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Firing on all cylinders. Living your best life. Self-care. YOLO.

These words may be the ones of wellness influencers and corporate emails. Yet they also capture the experience of being self-actualized, an idea propagated by psychologist Abraham Maslow through his hierarchy of needs.

The way I’d describe being self-actualized is being free.

Free of material wants and status signals.

Free of anxiety about the future and the past.

Free to see the world for what it is.

Free to embrace it and you and me as we all are.

If you want someone else’s thoughts, this piece covers traits of a self-actualized person.

It is worth noting that one is (usually) not born self-actualized, but becomes so over time, through self-reflection and increasing one’s own capacity for self-awareness and acceptance (which may be done in therapy for many people). I absolutely *love* this very online guide of “6 ways to get started with self-actualization” – as though the experience is similar to setting up a new printer – that covers things like seeing yourself clearly, letting go of beliefs and perceptions that serve no thriving purpose for you, and pursuing growth opportunities in your life with intentionality. I have found a positive relationship between working toward self-actualization and possessing an increased capacity for empathy for the world and people around you. 

When you consider where you might spot a self-actualized person in the wild – a statistical rarity – you may search through the annals of history to find that singular leader who illuminated the world in a wholly unique way; that is, their way. Eleanor Roosevelt and Jane Addams come to mind as notable figures who appeared to have had it all together, selflessly pursuing doing what’s right in the world to leave their inimitable mark for all of mankind.

You may also think the often shallow landscape of popular music is the last place you’d find a self-actualized person. A while back, I wrote about the latest Kacey Musgraves album, Deeper Well, and how Musgraves took us along her path toward self-actualization there, elevating her otherworldly handle on life through the song “The Architect.” The song is a proof point of how much she had let go of in order to have such an artful, clear perspective on why we do what we do.

Having listened to the catalogue of Gracie Abrams – a 20-something now mega superstar, whose rise to the pinnacle of global charts seemingly came out of nowhere – I can tell you that her body of work in mapping her work toward becoming self-actualization may be peerless.

Something that I’m struggling to find in theory is the connection between emotional availability and self-actualization, though it appears the two may be linked for Gracie herself (and I’ve observed this in other fellow travelers, too). You can see it in the way Gracie promotes – without self-indulgent fanfare – other lesser-known artists she genuinely likes, paying it forward, yes, but doing so in a way pure way. You can also see it in the unguarded way she interacts with fans during shows, embracing the extemporaneous, unexpected moments throughout. Whether someone yells, “Gracie, I love you,” or it turns out 10 people in the front row are celebrating their birthday at this performance (and one or two may be under the age of 2, somehow), she rolls with it and, more, thrives in engaging with it, seamlessly, effortlessly, freely – comfortable with however unpredictable it may be, understanding eyes of thousands of people are only on her. In everything I’ve seen from her, it’s evident she’s taken cues from Taylor Swift in many ways (and I talk a lot about how she builds on Taylor’s songwriting legacy in this spotlight on their treatment of the bridge), yet there’s something different about Gracie. Something uninhibited. Centered. Evolved.

In this essay, I illustrate her effort-intensive travels toward self-actualization. In reality, the entire album The Secret of Us is one long contemplation on self-actualization, manifested through synergies of lyrics and sound, so if you’re the TL;DR type, simply turn that on and skip this essay. But I hope you will continue reading because you may see a way to create your own journey through observing hers and her willingness to help all of us along on the self-discovery continuum. 

Her songs have two narrative levels: first, the practical story itself (the he-said, she-said of it all) and second, the reflection of these moments — made possible through significant self-review work — that has shaped her self-discovery. Even the greatest memoirists can learn something from how Gracie is able to deliver insight with her in-the-moment recounting of her experiences while breathing tremendous foresight — afforded through the frictionless way she travels through the world — into the narratives she weaves to enrich us all. 

Finding her footing

While inklings of Gracie’s journey were evident in her first two albums, her album Good Riddance contains the most explicit reflections of evolving her self. The songs “Block me out” and “Difficult” paint the picture of the path she’s on, taking a hard look in the mirror and beginning to find acceptance in what she sees.

