There is a strange pressure to have yourself figured out.
What do you want to do?
Where are you going?
Who are you becoming?
As if there is supposed to be an answer waiting somewhere.
I've spent a lot of time thinking I needed one.
A career.
A body I was proud of.
A version of myself that didn't second-guess everything.
A life that looked like I had planned it.
But maybe becoming isn't supposed to feel like arriving.
Maybe it's supposed to feel messy.
You learn something.
Change your mind.
Try again.
Fail at something you were sure you'd be good at.
Discover that something you desperately wanted isn't actually what you needed.
Then wake up and do it all again.
I'm starting to like that idea.
I don't need to know exactly who I'll be.
I just want to be able to look back and know I kept moving.
Even when I was confused.
Especially then.