Before the success story gets written, someone has to capture what it actually felt like at the start. These are my honest answers — unedited, timestamped, and locked in. I'll answer the same questions every year. You'll see what changes.
Ask any billionaire what they wanted at 23 and you'll get a great answer. Whether it's accurate is another matter. Memory is a storyteller — it smooths the edges, removes the doubt, and makes the journey look more intentional than it ever felt.
The Baseline exists to close that gap. Same questions, answered honestly, every year. No edits. No retrospective framing. Just an honest record of where I was, what I believed, and what I was afraid of — captured before hindsight has a chance to tidy it up.
This is Entry 001. May 2025. Age 22. Come back next year and see what's changed.
How am I meant to pick one? Genuinely.
Right now, the goal is to grow this platform — to get the story in front of as many people as possible and prove that following something from the very beginning, before it's worked, is worth watching. If someone reads this and thinks "okay, if she can do it, maybe I can too" — that's the whole point.
I think about monetising The CEO Blueprint constantly. Sponsorship, brand partnerships, a subscription model. But I keep hitting the same honest wall: I'm a starter. I haven't gone on to achieve anything remarkable yet. I haven't figured out exactly where the value is for anyone else.
So for now, goal one is simple: keep building in public, keep showing up, and trust that the value becomes clearer as the journey gets longer.
Integrity. Through and through. It's non-negotiable for me — in myself, in the people I choose to be around, and in everything I put my name to.
If you say you're going to do something, do it. Do it right, do it fairly, and do it consistently. Not because someone's watching. Not because it's convenient. Because that's the standard — and once you lower it, it becomes very hard to raise it back up.
The world is full of people who talk a good game. I'd rather be someone who quietly delivers one.
Ha.
Honestly? Talking a good game. I can walk into a room, read it quickly, and hold my own in a conversation — whether that's with a room of senior leaders or someone I've never met. That skill has opened more doors for me than anything else so far.
Why are these questions actually so hard.
Conflict. That's the real answer. Which is funny, because anyone who knows me would describe me as direct, a little bit fiery, someone who can come across like a bull in a china shop — I know this because someone actually said that to me once, which I've never forgotten.
But when it comes to actual conflict — confrontation, difficult conversations, saying something that might upset someone — I can't say boo to a goose. I'll hold something in for far longer than I should instead of just addressing it.
It's something I'm working on. Slowly.
Failing. Simple as that.
And the uncomfortable truth is that the fear of failing has sometimes stopped me from trying in the first place — which, if you think about it, is just a more sophisticated form of failing. I know that. I'm aware of the irony.
Putting this platform out into the world is the most exposed I've ever felt. Open to criticism, to judgement, to people watching it not work. But the alternative — spending years asking myself "what if" — is worse. At least this way, whatever happens, I tried.
This. The dream. The vision.
There's a version of the future I think about constantly — and I know that the only way to get there is to lay the foundations now, while it's early, while it's uncertain, while most people would wait for a better moment. I don't want to wait for a better moment.
The burning desire to build something that matters — something that grows, something that lasts, something that means other people looked at this and thought it was worth their time — that's what gets me up. On the hard days too.
New York City.
I go to sleep thinking about an apartment in the city. I'm a city girl through and through, and New York is the one place that has always felt like the right scale for the version of myself I'm trying to become. I want to be operating at a level where the people around me are high-performing, ambitious, and genuinely interesting — not because of their titles, but because of how they think.
It's less about where I am on an org chart and more about being in the right rooms, having the right conversations, and building the kind of relationships that open doors I don't even know exist yet.
And The CEO Blueprint? One million followers. Events running. A real community — grounded in inspiration, honest ambition, and the kind of energy that makes you want to go and build something the moment you leave the room.
Followers — the five year target. Written down. Locked in.
I'm not going to pretend I don't want the materialistic things. I'm not quiet about the dream — a Papaya Orange 720S McLaren is on the list, and I'm not apologising for that.
But success for me is so much more layered than that. It's a feeling. Fulfilment. Accomplishment. The sense that the work meant something and the life was well-spent.
An MBA scholarship at a top business school. Working across different parts of the world. Building a community that genuinely matters to the people in it. Becoming the kind of leader who earns respect not through authority but through how they show up every single day.
The McLaren would be nice. But it's the chase — the growing, the becoming — that actually does it for me. The car is just proof the process worked.
Figuring out where I fit.
I'm still an apprentice. Still rotating, still learning, still trying to work out what I'm genuinely good at versus what I'm just competent at. The gap between knowing you want to build something significant and knowing exactly what your contribution to that is — that gap is uncomfortable to sit in.
This last year especially has been one of searching more than finding. Purpose, direction, confidence — all a bit harder to locate than I expected at 22. But I think that's the honest truth of it, and I'd rather say so here than pretend I have it all mapped out.
Inspired. And that it's a story worth listening to.
Not because I've done anything extraordinary yet — I haven't. But because watching something unfold in real time, before the outcome is known, is rare. Most people wait until they've made it to tell the story. I want to tell it now, while it still feels uncertain, while the ending is genuinely open.
If someone reads this at the start of their own journey and thinks "okay — if she's willing to be that honest about it, maybe I can be too" — that's everything. That's the whole point of The CEO Blueprint.
Same questions. Same honesty. Different answers. The Baseline is a record that compounds — every year that passes adds another data point, another version of the same person, another layer of the story. Entry 001 is done. The evolution has started.