The Radical Concept of Letting Things Unfold
Dear twenty-something,
Look — I’ve always been a planner. I lay out my clothes the night before. I color-code my calendar. I plan my workouts, my meals, my errands. It’s just how I function. And sure, I’ve been lovingly teased for it — friends telling me to relax, to “play it by ear,” to “just see what happens.” But here’s the funny part: those same people turn around and ask me what I want to do with my life. What career I’m pursuing. Where I see myself in five years. What my ten-year plan looks like.
And honestly? Why is planning my dinner considered extra, but planning out the next decade of my existence expected?
It’s wild how we normalize knowing what we want at 22, 25, even 30 — as if life doesn’t twist and turn and throw us off course a dozen times along the way. How am I supposed to know exactly what job I’ll have or how I’ll be financing my life in precisely 1,825 days? Maybe I sound bitter. Maybe I am a little bitter. After years of being subtly judged — or pitied — for not having a perfect roadmap, I’ve reached a point where I just need to say it: I don’t have all the answers. And that should be okay.
I come from a family of people who didn’t follow a straight path, and they turned out just fine. My dad traveled a lot when he was younger and stumbled into the work he does now. My mom earned a degree in something unrelated to the career she eventually started… in her 40s. So many people figure things out as they go — and that used to be normal. Now, it feels like there’s this pressure to be sure from day one. My friends seem to know exactly what they’re doing. They have clear, admirable goals: medicine, teaching, environmental science. And then there’s me. Floating a bit. Figuring it out as I go. Feeling like I’m behind for not having a lightning-bolt “this is it” moment.
I studied psychology because it fascinated me (yes, I know — the most classic answer in the book). But isn’t that what college is supposed to be? A place to explore what pulls you in? After undergrad, I went on to get my master’s, mostly because I realized how limited my job options were with just a bachelor’s. This degree opened doors into the business world — into studying organizations, systems, and human behavior in a deeper, more practical way. But to be honest? I didn’t think much further ahead than that. I saw some cool career paths, read a few blog posts about a lady at NASA, and imagined myself doing something impactful and exciting. I didn’t realize how rare those roles are — how few people actually land those “dream jobs”.
And now, I find myself in that murky in-between. Embarrassed to admit I don’t know what comes next. Ashamed that I don’t have some burning passion guiding me. Guilty for not doing something obviously meaningful and for the potentially wasted tuition money if I don’t follow that path. Afraid to even tell people about jobs I apply to because I fear being judged for taking on something ‘boring’, ‘soulless’, or ‘not creative enough.’
I’ve heard subtle comments from friends, probably meaning well, but coming across as judgmental. “You love animals… I always thought you’d do something with that.” Yes, I do. But guess what? Vets have one of the highest suicide rates of any profession. Dog trainers and groomers get paid jack shit. I can love my fluffy friends without making them my primary source of income. Honestly, I think loving something deeply is a damn good reason not to turn it into a job. I’ve seen it too often — someone monetizes their passion, and suddenly the thing they loved most becomes just another source of stress.
Also, work is not my reason for existing. It is a means to live the life I want. Maybe it’s the Gen Z in me, or the European, but I reject the notion that work should be the center of our lives. I despise the way society pushes this idea, forcing us to dedicate a third of our lives to working. I’m not saying we should sit around all day eating Cheetos and watching TV — quite the opposite. I think we should spend more time with friends and family, connecting and socializing. More time outside. More time traveling. More time moving our bodies, exploring interests simply for the sake of having interests — not because we’re trying to sell our work on Etsy. I think we should work, but not solely in the traditional 9-5 sense. Work can mean tending our gardens, building our homes, cultivating relationships — not just filing someone else’s taxes (which of course is fine too, your job does not need to be the most fascinating part about you).
So there you have it, 23 — my rant for the week. Here I’ll boldly and radically say: I have no idea what I’m doing or what I’ll end up doing, and I am perfectly okay with that. That doesn’t make me less than those who know every step of their path, who plan to inspire and change the world, or who work creatively. I’ll find my own unique way to make an impact, I’m sure of it.
With love,
23