There is a strange idea that by a certain age, we are supposed to know.

Know what we want.

Know who we are.

Know where we're going.

Know what our career should look like, what our relationships should look like and what our future should look like.

It's a lot of knowing.

And life doesn't always work like that.

Sometimes we don't know.

Sometimes we think we know and discover that we were wrong.

Sometimes the thing we thought would make us happy turns out not to.

And sometimes, quite unexpectedly, we discover something we genuinely enjoy doing much later than we expected.

Maybe life isn't a plan

I've always liked the idea of having a plan.

Plans make things feel manageable.

You can write things down. Break them into steps. Tick things off.

But there is a difference between having a direction and having a rigid script.

A direction says:

"I'd like to build something meaningful."

A rigid script says:

"By this particular date, it must look exactly like this."

The first leaves room for life.

The second can turn life into an exam you're constantly failing.

Maybe we don't need to know exactly where an idea is going before we start it.

Maybe we can simply start building.

Follow what gives you energy

One of the most useful things I've noticed is that enjoyment can be information.

Not every enjoyable thing needs to become a career.

Not everything we're good at needs to become a business.

But if we repeatedly find ourselves returning to something — building, writing, teaching, designing, travelling, solving problems, making things — perhaps it's worth paying attention.

There is something there.

It doesn't necessarily tell us what the final destination is.

It tells us where to look next.

That's enough.

The unexpected path

Some of the most important parts of our lives can come from decisions that didn't seem particularly important at the time.

A job we took because we needed one.

A house we moved into.

A person we happened to meet.

A skill we learned almost by accident.

A project we started because we were curious.

Years later, we can look backwards and connect the dots.

But when we were living those moments, we couldn't see the picture.

That's because the picture didn't exist yet.

We're often trying to make decisions with information that will only become available later.

No wonder it can be difficult.

Perhaps the answer isn't to predict everything.

Perhaps it's to create enough movement that the next piece of information can find us.

Build, then listen

There is a lovely balance between action and patience.

Build something.

See what happens.

Listen.

Adjust.

Build some more.

You don't have to decide the entire future before taking the next step.

And sometimes the next step doesn't even need to be particularly impressive.

Write the first page.

Make the first lesson.

Publish the first article.

Take the trip.

Learn the skill.

Have the conversation.

Then see what comes back.

Perhaps something grows.

Perhaps something doesn't.

Either way, you've learned something.

And that's very different from standing still while trying to think your way into certainty.

Maybe the point isn't to arrive

We often talk about "finding ourselves" as though there is a finished version of us hidden somewhere, waiting to be discovered.

I'm increasingly suspicious of that idea.

Perhaps we don't find ourselves.

Perhaps we build ourselves.

A little bit through our choices.

A little bit through our experiences.

A little bit through the people we meet.

A little bit through the things we make.

And a little bit through the things that don't work.

Which means that our lives are not only things that happen to us.

They are also things we create.

And that's where stories become important.

Because when we look back at the strange, unexpected, funny, painful and beautiful things we've lived through, we begin to see something that wasn't obvious while we were living it:

there was a story taking shape all along.