I was digging through boxes that I’ve stored in my parents’ basement (hoping they won’t notice that I’m complete adult and full-on homeowner now – though in my defense, the condo is small and lacking in storage space) and I found this gem of a book. Now I still didn’t find the actual book I was looking for that started this box-digging-journey…but that’s a story for another day. 

I pulled this one out of a box and immediately flashed back to the crippling anxiety that led me to buy the book in the first place (at the tender age of 21? 22? Whatever. Young.) where the world expects you to have answers to “What do you want to do when you grow up” when you barely have the answers to how to do your laundry or properly feed yourself (turns out Cheetos and vodka aren’t sustaining nourishment). 

I started off my college career with no clue what I wanted to do with my life and I ended my college career in the same confusion – though this time with a whole-ass degree to my name (and probably a bit of liver damage, if we’re being honest.) I thought I was “supposed to” major in biology and go be a doctor because, well, isn’t that what the smart kids are supposed to do? Until I realized that while I was fascinated by the human body, I didn’t want that career path (I also sucked at chemistry…I’m not that precise). But I knew I loved words – the lyricism of them, their origins, how they’re strung together. All of it. So in the middle of an existential crisis (after threatening to drop out altogether – sorry, Mom) I declared an English Literature major and decided I’d figure out the rest later. I finished my major early after taking so very many classes (I’ve never used the Middle English I learned, but if I stumble into a Time Machine and meet Chaucer…I’ve got this shit) and then spent most of my senior year partying to make up for the first three years I spent studying and angst-ing about my future. I mean I still angst-ed senior year, I was just less coherent in doing it. 

My purpose in sharing this with you has less to do with tales of my misspent senior year (so.much.alcohol.) and more to do with the awareness that so much of our young lives is spent trying to figure out how to do everything “right”. How to get the right job, marry the right person, make the right money, live in the right house, do the right things. I tried to do it the “right” way too… and I agonized for years – well into my late 30s – about what I wanted to do with my life as though the answer to that question would drop out of the sky, neatly wrapped with a bow. (Nope) 

And after spending a good portion of my younger years in ongoing angst and agony about “right”, here’s what I know:

There is no “right”. 

I’m 45, and I still don’t know what I want to be when I “grow up” because I hope to never “grow up”. It sounds terrible. I tried it once and really it’s all an illusion to rob you of your unique essence so you fit into a tight little box and spend your days worrying that you aren’t enough or, god forbid, what other people think of you. 

Instead, I care about what feels right for me. What aligns with my values. And I also know that I create my own reality by how I think, act, and feel everyday. That’s MY job in all of this…the rest of it really will take care of itself. The same is true for you, my friend. And here’s the biggest secret:

It all ends up okay. 

Because there IS no “right” way. For any of it. There’s just YOUR way, which is going to be a convoluted and twisty journey – but it can be a fun one if you let it. 

Because while you’re trying to “figure it out”…your life is still moving forward anyway. And you’re probably missing a lot of cool shit, worrying so much about who you’re “supposed to be”. 

And here’s the real deal: all the things that are meant for you are going to find you…without you having to know the “answers” or figure out what the whole roadmap looks like (spoiler alert: you never will see the whole roadmap)

Sure, you’ll make some mistakes. There’s never going to be a time when we don’t make mistakes. That wouldn’t be the human experience. The growth part comes in not making the same mistake twice because you learned from it the first time…and also in not beating the shit out of yourself for making a mistake because (see previous) THAT’S THE HUMAN EXPERIENCE.

So it’s really, really, really, really okay if you don’t know what you want to be “when you grow up” or what you want in your next chapter or season of life. 

Even if you’re 45. Or 55. Or 65. You get the idea.

(Because I swear, it all turns out okay anyway)

I promise it’s WAY more important for you to figure out what’s unique about you, and then live from that. 

I promise you that it’s WAY more important for you to spend your energy on shining your flashlight into the darkest corners of your being so that you can bring love to those places as well. 

I promise you that it’s way more important to laugh and have fun and be doing things that light you up, then it is to confine yourself to anyone else’s definition of who you “should be” in the world. (Shoulds are terrible)

Sparkle On 💖