We expect too much of ourselves. We try to figure out our relationship status while searching for a house to rent while desperately applying for new jobs. Or we try to figure out if we want kids and when and what our next freelance move is going to be and which trip to book and how to clear space in the house before company comes. Or we try to figure out how to be fucking happy by ourselves and how to feel normal in the middle of a pandemic and how to make new friends.
We expect too much.
Rather than try to figure out what our whole lives are supposed to look like moving forward, why don’t we figure out the one next thing we actually want to do? Like which book we want to order on Amazon, or which platform we want to use to brush up on our French, or what smoothie we want to order at that cute neighborhood cafe, or what topic we want to pitch to what editor.
Because we can’t predict the future. And we can hardly dictate how it unfolds, no matter how hard we try to fit it into our nice little boxes with bows. Stop worrying how it all might play out, or what it might look like. What about what’s next?
Start there.
