70 Years In and I Finally Learned the One Thing Nobody Tells You

A confession from someone who thought they'd have it figured out by now

I'm writing this at 10:47 PM, sitting at my computer in pajamas that look older than me, staring at a half-eaten bowl of cereal because I couldn't be bothered to make a real dinner.

This isn't where I thought I'd be at 70.

Not the cereal-for-dinner part (though that's concerning too). I mean the part where I feel completely, utterly lost about what comes next in my life.

The weird part? On paper, I'm doing fine. I have a job that pays the bills. I have good friends. My kids are doing well. (Note: I still can’t keep houseplants alive, but my fake ones look real).

But inside? Inside feels like I'm standing at a crossroads in the fog, squinting at road signs I can't quite read. BTW, I get my eyes checked once a year and I don’t have cataracts!

The Story I Told Myself

I imagined I'd wake up one day and feel... settled. Confident. Like I belonged in my own life instead of feeling like I'm borrowing someone else's.

My therapy clients come to me for advice, like I should have all the answers. I have a lot of life experience and can guide someone to think things through. But, I still haven’t figured it all out.

I used to think that by now I'd have answers. Instead, I have better questions.

What do I actually want, versus what do I think I should want?

This one keeps me up at night. I spent so long trying to want the right things—the stable career, the perfect relationship, the life that looks good—that I'm not sure I know what I actually want anymore.

What would I do if I stopped caring what other people think?

Brutal question. Necessary question. Because so much of feeling lost comes from trying to live up to expectations that aren't even ours.

Social comparison theory is the idea that individuals determine their own social and personal worth based on how they stack up against others. People constantly evaluate themselves, and others, in attractiveness, wealth, intelligence, and success. According to some studies, as much as 10 percent of our thoughts involve comparisons of some kind.

What would I regret not trying?

This one scares me the most, which probably means it's the most important.

What if this feeling of being lost is exactly where I need to be right now?

What if this isn't a problem to solve but a phase to experience?

Instead of fighting the feeling of being lost, what if we got curious about it?

What if we asked different questions:

What am I outgrowing?

What new part of me is trying to emerge?

What would I do if I trusted that not knowing is okay?

Who am I becoming, rather than who I thought I should be by now?

These questions don't promise quick answers. They promise something better: permission to be exactly where you are.

But here's what's changed: I'm no longer ashamed of not knowing. I've learned that the most interesting people I know are the ones still asking questions, still growing, still willing to admit when they're lost.

Some days I wake up and immediately start spiraling about all the decisions I haven't made and all the time I feel like I'm wasting.

What direction do I want to go?

What fits for me at my age?

But other days—the good days—I remember that life isn't a test I'm supposed to pass.

It's an experience. And part of that experience is not knowing what's coming next.

The old you doesn't fit anymore, but the new you hasn't fully formed yet.

That's not failure. That's transformation. And transformation is messy as hell.

Trust the process. Every person who seems to "have it all figured out" has felt exactly like you do right now.

The difference isn't that they found all the answers—it's that they learned to keep moving without them.

Embrace the mess. Life isn't a problem to be solved; it's an experience to be lived. The mess is part of the beauty. The uncertainty is part of the adventure.

What I'm Learning to Do Instead

I'm trying something radical: making peace with not having a plan.

Not forever—I'm not suggesting we all just wing it. But for now, I'm focusing on smaller things. Things I can control.

I'm paying attention to what makes me feel alive versus what makes me feel dead inside. I'm saying yes to things that scare me a little and no to things that drain me completely. I'm having conversations with people whose lives I admire, not to copy their path but to understand how they think about creating their own.

I'm also trying to be kinder to myself about this whole process. Because beating myself up for not having it figured out hasn't helped me figure anything out. It's just emotionally draining.

A Permission Slip for Being Human

If you're reading this and nodding, here's what I want you to know:

You're just human, trying to figure out how to be human in a world that doesn't come with instructions.

And maybe—just maybe—the fact that you're questioning everything means you're exactly where you need to be. Maybe feeling lost is the first step toward finding a path that's actually yours.

I don't have this figured out yet. I might not have it figured out next year either. But I'm starting to think that's okay.

Maybe the goal isn't to stop feeling lost. Maybe the goal is to get comfortable navigating in the dark, trusting that each step forward—even when you can't see where it leads—is still movement.

The goal was never to arrive at some mythical place called "figured out." The goal is to keep moving, keep growing, keep becoming.

And maybe, just maybe, to enjoy the journey—even when you can't see where it's going.

If you're feeling lost too, know that you're not alone. And if you've been there and found your way to something that feels right, I'd love to hear how you did it. We're all just figuring this out as we go.