It's been a long time.
Every month, I told myself I would write something. But every time I sat down to begin, the same questions appeared:
What should I write? Does my voice even matter?
For as long as I can remember, I wanted an unconventional life. I wanted to do multiple things at once—to build, create, and explore different paths instead of following a single predefined one. If I'm being completely honest, a part of me also wanted to be seen. Maybe even famous. Maybe I wanted validation that I mattered.
Lately, though, something has changed.
I feel too tired to chase things purely for external validation.
Over the last six months, I was looking for a job. Before that, I spent nearly two years feeling desperate, uncertain, and stuck. During that time, several life-altering events happened one after another—things I could never have imagined, even in the worst-case scenarios my anxious mind loves to create.
And now, after all of that, I have two offers in hand, and I'm joining a new company on Monday.
I'm excited.
But strangely, I also feel empty.
Not sad. Not disappointed. Just empty.
For so long, my life revolved around getting through the next challenge, solving the next problem, surviving the next uncertainty. Now that this chapter is ending, I find myself standing between my past and my future, unsure of what comes next.
The strangest part is that I can no longer remember many of the promises I made to myself.
The things I wanted to build.
The dreams I was convinced I would pursue.
The person I thought I would become.
I still feel the urge to do many things. Every cell in my body says, "Just do it." But I feel paralyzed. It's as if I can see a thousand threads in front of me, yet I cannot find the first one to pick up and follow.
Even rest feels difficult.
I feel guilty scrolling.
Guilty watching a movie.
Guilty doing nothing.
Guilty not making progress.
And underneath all of it is a question I keep returning to:
Will I eventually find a way to carve out a life that feels truly my own?
Or will I slowly be absorbed into the conventional path—governed by deadlines, salaries, promotions, and the expectations of corporate life?
Maybe this is just a transition.
Maybe I spent so long surviving that I forgot how to want things beyond survival.
Maybe I'm standing in the space between who I had to become and who I want to be next.
I don't know yet.
But for the first time in a long time, I have the opportunity to find out.