For much of my life, I was in motion. Moving, changing jobs, traveling, adapting—each shift felt like a fresh start, a new challenge, a way to keep the fire inside me burning. There was a thrill in the instability, an energy in the uncertainty. But then life shifted. I came back to the U.S., found a stable job, built a career, and pursued higher education. By all conventional measures, I succeeded.
And yet, something feels missing.
Lately, I have felt… lifeless. Like I am moving through my days, checking off boxes, but without that sense of vitality that once propelled me forward. I have spent years proving to myself and others that I could be stable, that I could build a life without constant movement. But in doing so, I wonder if I lost something essential.
I do not think I am alone in this feeling. So many of us spend years striving—climbing the career ladder, accumulating degrees, building relationships—only to wake up one day questioning whether we were climbing in the right direction at all. We are told that success looks like security, that stability is the goal. But what happens when stability starts to feel like a cage instead of a comfort?
The Weight of Grief and Change
Maybe part of this feeling comes from loss. Watching my dad deteriorate over the past two years reshaped something in me. Grief has a way of forcing you to reevaluate everything. It makes you ask, What really matters? What am I doing with my time? Am I living a life that feels like my own?
Maybe it is not just about grief, though. Maybe it is the realization that the future I once envisioned no longer feels possible—or even desirable. I do not have children. I am not in a relationship. And while I have made peace with that, it still leaves a big, open-ended question: What comes next?
And honestly? I do not even want to work on relationships. I know that so many people try to be my friend, and I genuinely appreciate them, but I do not have the bandwidth for all of that. I am sorry, truly, but right now, I just do not have the energy to invest in building or maintaining connections. It is not personal—it is just where I am. And I think that has to be okay.
When "I Don't Know" Is the Only Answer
The hardest thing about an existential crisis is that there is no immediate solution. No checklist to complete. No clear next step. And that is terrifying.
But maybe the goal is not to have an answer right now. Maybe the goal is to sit with the uncertainty and allow it to guide me, rather than trying to force my way through it.
If you are feeling this too—if life feels stagnant, if you are questioning everything, if you are exhausted by the weight of expectations—then let me say this: You do not have to figure it all out today. You are allowed to feel lost. You are allowed to not know what comes next.
Maybe the only thing to do right now is focus on what you need in this moment. Not the big, life-altering decisions—just the next small thing. Maybe that means taking a break. Maybe it means reaching out to someone who will listen. Maybe it means allowing yourself to dream again, even if you do not know what those dreams look like yet.
You are not broken for feeling this way. You are human. And sometimes, being human means standing at a crossroads with no clear direction—just the knowledge that, somehow, you will find your way.