You may see yourself in the narrative of “Block me out,” where she discusses the liminal place she’s in, transitioning from caring deeply about other people’s beliefs to a place of owning one’s authentic self. Although she describes the turning point toward self-acceptance elsewhere on the album – covered in the next section – this particular song describes the messy space on the way there.

Within the very first verse, we see what’s happening to her: “I used to follow my gut, but now I’m just gettin’ higher.” She’s showing us, from the top of the song, that she’s in flux when it comes to her self, although appears open to opportunity. The experience is reminiscent of the word “unsteadiness,” which she calls out in the song “Unsteady” that directly speaks to her metamorphosis in explicit terms (“Hiding / I kinda feel like an island / I should go home, but I’m fighting that right now / People freak me out”).

Then, in the chorus, she sings:

Now I only let me down

When there’s no one else around

I’ve been thinkin’ way too loud

I wish that I could block me out

There’s tension here – while she’s freeing herself from the perceptions of others, the immediate experience is uncomfortable. She goes on to later sing, “Feelin’ lost in every crowd.” The experience of leading a singular life – one that’s your own unique journey of self-discovery – is inherently isolating; there will never be a model for you to follow. As covered, self-actualized people are in the rare minority. Yet the act of describing this is a demonstration of her self-actualization in itself. Her ability to articulate the tension-filled journey, in personal, first-person terms, illustrates her understanding of her experience, to simply put it down on the page this way. Someone less self-aware with a flimsier handle on their own path may not be in a position to translate all of this into words that spell out the struggle not just for her own benefit, but for ours.

She covers similar ground on “Difficult.” On its face, you may perceive this song to be about several kinds of relationships (like “Free Now,” covered later in this essay). In general, I’ve found that Gracie may use relationships – with lovers, family, and friends – as a mirror to reflect her own self evolution rather than commentary on other people. This is unlike most artists who use the song as a way of processing the entirety of a relationship – think of nearly any song you may know, but how about “You Belong with Me” as an example – rather than serving as a locus to process the self.

From the first line of the song — “My double vision / is only amplifying everything he isn’t” — you understand the moment of transition she’s in, balancing her breakthrough to a wholly discovered self against the perception the world has of her. And we see her using her lover as a channel for describing her interior world (after all, it is her flux, not him, that’s changed her view of him). She goes on to describe this experience of transition as a “terrible condition.”

In the chorus, she sings:

Oh, I know spiraling is miserable

I should probably go back home

Why does that feel difficult, difficult?

Oh, I hope I wake up invisible

I’d be someone no one knows

I guess I’m just difficult, difficult

The “spiraling” she mentions is the liminal place she’s in from leaping into a newly evolved self. Throughout her music, “home” (or markers of the idea of a “home” which crop up everywhere) may be a metaphor for her past, such as her upbringing with her family. As she experiences the tension of breaking free, it feels “difficult” to make this decision, pursuing a path not taken by anyone else. And it’s lonely, which is why the idea of waking up “invisible” as an unknowable person may seem desirable in this complicated moment. Later, in what appears to be the bridge, she confesses, “I really think sometimes there’s something that I’m missing.” The reality is that the songwriter who maps this journey is not the person who is missing anything at all; rather the entire song (and more broadly, her oeuvre) is an exercise in bringing the reader closer to her, closer to their own ability to put in the significant work on the self as she has and does. You may listen to this song and find yourself relating to it; you may wonder if you’re missing something about life, about the disconnect you have between how you’re perceived and who you see as your authentic self. And Gracie knows that – it’s why she spells it out in the lyrics for you to find a way – your way – as she has.

These songs are in direct dialogue with the work of Mary Oliver, who is among Gracie’s favorite poets I’ve learned, specifically the famous poem “Wild Geese,” which opens with:

You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.

Mary Oliver has long shown us how to be free throughout her work, which melds the most vital human aspirations – like being kind – with inhabiting a self at peace with the world. In her music, as shown through the songs above, Gracie grapples with the tension in doing so, with the idea of what it is to be good, to be who you are, in the face of a world that expects someone else, a world that has a cookie cutter you cannot, will not fit into. And yet Gracie shows us how to make the leap toward becoming your most free self, nonetheless.

