A FEW DAYS AGO, while driving home to Los Angeles from California’s central coast, I pulled off for a coffee at Avila Beach. It was around 4 p.m., and I was in no rush with much to ponder.

Fueled by my first few sips of Java, I thought I’d get a beach workout in. I wrapped my yellow bandana around my head and threw on my swim trunks.

Working out is a good thing. Still, negative thoughts surfaced as I walked to the sand: Will I look weird? Will I stick out?

I was afraid of judgement — the story of my life — a story, however, that’s rapidly turning.

It’s amazing to consider the things we don’t do and the chances we don’t take because we fear the judgement of others. We have it in our heads that everybody is looking at us, thinking about us, talking about us, and plotting our demise.

In reality nobody is thinking about us — we’re all too busy thinking about ourselves.

I ran through the heavy sand down to the shore, then trotted to the furthest point of the beach. After ambling around the cove, I got in a few sets of squats and pushups, then got in the water for a swim.

The pale moon was visible in the evening sky, perfectly aligned with the meandering coastline. Beneath the moon, a pod of dolphins breached the crest of the ocean, jumping one after the other from the shimmering blue, their flight like rainbows. I couldn’t believe my eyes and laughed to myself at the mystical spectacle.

In facing my fear, I was rewarded with magic, that of endorphins and strength and invigorating ocean water; that of the late-summer sun, setting over the golden landscape; that of dolphins playing beneath the stone in space, these two features juxtaposing an alien galaxy and the dinosaur planet we call home.

This was one of the most poignant moments of my life, a revelatory pocket in time. The notion hit me hard: this is who I am at my core, seeking the extraordinary in everyday life.

To experience the uncommon we must do what’s uncommon. By definition, that means we will stick out.

Be uncommon. Fucking own it.

Do the things in ways both big and small that make you afraid, embarrassed, nervous. Embrace what separates you from the crowd, for in the uncommon is the meaning we crave. In veering from the path of conformity we glimpse who we truly are, who we could be if we confronted our fears and acted on our intuition.

Embracing the uncommon is our path in life, as each of us is uncommon, yet we succumb to the feelings of inferiority, the voice that tells us we’re not good enough, brave enough, strong enough to stray away and fly.

I have these thoughts too. Yet with each uncommon act I quell the voice further until it’s nothing but a distant call, overpowered by the thoughts that I create and that I continue to nurture.

The fear of judgement was loud at first. But after a minute or two of running my intuition conquered the negativity. Who wants to be normal? Do what you’re meant to. Take a chance. Just go, Vin, and live a story worth telling.

I almost didn’t run. I nearly listened to the voice that said, just skip the workout. You’re good! We so often overthink the decision of doing or not doing.

Just go.

Talk to the girl; go on the run; jump in the cold water; raise your hand. We must act before we think too hard. It’s easier to be common. It takes less effort, less thought, less friction. It’s easier not to run. But an easy life is seldom a meaningful one.

I love running not because it’s easy, but because of what it releases in me. Exercise is the best way to clear the mind, open the heart, and see ourselves.

For the past six years I battled chronic back pain, thinking there was something physically wrong with my body. All I wanted to do was sprint from the pain, but I feared that by running, I’d hurt myself further.

There was so much inside of me I couldn’t understand (and still is, of course). All I could do was think about the pain when I so badly wanted to break free from it.

Four months ago I hit my lowest point in this six-year journey. It was down in the dirt feeling utterly broken where I realized that the physical pain has never been physical. The brain creates physical pain in an endless variety of ways to distract us from what’s going on inside.

It’s called TMS, the mindbody syndrome.

I’ve done a lot of inner work this past summer, and I’m better than I’ve been in years, about ninety percent healed.

Instead of fighting the pain, all we have to do is let what we feel in. It’s absolutely wild. Give it the green light and embrace it.

When we allow what we feel in and say go ahead, instead of fighting, freezing, or running away, the brain no longer feels the need to protect us with a physical distraction.

By running down the beach and working out, I continue to show my brain that despite the intrusive thoughts, I’m okay. Despite any lingering physical sensations, I’m safe, no matter what life presents.

I can handle the fear. I can handle the judgement.

I can handle my life.

I can push myself like this because it’s who I am, and it’s what I crave. The body is meant to be pushed, not protected. I won’t fight my need to break free any longer.

I’ve missed driving while living in Japan. The trains and lack of sitting in traffic is awesome, but I miss the freedom of the road, and how the car is really one of the few places I can play music and yell, scream, and sing as loud as I want. I like it loud.

After the beach, while pumping the new Fred Again . . album and sailing into a gradient of dusky color, I had a revelation.

I want to create my own magazine, Citoyens du Monde — citizens of the world.

I love to write, but I have many interests that revolve like planets around a sun of uncommon light. That sun is my north star; it burns brightly from within me and illuminates the unlit path on which I tread.

That light has taken me along the West Coast in my first book, Arrows of Youth; it’s guided me to Europe, the setting of my upcoming second book; it’s brought me to Japan.

Yet the light means more than just travel.

It’s a light of exploration, that of both the inner and outer world. Chronic pain has guided me within, and the pain is part of my story. The pain has been a gift. But I’m ready — truly ready, I think for the first time — to be free, pursuing the life of my dreams without this physical pain holding me down.

I envision a magazine that’s both physical and digital, a habitat of all that lights my soul on fire, a mosaic of curiosity, creativity, and color that brings the world together. As the modern age becomes increasingly digital, I believe we covet a return to the personal, the analog; I want to feel, touch, explore, and understand what’s real.

What’s real is connection. That’s what I long to create.

My passions involve fashion and style and photography; travel that entwines with history and culture; poetry and literature and philosophy; stories of folks who have Dared to Dream.

I want to create something that matters, something that looks beautiful and feels substantial in its design, colors, fonts, white space, photography, and feel in the hand. I want to create things that last.

It’ll take time — perhaps the rest of my life. But this feels big, and the idea makes me very happy.

Dreams can and will change, but all we must do in pursuit of a dream is take a single step. We just need a dream — a direction in which to walk. Dig deep and ask yourself, why am I on this earth? What do I have to give, and what do I long to pursue if the money, the judgement, the expectations, none of it mattered?

What makes me uncommon?

That question may very well connect you with your inner kid, and that means you’re on your way. Keep going. The time has come to be uncommon; the time has come to soar.