There’s this weird expectation that at some point in adulthood, we’re supposed to figure it all out.
What we want.
Who we are.
What we’re doing with our lives.
And then, apparently, we’re supposed to stick with it.
Forever.
Which is honestly kind of ridiculous when you think about it.
We change our hair. We change our homes. We change friendships. Our bodies change. Our families change. Our priorities change.
But somehow, when we change our minds about what we want from our own lives, we immediately start wondering what’s wrong with us.
Why can’t I just figure it out?
Maybe you already did.
Maybe what you figured out five years ago just doesn’t fit anymore.
I thought I’d feel more settled by now.
I really did.
I thought there would be some magical age where I would wake up and think, Yep. This is it. This is exactly who I am and exactly what I’m doing.
Instead, adulthood has felt a lot more like:
Okay, I think this is what I want.
Wait.
Maybe not.
Actually...
What if I did this instead?
Followed by approximately 47 minutes of wondering whether everyone else has their shit together and I somehow missed the meeting where they explained how to do that.
Spoiler: they don’t.
We’re all figuring things out as we go.
Some people are just better at making it look like they aren’t.
Changing your mind doesn’t erase everything that came before it.
This one took me a long time to understand.
When something doesn’t work out—or when I simply don’t want it anymore—my first instinct has always been to look backward and think about all the time I “wasted.”
The job.
The idea.
The business.
The plan I was absolutely convinced was going to be the thing.
But it wasn’t wasted.
I learned something every single time.
Sometimes I learned what I loved.
Sometimes I learned what I was really freaking good at.
And sometimes the lesson was simply:
I never want to do that again.
Which, honestly, is still useful information.
We have to stop treating every chapter that doesn't last forever like it was a failure.
Some things are only supposed to be part of the story.
You are allowed to outgrow the life you once wanted.
That's the part nobody really tells you.
You can work incredibly hard for something and then realize you don't want it anymore.
You can get exactly what you thought you wanted and discover it doesn't feel the way you thought it would.
You can love something and still be ready to leave it.
You can start over at 25.
At 35.
At 45.
At 65.
There isn't an expiration date on deciding that you want something different.
And you don't need a dramatic reason.
You don't have to completely hate your life before you're allowed to change it.
Sometimes, “this doesn't feel like me anymore” is enough.
Maybe we need to stop asking, “What am I supposed to be?”
That's a huge question.
And frankly, it's exhausting.
Maybe the better question is:
What feels right for me now?
Not ten years from now.
Not what your family thinks makes sense.
Not what looks impressive when someone asks what you do.
Not what you already spent years building and now feel obligated to continue.
Right now.
What makes you curious?
What gives you energy?
What do you keep thinking about?
What would you try if you weren't worried about looking ridiculous if it didn't work?
Maybe you don't need the entire plan.
Maybe you just need the next step.
And if you change your mind again?
Then you change your mind again.
Seriously.
That's it.
You aren't required to keep becoming a version of yourself you no longer recognize just because you've already invested time in her.
You don't owe anyone consistency at the expense of your own happiness.
Life isn't a straight line.
It's messy and weird and beautiful and occasionally makes absolutely no sense.
You try things.
You screw things up.
You start over.
You find something you love.
You outgrow it.
You find something else.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, you realize something:
Maybe you weren't lost after all.
Maybe you were just becoming someone new.
And maybe that's exactly what life is supposed to look like.
So this is life.