Making the leap

In another song off Good Riddance, “Right now,” Gracie continues showing us the treads of her tracks, at times picking up on ideas from elsewhere on the album, such as ending a friendship, covered both in “Right now” and “Difficult.” The eerie sound of “Right now,” with its spare music and creeping vocals, creates an atmosphere of building toward breaking through.

In this song, she covers the markers of leaving the past behind represented in “home” motifs – saying she’s “homesick,” mentioning the warm, creature comfort of her mom on the phone, and later ruminating on how her brother perceives the departure she’s making – and takes us through a physical journey that is actually a psychic one. She uses real-world experiences, like noticing a jaunty bus drive and being in a foreign place whose street names she cannot pronounce, as tangible markers of the sometimes alien experience of endeavoring self-actualization. It is even in these moments of resembling an interloper that she finds acceptance, of seeing the world as it is – “this is somebody’s hometown” – and finding curiosity and empathy for it, such as with the mention of her accepted lack of knowledge when singing: “Writin’ down every street sign / Missed the spellin’, I’m sure.”

The song itself has an unconventional structure, and the chorus is used only twice. It is in the second turn of the chorus as she invokes the outro that the narrative and the meaning she imparts — as well as the song’s sound itself — reach their crescendo:

I’m so high, but can’t look down

Left my past life on the ground

Think I’m more alive somehow

I feel like myself right now

I’m so tired, but can’t sit down

What if this is it for now?

Think I’m more alive somehow

I feel like myself right now

I feel like myself right now

I feel like myself right now

I feel like myself right now

The chorus is the ultimate representation of making the leap into becoming a self-actualized person. The experience of being in flux – “left my past life on the ground” – is behind her and, although it is new and strange and maybe even lonely, it’s ultimately desirable as she’s “more alive somehow.” The repetition of “I feel like myself right now” is a coda on moving through and then beyond the discomfort of finding your own path. It’s a strange place with illegible street signs. She misses her dog. Yet it is her place, at last.

Part of becoming a self-actualized person is seeing the world for what it is and accepting it. We see Gracie coming around to that experience and articulating it in the song “I Love You, I’m Sorry” off The Secret of Us. As yet another emblem of her travels, this entire album turns songwriting itself on its head – moving beyond the norm of conventional song structure and exploring an uncharted frontier where songs start with a “chordsus” and never have a bridge, and tempos vary dramatically from one verse to the next causing the listener to wonder if the song has changed, as covered in my prior essay about her deft and rare use of the bridge. This song, though, is a worthy example of making the leap toward becoming a fully self-actualized person, both in the lyrics themselves and the musical form.

“I Love You, I’m Sorry” leverages a relationship that’s fallen headlong as the premise for putting her journey on display (it could even be revisiting the relationship she ended that’s covered on Good Riddance, as alluded to above). The song begins with “Two Augusts ago / I told the truth, oh, but you didn’t like it, you went home,” giving the impression that she’s been the offender. Even if this is the case, she’s found acceptance in the outcome, as shown in the first turn of the bridge (which evolves lyrically throughout the song): 

That’s just the way life goes

I like to slam doors closed

Trust me, I know it’s always about me

I love you, I’m sorry

I’ve included this song in this essay section – rather than the last one about arrival – because of the apparent tension between owning her actions (“I like to slam doors closed”) and potentially rueing the consequences (“I love you, I’m sorry”).

Once we get to the bridge, we receive what appears to be the unvarnished truth and the sudden fast delivery of the lyrics suggests to the listener this is the emotional axis of the song (as covered at length in my prior essay):

You were the best but you were the worst

As sick as it sounds, I loved you first

I was a dick, it is what it is

A habit to kick, the age-old curse

I tend to laugh whenever I’m sad

I stare at the crash, it actually works

Making amends, this shit never ends

I’m wrong again, wrong again

There is perceptive self-awareness in these lyrics – such as an observation of one’s own behavior that may not be serving you well, “a habit to kick” – and complete ownership of the impact as perceived by the friend (“I’m wrong again, wrong again”). The complex self-review in this song – again, using the premise of a relationship as a mirror – could only be told by a person unfettered by status and ego concerns, someone who has put in the work to understand and accept, and one who is willing to be raw even when the whole world is watching. Or perhaps, because they are.

