Starting Anyway

 I have lived life believing that clarity comes before movement, that you wait until things make sense, until the plan is clear, until the timing feels right. I’ve always believed in the idea of a perfect time. The kind where fear disappears, and confidence magically shows up. But does the perfect time really exist? Or is it just something we tell ourselves while we stay stuck? Because, funny enough, in my last post, I said I was working on my vision board, and two weeks later… I’m still exactly where I was. 🙄

Every year, by February, I usually have it all figured out. My vision board is done, my goals are loud and clear, and I walk into the year feeling like I know what I’m doing. But this year feels different. It’s already 2026, and instead of a vision board, I have a list. A messy, unfinished list of things I want, things I hope for, things I’m scared might not work out. And for some reason, that feels heavier than having nothing at all.

2026 has come with a lot of expectations. This is my final year in university, the year I graduate. The year that’s supposed to mean something. The year that’s meant to make all the struggle, all the studying, all the waiting worth it. I thought I’d step into it feeling confident and prepared. Instead, I’m constantly thinking about what comes after campus. Where do I go? What do I do? Who am I without a timetable, deadlines, and semesters guiding my life?

The “adulting fairy tale” I was given growing up is slowly falling apart. The one where everything lines up neatly after graduation. Job. Stability. Direction. Life figured out. And I know logically that no one actually has it figured out. I say that all the time. But emotionally? That truth doesn’t always land. Especially when it feels like everyone else is moving forward while I’m still trying to catch my breath.

I’ve also realized something about myself that I’ve been avoiding for a while. I don’t even want to call it a trait because it feels too permanent, but it shows up enough to matter: I’m a lowkey perfectionist. If I feel like I might fail, I stop before I start. The fear of failing is louder than the desire to try. And that fear has quietly shaped so many of my decisions, projects I delayed, ideas I abandoned, chances I talked myself out of because I didn’t want to get it wrong.

I’m working through it. Or at least, I’m trying to. Because the journey toward “recovery” is not clean or linear. There are days I show up, and days I don’t. Days when I keep promises to myself and days when I don’t even try. Days when the voice saying “you will fail” is louder than the one saying “you can.” And on those days, it’s easier to do nothing than to risk confirming my fears.

So I wait. I wait for the perfect time.

The funny thing is, I don’t even know what that perfect time looks like. I don’t know if birds will start flying backwards, and I’ll suddenly go, “Oh! This is it.” I don’t know what sign I’m waiting for, or what feeling I expect to have before I begin. I just know that I keep telling myself, not yet, even when I don’t have a real reason.

Recently, I read something on Substack:
You don’t need to see the whole staircase to take the first step. The staircase will unravel as you walk up. But if you stay at the bottom, you will never know.

I’ve been standing at the bottom for a long time, waiting for clarity, waiting for certainty, waiting for confidence. Waiting for the version of me who isn’t scared. But what if clarity doesn’t come before movement? What if clarity comes because of movement?

So here’s what I’m doing first: I’m creating my vision board.

One that reflects where I am, not where I think I should be. I don’t care if it looks nothing like the ones I’ve made in the past. It’s not about perfection. It’s about starting. About taking the first step, even when I can’t see the entire staircase. Because what if the only thing standing between me and clarity is the courage to start before I feel ready?

I might be starting my year a bit later than everyone else, and it's okay 

Happy New Year