You're Not Lost, You're Scared
Stop pretending you don't know what you want
You already know what you want to do with your life.
You're just scared to admit it.
Every conversation I have with someone who says they're "figuring things out" follows the same script.
They tell me they're confused.
They don't know what direction to go.
They need more time to explore options.
They're waiting for clarity.
Bullshit.
They know exactly what they want.
They've known for months, maybe years.
But knowing what you want means facing what you've been avoiding, and that's terrifying.
The Four Fears Keeping You Stuck
Let me walk you through the real reasons you're paralyzed.
Fear of self-reflection
Looking back at the last three years - or five, or ten - and seeing all that time you spent on a path that wasn't right.
The late nights studying something that you actually hate.
The certifications you earned to impress people you don't respect.
The promotions you chased in an industry you hate.
When you finally admit what you actually want, you have to confront how much time you wasted pretending you wanted something else.
Psychologists have a term for why this hurts so much.
Loss aversion.
Research shows we feel losses about twice as intensely as we feel equivalent gains.
You're not afraid of the future.
You're afraid of admitting the past was wrong.
Fear of examining your choices
Because here's the thing nobody wants to say out loud:
“I chose this.”
Maybe not consciously.
But you made decisions that led here.
You took the safe job.
You stayed in the toxic relationship.
You moved to the city your parents approved of.
You picked the major that sounded impressive.
Admitting you know what you want means admitting you've been making choices against that knowledge.
And that means you have agency.
Which means you're responsible.
It's easier to pretend you're lost than to admit you've been lying to yourself.
Fear you're on the wrong path
This is the sunk cost fallacy in action.
You've invested so much:
Time
Money
Identity
Other people's expectatons
That changing course feels like admitting defeat.
You're three years into medical school.
You've built a reputation as the marketing person.
You've told everyone you're going to run the family business.
Walking away from that investment feels impossible.
But it isn’t.
People don't abandon paths because they lack clarity.
They abandon paths when the pain of staying becomes worse than the pain of leaving.
You're not confused about what you want.
You're just not hurting enough yet.
Fear of what you actually want
Because what you want requires blowing up your current life.
It means disappointing people.
Losing stability.
Starting over.
Looking stupid.
Being vulnerable.
Admitting you care about something enough to fail at it.
You can handle not knowing what you want.
You can't handle knowing and not doing it.
The Threshold
People love to talk about clarity like it's some mystical state you achieve through journaling or coaching or ayahuasca retreats.
But clarity doesn't change anything.
I've watched dozens of people get crystal clear on what they want and then do absolutely nothing about it.
You don't need more clarity.
You need more pain.
Change happens at a threshold.
When staying in your current situation becomes more painful than the fear of leaving it.
When the weight of pretending becomes heavier than the risk of being honest.
When you're so tired of lying to yourself that the truth feels like relief.
You decide when you hit that threshold.
Nobody can tell you when it's time.
Some people hit it at 25.
Some at 45.
Some never hit it at all.
But stop pretending it's about not knowing.
You know.
You've always known.
Starting Over (And Over)
I played in death metal bands through my early twenties.
Spent years convinced I was going to make it as a musician.
Then I was a prop maker, making stuff for TV shows and cosplayers.
Then I became a journalist.
Learned to write, built a portfolio, got decent at it.
Then I launched an agency.
Scaled it.
Didn’t put the right systems in place.
Left.
Then AI happened and I co-founded an education company.
Every single transition required admitting the previous path wasn't it.
Every single one meant starting over.
Looking inexperienced.
Being the beginner again.
Watching people who stayed in their lanes pull ahead while I rebuilt from scratch.
And every single time, the hardest part wasn't learning the new thing.
It was admitting I'd been wrong about the old thing.
Telling people I was changing direction.
Facing the fact that all those years weren't wasted, but they also weren't leading where I thought they were.
The pattern was always the same.
I'd know what I wanted to do next long before I admitted it.
I'd explore it quietly.
Research it.
Tell myself I was just curious.
Then I'd spend months in this weird limbo where I knew but pretended I didn't.
Making pros and cons lists like I was undecided.
Asking for advice like I needed permission.
The transition only happened when I got honest.
When I stopped performing confusion and admitted what I already knew.
It's never too late.
That's not inspirational bullshit, it's just math.
You have more time ahead of you than you think.
But you're spending it pretending you don't know what you want.
How Much Longer?
So here's the question.
How much longer are you going to wait?
Another year of "figuring it out"?
Another promotion in a career you hate?
Another relationship where you're playing a role
Another city you chose because it was practical?
The fear isn't going away.
Self-reflection will still be painful in five years.
The sunk cost will be even bigger.
What you want will still require blowing things up.
The only difference is you'll be five years older and five years more invested in the lie.
You already know what you want.
The only question is whether the pain of not having it is worse than the pain of going after it.
Stop waiting for permission.
Stop waiting for the perfect moment.
Stop waiting for some magical clarity that makes the fear disappear.
You know what you want.
Now decide if you're brave enough to admit it.
The time will pass either way.