Arriving at the apex

There are glimmers of what it looks like at the top of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs across her body of work. Specifically, we see the self-actualized person in the song “Death Wish” (released as a single, likely connected to a forthcoming album) and in “Free Now” from The Secret of Us.

“Death Wish” is about a person she’s had a relationship with (may be a family member rather than a lover) who may be a narcissist. Although the word “narcissist” may be as overused as “gaslighting” in 2025, the portrait she paints is of someone who lacks empathy, uses people to their advantage, and has feelings of grandiosity (“I ruined your plans of some grand self-promotion”), which are considered common traits among those with narcissistic personality disorder. Although the song feels on the nose about the person, it is a tell about Gracie herself.

She invokes the idea of “home” again by conjuring the idea of this person’s behavior causing them to “leave you with an empty house,” which may suggest that she may have been, in the past, cast under the spell of the narcissist in her life, as can be common given their often charismatic energy (“I fell for your faux fantasy”). Escaping from a narcissist’s grip – especially if they’re a family member – is known to be challenging. Yet in this song, Gracie is able to fully articulate who they are, how they behave, and the position she’s been in previously and where she is now (“You’re everything I’ll never be”). Given her arrival, she is even able to lend empathy to this person by the end of the song. The overall effect conveys her comfort and confidence with her self.

Aside from her precocious ability to name the narcissist in such elegant, meter-perfect lyrics, the extended chorus at the end of the song signals to all of us how evolved her self truly is:

But how will it end? How long will you give me

‘Til you twist the knife with a smile while you kill me?

And you ask me to dance if there’s someone around

You don’t look the same when I look at you now

And I used to pretend that it didn’t feel evil

Your light of a million suns burns through people

And bridges and cities ’til ash covers ground

A breath of your air is a death wish

And you’re forcing my hand, but I’m a drop in your ocean

I ruined your plans of some grand self-promotion

The second you figured that I figured you out

Now you look away when I look at you now

Although she may have previously recognized what this person was, she is now able to name their effect in specific terms, as shown in the bold-faced lyrics above. The person has wronged her and is wrong yet her telling is straightforward and the song closes with a sympathetic sounding “Look at you,” providing the listener with an instruction that empathy in the face of destruction is not only possible but may be the right thing to do. 

Going beyond her ability to spot what’s real in the world and accept it wholly, we can see her arrival as a self-actualized person in “Free Now.” In yet another song where the relationship serves as a vehicle for her self-examination, this one sounds like it’s about a relationship gone wrong – in which her acceptance of the lover’s immoral behavior toward her is notable in itself – but yet it is the outro, as the song takes on a life of its own, where we see her spell out her experience:

If you find yourself out, if there is a right time

Chances are I’ll be here, we could share a lifeline

If you feel like fallin’, catch me on the way down

Never been less empty, all I feel is free now

In “Free Now,” she’s been liberated from the shackles of the external world and her past (as the song contains no anticipated perception from others nor the mention of home). Further, she is in a position of such clarity that she can invite others – really you, the listener, who can “find yourself out” – to join her. She covers this outro twice, placing an impactful emphasis on her experience, which is not about the lover discussed earlier in the song, but about her arrival: “Never been less empty, all I feel is free now.”

*

I can think of few songwriters in the history of music who have been as expert at communicating the efforts they’ve made in achieving self-actualization. Her ability to convey this trajectory – to help you see yourself in it, help you see that you, too, can arrive – is a gift to the world.

To live and appreciate every day for what it is – good, bad, expected, or not – is among the most beautiful experiences a person can have. We’re privileged Gracie is living among us to teach us how to do it, embrace it, and, like her, be free.