How much of our lives do we actually get to determine?

In this episode of Trying to Figure This Out, I'm exploring a belief I've held for a long time: I believe I can determine my destination. But when I look back at my life, I can see the influence of decisions I made alongside circumstances I never could have planned.

If two people make equally thoughtful choices but end up with different outcomes, what does that tell us about control? And when an unexpected experience changes our lives, was it always meant to happen, or do we give it meaning once we see how the story unfolds?

I'm also considering how our beliefs about destiny affect the way we live. Does believing something is meant to be give us peace, or can it keep us from pursuing what we want?

I don't know whether the destination I eventually reach was waiting for me all along. But I do know there's something I enjoy about not knowing exactly how my story ends.

If you could see exactly where your life is going to take you, would you want to know?

We spend a lot of time trying to figure things out.

But what happens when we actually do?

In this episode of Trying to Figure This Out, I’m thinking about what happens after the answer shows up—especially when I don’t particularly like what it requires of me.

There’s a difference between needing more clarity and already knowing but not being ready to act on it. Even when the answer is clear, there may still be consequences to consider, people affected by the decision, or a cost I have to decide whether I’m willing to pay.

And sometimes, there’s only so much I can learn by thinking about something. Eventually, I may have to do something with the answer and see what the decision teaches me.

Maybe figuring something out isn’t the end of the process.

Maybe it just gives me a new question.

Now what?

How much attention are people really paying to what we do?

In this episode of Trying to Figure This Out, I start with a question that sounds a little worse than I mean it: What if nobody cared?

Not what if nobody cared about me. What if people simply weren't paying as much attention to my decisions, accomplishments, mistakes, and everyday life as I sometimes imagine?

That question leads somewhere I didn't expect. I think about the difference between wanting something to be shared and needing it to be validated, why being seen isn't the same as being cared for, and what happens when caring about someone starts to feel like responsibility for the choices they make.

Maybe the people who love us don't have to carry our lives with them to prove they care. And maybe we don't have to carry theirs either.

I don't want to live like nobody cares.

I just don't want to live like everybody's watching.