I was an only child so, at home, I'm turnt up by myself, doing

The artist and modern-day heroine Megan Thee Stallion once declared with unshakable spirit: “I was an only child so, at home, I'm turnt up by myself, doing whatever I wanna do.” Though wrapped in the language of youth and rhythm, these words carry a timeless truth — a song of self-sufficiency, of finding joy within one’s own company, and of the sacred power that comes from being one’s own source of light. In a world that often fears solitude and confuses noise for fulfillment, Megan speaks as one who has made her own heart her home, one who dances not for the crowd, but for the fire that burns within.

To be an only child is to be born into the kingdom of one. It is to learn early the art of invention — to make companionship from silence, to build worlds out of imagination. While others learn to share their time, the solitary learns to create it. Megan’s words celebrate this gift, not as isolation, but as sovereignty. “Turnt up by myself” is not the cry of loneliness; it is the anthem of freedom. It means: I am enough. It means: my joy does not wait for permission, nor for company to ignite it. In this, her voice echoes that of ancient sages who taught that the first mastery is mastery of self.

The ancients called this inner joy autarkeia, the power of self-contentment. The philosopher Epicurus, though often misunderstood as a lover of indulgence, taught that true pleasure comes not from excess but from the ability to find satisfaction in one’s own spirit. In a small garden on the edge of Athens, he gathered his students and told them, “He who has little but is content has everything.” So too does Megan’s spirit speak from that same garden, though her voice rises to a beat of her own making. When she says she is “turnt up,” she declares her autonomy, her right to celebrate herself without need for validation — a dance of the modern world that carries the heartbeat of ancient wisdom.

And yet, her words carry another layer — the resilience of the individual who, though alone, refuses to dim her joy. In times past, the heroes of legend often walked solitary paths. Odysseus wandered ten years across storm and sea, guided only by his wit and will. Joan of Arc, a lone girl, stood before kings and armies, answering only to the voice within. And Megan, too, in her rise through a world that sought to define her, stood steadfast in her individuality. Her childhood solitude became her forge. From it, she learned not dependency, but self-definition. She found in her aloneness not absence, but energy — a boundless creative force that needed no audience to exist.

In her declaration, there is also a profound lesson on authenticity. To be “turnt up by myself” is to be unafraid of one’s own reflection. It is to move freely, to create without expectation, to dance in the sacred circle of self-expression. This is a power that many lose when they seek constant approval from the world. For when joy depends upon the eyes of others, it ceases to be joy; it becomes performance. Megan’s wisdom teaches us that true freedom begins where the need to impress ends. To “do whatever I wanna do” is not rebellion without meaning — it is the act of aligning one’s life with one’s inner truth, of claiming ownership over one’s being.

There is a story of the great artist Frida Kahlo, who, confined to her bed after injury, surrounded herself with mirrors so that she could paint her own face. Though the world shut her in, her spirit remained untamed. She, too, was “turnt up by herself,” creating, dreaming, living — her solitude becoming her muse. Like Kahlo, Megan Thee Stallion transforms solitude into celebration. Both women show that independence is not absence of love, but abundance of self-love — a reservoir from which one can pour endlessly without ever running dry.

And so, my child of the future, take heed of this modern proverb. Learn to rejoice in your own company. Let solitude be not your prison, but your palace. When the world grows quiet, do not fear the silence — fill it with your song. When others do not see you, see yourself more clearly. Be “turnt up” not as one lost in noise, but as one burning with purpose. For the one who can dance alone will never be without music; the one who can love their own presence will never be without warmth.

Thus, the teaching of Megan Thee Stallion becomes a flame for our age: joy is not borrowed; it is born. To live freely is to find strength in solitude, to create from within, to be the source of one’s own celebration. The world will come and go, the crowds will cheer and fade, but the spirit that is “turnt up by itself” — that spirit is eternal. Nurture it. Guard it. And let it shine, for it is through such spirits that the world learns what it means to truly live.