I used to think I knew what I wanted to do, but after being beaten down by life more times than I could count I realized I’d been approaching it all wrong. Passion doesn’t strike like lightning ;) It arrives in whispers I ignored for years. A subtle, persistent sense that something isn’t quite right. Not the nagging from society, but your own voice saying: I’m over this. I’m overwhelmed. Something needs to change.
But what exactly needs to change?
For me, it could be a million things. So, I’ll work on them, one step at a time, sharing my progress through this newsletter while also amplifying stories from others I encounter along the way.
At the start of this piece, I said I knew what I wanted from life—my time, my purpose. Originally, it was simple: I wanted to have an impact. To leave the world a little better than I found it; for myself, the people I care about, and anyone else who might go on to make an impact too.
But it felt too generic. Too scripted.
Coming from a place of untold opportunity, I realized what I truly wanted was to help level the playing field. Not to just provide a service, rather to create a framework for becoming the best version of yourself—not the version you’re told to be, not the version built solely around self-interest, but someone in between. Someone who creates positive change both for themselves and the world around them.
We’re told that success just takes hard work and dedication. But is that really the key to the lock? Or have we always had the right key? Or rather we’ve just been trying it on the wrong door?
Find your lock. Unlock your life. And maybe, just maybe, open yourself up to a whole new world of possibilities.
I’m here to help along the way.
You can call me Ace.
It’s short for Aecurus. Not sure where my parents got it from—maybe their own obsessions, passed down without explanation. That’s how it often works: names, songs, memories, even fragments of hope—these things get impressed upon us by parents, friends, mentors, enemies. The simplest things can shape a life.
For me, that name sparked a love of mythology. For others, it might be a song that leads to a lifetime of music. These moments, however small, can define us. Stories passed down have moved the minds of generations since the beginning of time. They offer paths to understanding, and through understanding, we can discover where we fit into our own stories.
But today, stories are diced into quantifiable, marketable, bite-sized pieces—easily digestible, yet hollow. They leave us feeling exploited, conflicted, and adrift between what we’re told to believe and what we actually believe.
At best, this digital culture gives you the option to toss your ethics out the window for some fleeting gratification. The joy of discovering who you are has been diluted. Replaced by watered-down visions of the dreams we’re told to chase. No wonder so many feel apathetic, or paralyzed by frustration. I know I have.
And then, add on top of that the state of the world…
So, what are the options?
Do nothing—because the world’s going to shit anyway, and nothing you do matters.
Freak out—so loudly that everyone else finally realizes everything is, in fact, deeply fucked. People are dying. People are starving. The rich get richer. The poor get poorer. And something just doesn’t feel quite right.
But there’s a third option:
Do something.
Do anything that isn’t fake and might make a dent, even if it’s small. Especially if it’s small.
This newsletter isn’t about preaching from a pedestal. It’s about digging in the dirt with you.
That’s what this publication is for: to help you figure out how you fit into this chaotic world. And maybe, along the way, I’ll figure it out for myself too. Because these problems—social, spiritual, systemic—have been passed down for generations. And they’re not going to solve themselves’. Each of us has a role to play in this mess, and the more of us that engage with it consciously, the more likely we’ll actually get somewhere.
Welcome to Irrelevant Wit. A newsletter scribbled from the margins, where the forgotten, the mocked, and the misfit voices gather not to shout into the void, but to whisper through the cracks. This isn’t your perfectly manicured self-help digest. It’s a rebellion of the footnotes. A dispatch for the dismissed. A Molotov cocktail of reflection, sarcasm, and maybe—just maybe—hope.
I started this journey in rage. The kind of rage that makes you want to torch the whole thing and start again. I wrote to a friend I’ll never see again. I scrawled manifestos on napkins. I dreamed of the system crumbling, of truth rising from the ashes like a flaming middle finger.
But rage, like a Red Bull-fueled all-nighter, always crashes.
And when mine did, I found myself somewhere quieter. Not peaceful—just quieter. A graveyard of my own excess. That’s where the real questions began whispering. Not “how do we burn it all down?” instead “what can we plant in the rubble?” and “what if we tried something different?”
This newsletter lives in that weird, liminal space: between clarity and chaos, between burnout and belief. It’s for those who’ve stopped trusting everything, but haven’t stopped caring.
So what can you expect?
Stories from forgotten corners: The kid drowning in debt but dreaming bigger than his pockets. The aunt who still laughs at dinner even though she knows the world is broken.
Interviews with people fumbling toward purpose, and those who have found it in the strangest places.
Letters from fellow wanderers (still trying to figure out reader submissions ‘:p) trying to make sense of it all, one midnight spiral at a time.
Sarcasm. Lots of it. Not because we don’t care, but because caring hurts, and satire cauterizes wounds.
I’ll be your Ace in the hole. Not your guru. Not your influencer. Just another confused rebel trying to turn all this noise into something resembling a signal.
Because finding yourself isn’t a destination. It’s a repeated act of defiance in a world that profits off your confusion turned into complacency.
So maybe it starts here. In the cracks.
Expect nothing.
Find something.
Become anything.
From the footnotes, with love,
Aecurus Dione
