Everything Isn’t Fixed, But I’m Not Lost Anymore

I spent most of yesterday feeling like a fraud.

It usually starts with a work problem. I was trying to solve something. I told myself that any competent person would have figured it out in way less time than it took me to figure out. I circled the same issue for hours, turning the whole thing inside out and back again. I second-guessed every change, wondering if I was out of my depth.

Writing software is hard.

I don’t experience that kind of imposter syndrome all the time, but when I do it always stirs up a well-worn narrative: maybe I don’t actually know what I’m doing.

Okay, some days, I actually don’t know what I’m doing. Good programmers never stop learning new things which implies not knowing.

I pushed away from my computer a few minutes before I had to leave for my daughter’s choir concert, but my brain did anything but clock out. I sat through most of the performance — their year-in-review — thinking about errors, database connections, and why that one page continued to load when I was certain it shouldn’t be. Parents are biased, of course, but my daughter sings beautifully. She has a stunning high soprano voice that rings clear as a bell.

I caught most of the performance, but I remember thinking after one number, “how did I not hear any of that?” I kept finding myself stuck in the earlier failure, trying to fix something that didn’t really need to be fixed right then. And couldn’t.

Ah! Those familiar patterns.

I’ve been on this 30-day climb out of the canyon for almost 30 days now, but that definitely doesn’t mean I’ve got it all figured out. Remember, this climb doesn’t end on a guru mountaintop with a crystal clear vision of how to take on the world. When I reach the top, I’ll still second guess myself. I’ll still feel stuck a lot. What it means, ultimately, is I’ve started paying attention to the direction I’m heading. And sometimes, the best I can say is that I’m not sliding anymore.

There have been and will still be days when I move in circles. Still times when I think I’ve made progress only to realize I’ve taken the wrong way around. Still mornings when I wake up feeling like the same questions are echoing in my head: What am I doing? Am I actually getting anywhere?

The difference is, I’m learning not to take those questions as proof that I’m failing. Not anymore. They’re part of the trail. They’re not a sign that I’m lost; just that I’m still figuring it out.

Maybe that’s what progress actually looks like.

The mountaintop gurus always want us to believe that their six-step method is the clearest, most effective, and fastest way to 10x everything in our lives, all for the low, low price of whatever.

Honestly, though, it’s a fallacy. They paint a picture that removes all the unique experiences you’ll have along the way that will, of necessity, make the journey singularly yours.

There’s something strange about trying to build a better life when you don’t always trust your own sense of direction. You try one thing. Then another. You read the terrain as best you can, but there are moments you have to stop. Recalibrate. Acknowledge that the plan you made earlier doesn’t match the reality you’re standing in now. Even when you followed the guru “recipe” perfectly.

Sometimes, you’ll have to backtrack. Sometimes, you’ll pause long enough to admit that the work your doing has meaning, but may not feel meaningful in the moment. Sometimes, it means saying: “I’m not sure what the next move is, but I know this one isn’t working.”

That used to scare me. Still does, to be honest.

Lately, I’ve found myself a bit more willing to stop and evaluate before pushing forward. More willing to consider the cost of a path instead of assuming I’ll just tough it out. I’m learning that moving slower doesn’t mean I’ve lost momentum. It means I’m being more intentional about the climb.

Most of the time, the best way out isn’t the fastest one.

And while I know I’m forging some of this path myself, I’m starting to see how many others have walked this canyon before me. There are places where the trail is hardly visible, where you feel like you’re bushwhacking through every step. But then there are moments when you hit a spot that’s clearly been traveled before — places where someone else made a mark, cleared the path, left a footprint or maybe a little pile of rocks.

That realization brings a bit of clarity and steadiness. It’s a reminder that I’m not the only one who’s ever felt behind or insecure. I’m not the only one who’s questioned whether any of this makes sense, or whether it’s all a long detour with no real destination.

We will all make wrong turns and lose the trail sometimes. That doesn’t make us failures. That makes us people.

And somewhere in this mess of uncertainty and self-doubt, I’ve started to notice something else.

I may still be stumbling my way forward, but I’m not pretending anymore that I’m not stumbling. I’m not dressing up confusion as anything but what it is. Sometimes, I still chase the perfect solution, but I’m learning to accept that there probably isn’t one. I’m not trying to sprint through the climb anymore.

What I’m trying to do is stay present enough to keep moving with my eyes open.

Some days, the climb is steep; unforgiving. Some days, the view opens up a little and I allow myself to see that I’ve actually made it farther than I thought. I’m starting to take better notes along the way — marking what works, what doesn’t, what feels worth trying again. I still get stuck. I’ll keep getting stuck. I still replay the parts I wish had gone differently. But I don’t feel quite as buried anymore.

Everything isn’t fixed.

The to-do list is still a mess. My business is still fragile in most places. My self-doubt still shows up at the worst possible times. But I’ve stopped expecting the ground under my feet to feel perfect before I take the next step. I’ve also stopped running across ground that I know will fail.

That’s something I couldn’t say even a month ago.

Maybe that’s what it means not to be lost anymore. You might not have a great map or a firm grip on the destination, but that you’ve started trusting yourself to keep going and make course corrections when necessary.

I still don’t have a grand strategy. I probably won’t because I’m not much of a planner. But, with a decent pair of shoes, some good people walking with me, and a willingness to stop when I need to, I’ll remember that sometimes the most important thing I can do is slow down long enough to find the path that’s actually mine.

And then keep moving. One imperfect step at a time.