The Steering Wheel of Your Soul

For a long time, I believed that life was a workshop, not a road. You know that feeling when you are constantly “under the hood,” your hands covered up to the elbows in the black oil of old traumas, technical debts of the past, and the incessant need to fix something? For years, I was the chief mechanic of my own destiny. A geologist by profession, a mineralogy engineer by education, but in my soul, an eternal repairer of breakdowns that never seemed to end. My field was the study of solid matter, but my life often felt like quicksand.

The architecture of my life was perfect on the outside, but the “plumbing” — those internal pipes through which our energy flows — kept bursting. I spent an incredible amount of strength just to stay at zero. To survive a divorce that tore up my roots, to defeat an illness that threatened to extinguish my light, to process an adoption, and all those tectonic shifts that hit me before my 45th year. I was so busy repairing the infrastructure, patching holes in a sinking ship, that I had no strength left to enjoy the peace that comes after the storm.

And then, that quiet but decisive shift occurred. A while ago, as I was walking the streets of Paris, watching the light bounce off the sand-colored facades, I realized one thing: I am tired of friction. I am tired of fighting my own system. I realized that if the system is to be a true “container” for my energy, it must not be complicated. It must not require my constant vigilance. It must become invisible.

Today, sitting in Paris, the city that gave me peace and health, I feel like a driver who finally enjoys the scenery. In fact, I have an even better image — I am the co-driver. I have a “driver,” destiny or divine providence, to whom I have finally handed over the steering wheel. I say where I want to go, where my heart calls, and then I lean back and enjoy. From the first to the last minute, every second has become pure pleasure. No more cramps in my hands from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. No more fear of swerving off the cliff, because now I trust the Road.

Many ask me: “Sanja, how are you not afraid to open up publicly? To write, under the name Magma Star, about cancer, about pain, about what was?” The truth is simple — I rejoice in my life choice to write. Opening the soul is not a weakness; it is a process of crystallization. Just as minerals under tremendous pressure and temperature turn into precious stones, my experience turns into something valuable the moment I put it on paper. When I open up publicly, I am filled with beautiful comments from people who recognize themselves in my words. But the greatest gift is the one I give to myself.

Truth never loses its shine. My words are my strength, my “Malachite Peace.” They are a reminder of the difficult path I traversed so I could sit peacefully today in this “car” of life. This is my personal geology — digging through layers of sedimentary pain until you reach that diamond called peace. Writing for me is an act of purifying the soul; it is sifting the sand until only the pure gold of gratitude remains in the sieve.

The lesson from Paris was the most beautiful tectonic shift in my life. Meeting the love of my life and getting married at 45 completely disarmed me. It was not an explosion that destroyed; it was a silence that built. Suddenly, I no longer hear the noise from the outside. I no longer see anyone trying to disrupt my peace or question my worth. When you love the man you chose and who chose you, he becomes your safe harbor, your stable tectonic plate on which you can build a castle.

I no longer hear the noise from the outside. I only feel the silence that builds.” — Finding my Malachite Peace in the halls of the Louvre.

A message to you who feel buried under stones: If you are currently deep in debt, going through a grueling divorce that drains your soul, or battling an illness that steals your strength, it feels like an entire mountain has fallen on you. I know that feeling of cold darkness. But remember geology: everything has its time. The Earth changes constantly, even when we don’t see it. There is a time of earthquakes, a time of erosion, but after them inevitably comes a time of renewal. This is a natural, infallible law. If you are in the midst of an earthquake now, do not despair. It is not the end of the world; it is merely a phase of rearranging the layers of your soul.

Be patient with yourself. Don’t blame yourself if you’re right now “fixing the plumbing.” But strive to build a life where you can be the co-driver. Seek salvation in the little things — in the smell of coffee, in the color of the sky, in a single sincere sentence. Stop being just the mechanic fighting the breakdowns. Start building an infrastructure that will support you — surround yourself with people who love you, thoughts that empower you, and systems that save your energy.

When the foundations of your soul are solid, when the “geology” of your interior is sorted out, you no longer have to think about survival every second. You just show up, sit down, and let love and life drive you through your very own, blood-and-tears-earned peace.