Outgrowing My Plans Before They Ever Start

A not-so-uplifting reflection on career paralysis, comparison, and finally choosing to move anyway

The Plan That Seemed to Make Sense

Like a lot of people, I chose a career path based on who I thought I was at 17. I was deep into high school sports, obsessed with training, and mildly convinced I’d be the next great performance guru. So naturally, physical therapy seemed like the obvious choice. It checked all the boxes: connected to athletics, sounded smart enough to earn respect, and supposedly came with a salary that meant I’d never have to worry about money again (I had no clue).

At the time, I didn’t know what a physical therapist actually did day to day — but it didn’t really matter. It looked good on paper, sounded impressive out loud, and gave me a plan to follow. And at 17, having a plan felt a lot like having a purpose.

The Endless Reshuffling

Once I got to college, the whole idea of a “clear path” started to unravel. I kept changing my supposed career choice every time I heard someone talk about their job with conviction, or stumbled across a new profession on one of those U.S. News & World Report “Top 100 Careers” lists. I’d think, Wait, that sounds easier — and it pays more? Suddenly, I was reconsidering everything.

I bounced between majors and career ideas like I was optimizing a fantasy football roster. Occupational therapy, physician assistant, exercise physiology, maybe something with tech? I wasn't chasing passion — I was chasing efficiency. What paid the most, required the least extra schooling, and still sounded respectable enough to keep people nodding when I said it out loud?

Each pivot felt justifiable at the time. But looking back, it was less about discovering what I wanted, and more about trying to outsmart the system without really knowing what game I was playing.

The Paralysis of Too Many Options

That cycle eventually caught up to me. Instead of committing to a single path — even one I had doubts about — or choosing something I genuinely enjoyed, even if it didn’t come with a big paycheck or a badge of external approval, I did neither. I stayed in limbo. Weighing pros and cons, starting new plans, second-guessing all of them.

By the time I realized what was happening, I had extended my graduation timeline just trying to make the “right” choice. Ironically, all that effort to optimize my future left me more unsure than when I started. I wasn’t even sure what I was passionate about anymore — or if that was still the point.

Somewhere along the way, the process of choosing turned into a full-time job. And like most jobs I’ve imagined myself doing, it turns out I wasn’t all that good at it.

Limbo, With a View

Right now, I’m in the process of trying to climb out of the limbo I created for myself. Slowly, I’ve been making progress — learning to be okay with uncertainty, taking small steps instead of waiting for a lightning bolt of clarity. But it’s hard not to look around and feel behind.

I see friends and peers starting their careers, moving across the country, getting promotions, or speaking with actual excitement about what they’re doing. And I really do feel happy for them — proud, even. But at the same time, I feel resentful. Not of them, but of the fact that their momentum reminds me of my stillness.

It’s like watching a train pull out of the station that I could’ve been on, if I had just picked a direction and stayed on it. And even though I know everyone's pace is different, there are days when my own reflection feels like a reminder of everything I haven’t figured out yet.

Destined for What, Exactly?

Lately, I’ve been questioning whether anyone is really meant for a single career path — like they’re born to be a teacher, or engineer, or startup founder. I used to think the people at the top of their fields were just built differently — gifted, lucky, naturally aligned with their work. But now I’m not so sure.

What if they aren’t special because they found the one perfect thing — but because they brought the same intensity, discipline, and curiosity into whatever they chose? What if the top surgeon could’ve just as easily been a world-class architect, or chef, or writer, had they committed to that instead?

That thought messes with my head a little. Because it means I may not need to find the perfect fit — just a fit that I can grow into. And that brings me to the question I keep circling back to:
Do I choose a career based on what I love now, or does the passion come later — once I’ve invested enough to get good at it?

Is love for the work a prerequisite? Or is it something that grows when you’ve built momentum, earned respect, started seeing results?

I don’t know the answer yet. But I’m starting to think that maybe passion isn’t something you find — maybe it’s something you build.

Playing the Part Without the Foundation

Another layer to all of this — one I don’t talk about as much — is the quiet fear that I’m not actually cut out for certain careers in the first place. Especially the ones that require more schooling, more structure, more intellectual heavy-lifting.

I’ve always kind of played the role of someone who’s academically driven. I took the right classes, got decent grades, built a resume that looks like I cared. But beneath all of that was a sense that I was just getting by — managing, not mastering. It felt like I was performing motivation more than actually living it.

Now, when I consider going into fields that demand real academic rigor — grad school, medical fields, anything highly technical — there’s this voice in the back of my head that says: You don’t have the foundation for this. You just looked like someone who did.

That fear — of being exposed, of being in over my head, of sinking after I've already committed — keeps me stuck. I’m not just worried about picking the wrong career. I’m worried about picking the right one and failing at it anyway.

Choosing Forward, Even Without Clarity

One thing that’s helped me get a little unstuck — at least enough to start moving — is comparing futures. Not jobs, not salaries, not prestige. Just futures.

In one version, I keep playing it safe. I avoid the big, daunting paths. I never commit too hard, never bet on myself fully. And years from now, I’m still here — still unsure, still wondering, still circling the same questions. Still performing some version of myself that looks motivated and put-together, while quietly feeling like a fraud. Still stuck in the role I started playing years ago, because I never stopped to figure out who I actually am underneath it.

In the other version, I finally pick a direction. I commit. Maybe it’s not the perfect fit. Maybe I fail. Maybe I change course halfway through. But at least in that version, I know more. I’ve seen more. I’ve tested my limits. I’ve lived in the open — not behind a curated version of myself. And even if the passion doesn’t magically appear, at least I’ll have the clarity that comes from trying.

That’s the version I’m starting to choose. Not because I’m confident, and definitely not because I’ve figured it all out. But because not choosing is a choice. And I’ve spent enough time on that path to know it doesn’t lead anywhere I want to be.

Nowhere Near Arrived — But Beyond Lucky I Have the Tools to Get There

If you came into this expecting some kind of breakthrough or a feel-good wrap-up… well, that one’s on you. Don’t count your chickens — especially not in a post like this. There’s no bow tied at the end, no TED Talk moment, no perfect clarity rising from the chaos.

I’ll be honest — this post is pretty fucking bleak. Maybe even depressing. But despite all of it, I’m not blind to the fact that I have a damn good life.

There are people dealing with all the same confusion I’ve talked about here — and far heavier circumstances than I’ve ever had to carry. I’ve got support, safety, health, and an almost unlimited number of ways to build something fulfilling. I’m incredibly fortunate. And if the only thing standing in the way of the life I want is me, then honestly, that’s a gift — even if it doesn’t always feel like one.

I’m still not where I want to be. Not even close. But I’ve got the time, space, and privilege to figure it out — and I don’t take that lightly. Even on the days when I’m stuck in my own head, even when it all feels heavy, I know how lucky I am to even have this kind of problem. And for that, I’ll always be thankful.