Maybe You Thought You'd Know by Now

Maybe you thought you'd know by now.

What you want.

What comes next.

What you're going to do with this part of your life.

You've been thinking about it. Talking about it. Maybe journaling about it.

You've made lists.

You've considered possibilities.

You've told yourself to stop overthinking and just do something.

And still, when someone asks what you want, the answer is:

I don't know.

I want to say something to you.

I don't think you're supposed to know yet.

Not because the answer is going to magically appear if you wait long enough.

But because "What do I want to do next?" may not be the question you're ready to answer.

Something has changed.

Maybe something obvious has ended — a career, a marriage, a role, a way of life.

Or maybe the ending is harder to name.

You simply know that who you've been doesn't quite fit anymore.

The things that used to motivate you don't.

The things you thought you'd want at this age don't quite fit.

You have less tolerance for things you once put up with.

You want more of some things and much, much less of others.

And underneath all of that, there may be this quiet, persistent feeling:

There has to be something more.

Not more accomplishment.

Not more proving.

Not another reinvention project.

Something more you.

I know this territory.

And I believe we make it so much harder on ourselves when we rush to fill the empty space.

We start looking for the new job.

The new project.

The new purpose.

The new plan.

We ask ourselves what we should do.

But before any of that, there is another question.

Who are you now?

After everything you've lived.

After the things you've lost.

After the things you've learned.

After all the roles you've played and people you've taken care of and expectations you've carried.

After the triumphs you barely stopped to acknowledge.

After the heartbreaks.

After the choices that worked and the ones that didn't.

Who are you now?

Because you aren't starting over.

You're starting from an entire life.

There are clues everywhere.

In what you've loved.

In what has broken your heart.

In what you've fought for.

In the things that come so naturally to you that you've never thought to call them gifts.

In the desires you keep dismissing because they don't seem sensible enough.

Even in the parts of yourself you've spent years trying to change.

Your life has been telling you who you are all along.

And perhaps this time in between — this frustrating, uncomfortable I don't know — isn't a problem to solve.

Maybe it's an invitation to finally listen.