Reading · Limitless with Karin

You will never again be this version of yourself. You will never again be here. Your life will never look the way it currently does, will never again have the exact same characters, and you will never have the exact experiences you’re having right now.

Sit with that for a second. And perhaps, knowing all that you know now, imagine yourself from a year ago sitting beside you, where you tell them the same thing.

While there’s a real excitement in that—knowing so many blessings are still coming, your dreams will manifest, your reality will catch up to everything you’ve been working toward, all the inner work will lead somewhere beautiful, new people will walk in, you’ll experience things you’ve never done before—I think we forget the simplest truth of all: this moment, right here, is the greatest miracle.

And it’s not just a forgetfulness in the mind. It trickles into everything—how we spend our time, what we do, who we do it with, what we think about, where we place our energy.

NOTE: Limitless with Karin Hadadan is entirely reader-funded, which is exactly why I can write it the way I do—no sponsors, no performing, no writing for the algorithm. Just me, writing what’s true, guiding others to embody their wholeness and divinity, supported by the people it reaches. If this has ever met you somewhere real, or transformed you, becoming a paid subscriber is the most meaningful way to keep it going.

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I’m someone with lofty goals and grand visions and big dreams. I set the bar high for myself, always have, and I’ve achieved most of what I set out for in my 20s. And I love that about myself—because to be a dreamer, you inherently have to have deep faith in God to guide you there. You also have to do the inner work to rise beyond all limitations in order to expand your vessel enough to hold the magnitude of what you’re asking for.

Small dreams require just yourself, as the version of you that you already are. Big ones require the hand of the Divine, as the version of you that’s more expanded.

But I check in with myself periodically—am I doing this for my future, or for the joy of the present moment? This past year has mostly been in harmony—where my actions satisfy both—following my passion, feeling alive in the now, while also building a future and a life I’m proud of.

But I’m also human. And there have been moments where I’ve gotten lost in the future. Doing things for an outcome, even a pure soul one. Spending my energy focusing on the next milestone, even an aligned one. Course-correcting a limiting thought, even a necessary one. Comparing myself to someone else, even an expansive one.

Especially when it comes to your life’s work, your calling—when it comes from a pure place, all you want is for your light to reach the people it’s meant for. You know the power of your art, your craft, your gifts. You know the world could be a little better if others got to meet them, that your testimony will be hope for someone else.

It’s all beautiful. None of it is inherently good or bad. But yesterday I had one of those magical days—hours spent creating, laying by my pool under the sun, FaceTiming my family, watching a show that expanded my world, listening to interviews with artists who spoke to me, eating fresh fruit that nourished me, cooking dinner while dancing around my kitchen, taking a long walk with a close friend—but towards the end, I found myself scrolling, comparing, planning, strategizing a little too much on what’s next, how to get the invitations I want, how to take my work to the next level.

And even though I recognized it was a beautiful day, full of everything and everyone I love, I asked myself: did I really need to spend that many hours at the end of the day ideating on what’s next, rather than honoring the day I just had?

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“If this was it—if it all ended here, and none of your visions fully manifested, if everything just stayed exactly the same—how would you feel?”

That’s what my higher self asked me in meditation today. And it was humbling. A mini ego death, if you will.

If it all stayed the same, how would you feel?

I told her, Honestly? I’d probably ask God why. What was the point of it all. Why write a feature film for two years if I never actually get to make it. Why spend years writing books, promoting them daily, if the sales just stopped. Why do the inner work if it never showed up in the physical. Why write essays for hours if no one read them. Why build any of it, if it led to nothing beyond what I’ve already built?

She nodded, and then posed the same question again. If it all stayed the same—would it be enough? Only when you can honestly answer that, will be you be fully surrendered.

But the question beneath her question is: why do we do what we do?

From the soul’s perspective, it’s simple. To feel alive. To feel joy, fun, love, right here in the present. To do things because you love doing them, because it is a pure extension of you, because you feel like you. Because they make you taste ecstasy, passion, peace, freedom, play. Because they let you connect —with yourself, with others—and exchange the frequency of love, and experience magic in the present moment that just puts a smile on your face and makes you feel grateful for this wild adventure. The soul doesn’t do things to arrive somewhere. It does them because the doing itself is the reward. The joy, pride, and fulfillment isn’t waiting at the finish line—it’s in the run.

From just the ego’s perspective, it’s almost always for a future outcome. To get something. To become someone. To secure, to prove, to arrive. You do things for where they might lead instead of for how they feel now. You create because of the money it might make, or the recognition it might bring, or the door it might open. You only let someone in if they could become your person. You postpone the joy, always, to some imagined later—and the later never quite comes, because the moment it arrives, the ego has already moved the goalpost to the next thing.

Now—this isn’t to say that planning for the future is ego. It’s not. Holding a vision, building toward a dream, doing the work today that your future self will thank you for—that can be deeply soul-led. God gave you those dreams for a reason, and stewarding them is holy work. The difference isn’t whether you think about the future. It’s whether you’ve abandoned the present to live there.

Soul builds toward the future from the present—rooted in the now, taking joy in the work itself, being led by the Divine source and flow, surrendering the outcome to God. Ego builds toward the future instead of the present—skipping over the now, doing things because we think we should, gripping the outcome, convinced that life will finally begin once the thing arrives.

Same action. You can write the book, send the pitch, plan the launch, date the person—and one version is holy, the other is hollow. What separates them isn’t the doing. It’s whether you’re here while you do it.

And here’s the quiet tragedy of the ego’s version: it convinces you the present is just a means to a future end. That this moment is something to get through on the way to the one that finally counts. But there is no moment that finally counts more than this one. There never was.

The future you’re building toward will, when it arrives, simply be another present moment—and if you never learned to be here, you won’t know how to be there either.

That’s why writing my feature film, to this day, has been the achievement I’m the most proud of. Not because of the nomination I received at a film festival earlier this year, or where it may lead from this moment forward, but because I had felt the most transcendence whilst writing it starting in 2024. Two years of seeing life through the lens of my thesis, my storyline, my cast of characters. Expanding my worldview by diving deep into the film industry and just being inspired by human creativity. The real success was how I challenged myself to do something I’ve never done before, to write a story that was in my heart because of a vision God gave me. When people would ask me, Don’t you know how hard it is to get a movie made? My response was always, I’m doing it for fun.

Both live in all of us—the soul and the ego. This isn’t about killing the dreamer or abandoning the vision or not doing things for an outcome—it’s about noticing which one is driving, and how often. The ego is a beautiful servant and a terrible master. And sometimes, we just need to course-correct in order to enter a true state of surrender as we’re creating our futures.

So when I go back to the question my higher self posed to me, if it all stayed the same, how would you feel?

I would marinate in the gratitude—that I experienced all of it. I would feel proud that I discovered the thing that I love and placed my energy there, that I entered relationships for the experience of them rather than the outcome, that I spent my time with my family and friends as often as I have, that I chose to embrace my humanity in every moment by saying yes to all of it—the pain, the struggle, the joy, the love.

But more importantly, I would feel at peace.

if today was your last day on Earth, how would you spend it?

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