Always More Options

I just don’t know how to see them yet.

There’s a kind of sadness I didn’t recognize at first.

Not grief, not heartbreak, not even burnout. Just… stuck. A quiet, frictionless kind of stuck.

It’s strange to admit, because my life is truly great. I have a job that pays well. I live in a lovely place. My family is the absolute joy of my life and I’m deeply grateful for that. There’s no fire to put out, no crisis at hand. And yet, I’ve been carrying this heaviness around. A fog, maybe. A ceiling I keep bumping my head against.

It took me a while to name it. But I think it’s this: I feel like I don’t have options.

Not really. Not big ones. Not game-changing ones. The kind of choices that would reshape my days, let alone my years.

And that’s where the sadness creeps in. From the sense that the shape of my life is already set, and any deviation would be irresponsible or impossible or just… not done.

But there’s also an uncomfortable truth: that might not be true.

There are always more options than we think there are.

I just don’t know how to see them yet.

That’s the part I’m working on. Training my eyes to notice the paths that aren’t paved yet. Prying open space between the things I have to do and the things I could do.

It’s slow work. Invisible work. Sometimes all I manage is to remember the stuck-ness isn’t permanent. That a rut isn’t the same as a wall.

As usual, I don’t really have answers here. Just a reminder for you and me that even when you feel boxed in, the lid isn’t always locked.

You just need a way to lift it.