A Return to Cambridge, A Return to Self
Written on February 22, 2025
The older you get, the wiser you become—not always in traditional intellectualism, common sense, or the ability to fix a leaky faucet, but in something much deeper: the clarity of the path you’re meant to walk.
I write this about one week before my 29th birthday—February 27, a date that once felt far away, a milestone that once seemed so distant, and yet, here I am. Another year around the sun, another year of discovery, another year of becoming.
I’m also writing this from my constant place of refuge: my aunt and uncle’s home in the Boston area. Whenever life has become too hectic, overwhelming, or downright ridiculous, they, unknowingly, throw me a lifeline—dog-sitting, a moment to pause, a chance to step back from the Monet painting that is my life at any given moment. Here, I get a moment to retreat from the beautiful chaos of my twenties, and in doing so, I see the full picture of where I’ve been, where I am, and where I am meant to go.
There’s something uniquely special about this place. Maybe it’s some form of spiritual energy, the solitude in a city where no one knows me, or just the magic of pure, simple pet therapy. Whatever it is, Cambridge has always been where I find my center.
The Moment It All Started
I came here in July 2024—half to celebrate America’s birthday, half to escape a version of myself that no longer fit. I was a corporate drone, misaligned with my values, my creativity, and my core self. I was a mere shell, running on autopilot, with no clarity on how to move forward.
Being here, in the quiet, in the stillness, reminded me of what mattered: family, community, love, integrity, culture, authenticity. That weekend, I also visited the Harvard Book Store, where, in true impulsive fashion, I purchased at least ten books (which later became an absolute nightmare to fit into my suitcase back to New York). They covered everything I cared about—fashion (a book on Dapper Dan), activism (a visual documentation of 21st-century political movements), and community-building (guides on inclusive school environments and a deep dive into landmark U.S. constitutional cases).
At the time, I didn’t realize how significant those books would become. They were just fragments of my identity, pieces of what I valued, what I envisioned a better world should look like. What I didn’t know then was that they were foreshadowing what I would soon build.
Leaping Without a Net
Weeks later, I quit my god-awful corporate job. With nothing lined up.
It wasn’t a calculated move. It was an act of self-preservation. I was determined not to lose myself completely, convinced that there had to be something better than this—there just had to be. A week later, I was at the NASDAQ Bell Ringing Ceremony, a poetic, validating sign that I had made the right choice.
That job, that environment—it was never aligned with what destiny had in store for me.
So, I asked myself: What makes me happy? What brings me joy? And in answering that question, I retraced my steps through time.
The Clues Were Always There
As a child, I couldn’t stop creating. Creativity was as natural to me as breathing.
I would count down the days until art class, where I could fully express myself, where possibilities were endless, where reality was whatever I desired it to be. Once a month, a parent volunteer would come in and introduce us to a new painting—Van Gogh, Monet, Da Vinci. I was hooked. It was the initial spark of where destiny would ultimately lead me.
As I grew older, another passion emerged: helping others. It felt right. It didn’t require justification. Doing the right thing should always be the default. This instinct led me into government, where I thrived in shaping policies that made a real difference. Eventually, I pursued finance, seeking a deeper understanding of the structures of power and how they operated.
At the same time, I watched my creative friends struggle.
So many of them, wildly talented, ended up in corporate jobs—not out of passion, but out of necessity. The creative industry felt opaque, inaccessible, impossible to break into without direct ties, wealth, or insider knowledge.
I saw the gap. I knew the pain points. And I knew I was the one to bridge them.
From a Spark to a Movement: The Birth of Orm Muse Collective
I left Cambridge that summer knowing I had all the foundational pieces for what will one day be remembered as the next creative cultural renaissance.
I had dreamed of creating a venture fund for the arts, but I didn’t know how to execute on it yet. If I was going to argue that the creative industry was a powerful economic force, a lucrative investment, and that emerging creators were the face of the global future, I needed proof.
So, I became the proof.
In September 2024, I founded Orm Muse Collective—a community platform to empower creatives, to showcase my own creative works, and to experiment. I had no blueprint, but I knew I was damn good at figuring things out.
I built everything from scratch. My only real investment was my business filings—because emerging artists get scrappy. We let our talent do the talking.
I used free resources like Audacity to record and edit my podcast, Saturn Made Me Do It.
I used social media as my primary marketing tool.
I designed everything on the free version of Canva (and yes, I know you can tell).
I wanted to prove that grit, ambition, and pure talent could break through.
The remainder of 2024 was a grind. I worked full-time in luxury retail, a flexible gig that allowed creatives to take time off for more aligned projects. It gave me access to my people, to wealthier individuals who value beauty, and a front-row seat to what it meant to work just to pay the bills while fighting for your creative dreams.
It was exhausting.
But it proved one thing: the arts needed a dedicated investment fund.
Enter: The Agora Fund
My contract ended on December 31, 2024. That was my green light.
January and February 2025 were dedicated to Orm Muse Collective—testing, failing, iterating. I added a community forum, “The Creative Commons,” where artists, filmmakers, and designers could connect. I introduced “The Muse Agora”, a general space for broader creative discussions—a wink to what was coming next.
Now, as I sit at my aunt and uncle’s kitchen island, I feel it again—that moment before a major shift.
The launch of The Agora Fund is imminent. A fund designed to pioneer a cultural renaissance. To reshape the economic value of creativity. To ensure artists aren’t just appreciated but financially supported.
For centuries, the agora was a place of intellectual exchange, commerce, and culture. This fund will reclaim that ethos, proving that art and capital can coexist, thrive, and drive the future.
A Final Thank You
To Aaron and Lydia—thank you for unknowingly offering me refuge, for giving me space to realign with my purpose, for reminding me of who I am when the world threatened to make me forget.
Because of you, Cambridge is now known for three culturally significant institutions: Harvard, Orm Muse Collective, and The Agora Fund.
As I step into 29, I know this is just the beginning. The next cultural renaissance starts now. And I intend to be the one writing it.