What Am I Doing?

I used to sit in my bed and write about my life in my twenties. It was simple for me to visualize it all in order with detail. I could get very specific at fifteen. I'm at the age I wrote about, but the plan has only gotten more complicated. To a point where I don't think there's an outline anymore. I've been introduced to so much I had never considered. This is normal, I'm aware. Your life will change, a lot, all the time. But visualizing what I want feels impossible. It's lost all its simplicity. I often question what I'm even doing.

Any desire you've held onto long enough becomes over-complicated, though. I think it's because of all the possibilities that could come from every decision you make or don't. Each choice you make brings another and another, and each one feels a little less definitive. It gets to a point where my brain is completely fogged from the quick accumulation of decisions to be made. My faith coexists with this fog, but it doesn't clarify much. There is another option before there is any movement made, and confidence in outcome doesn't really add anything to your sense of urgency.

Being sure things will always work out carries weight. It creates this plateau where time passes without action being taken. Certainty about outcome has created a path that doesn't generate momentum. I have considered that maybe I'm too certain that I will always be where I'm meant to be, and maybe I need some sort of uncertainty in my life to move forward. I feel like I have to form some sort of disruption, but forcing movement like that would be unproductive. It only substitutes motivation I currently lack.

Motivation doesn't appear on command, and it's rarely sustained when brought by a random surge of energy at midnight. The option to cause disruption has been vetoed. Motivation is brought by attention being aligned with intention, when energy is being put into motion by clarity, not obligation. It involves understanding why the step you are about to take matters. Movement will feel more natural when it is stemming from a place of curiosity, and momentum will follow, I think. The plateau of certainty is a space to see what moves when you feel like you're not.

Progress may feel stagnant in the smaller corners of your life, but simple conversations can further understanding, and days spent focused on something ordinary can help build a sense of stability. This kind of progress often feels dull, but it accumulates. I don't find the effect to be immediate, but it shows up months later in my journal. Lame days build a foundation.

While building this foundation can feel slow, the limiting feeling of holding onto one outline is much more consuming. There is freedom in letting my outline dissolve and noticing small movement in the dull days.

After needed reflection, the plan I made as a teenager obviously isn't suitable for my life now. I would like to say this realization has given me more space to envision a new plan, but it hasn't. The clarity I had while living at my mom's house has been replaced by too many options, too fast. Visualizing my future doesn't feel freeing anymore. It just leaves me with more questions. And so, embarrassingly, I find myself imagining my life at sixty-five. I'm in Italy, outside a small home with sun-bleached tiles. It's not that I'm looking forward to my retired life, but it's a way for me to remain naive.

Even after over-analyzing every movement made, every escape I've created, and daily affirmations, I still don't know what I'm doing. And as we've touched on before, I don't think anybody does. Despite sometimes resenting the fog certainty can cause, I think it's this weird lesson. Learning to find motivation in healthier ways. It's a sign something I'm doing in my days that feel like nothing is working.