register as self-employed before I can legally sell the PDF guides or open my Etsy shop, which is why finding a regular job is my next step.
For the first time in a long while, I can genuinely imagine making a living by doing what I love most: finding beauty where other people don't see it and turning it into something new.
All because I stopped spending so much of my mental energy on things that no longer deserved it.
Sometimes the biggest breakthrough isn't working harder. It's finally giving your mind permission to work on the right things.
And I have to admit, I like what I see.
For the first time, my future feels genuinely bright.
