What To Do With Your Life
...when you don't know what to do.
There’s this myth we all believe in: that at some point, life is supposed to make sense. Like one day, you’ll wake up, throw on an effortlessly chic outfit, and just know—where you’re going, what you’re doing, why you exist.
This may feel helpful or harmful, but the truth is, nobody knows. We’re all winging it. Every single one of us. Our friends, our parents… Even the person who swears they ‘manifested’ their six-figure job while casually forgetting to mention their family connections.
Still, that doesn’t help much when you’re sitting in your car, googling “careers for people with no passions,” or lying in bed, refreshing Instagram like the answer is going to pop up between someone else’s vacation pictures and dog memes.
So, what do you do when you don’t know what to do?
First? You stop trying to answer the question. It’s a trap. It’s too big, too vague, too existential and, frankly, too exhausting. It’s like being told to navigate your life with a compass but no map. Sure, you’re moving, but who knows if it’s in the right direction—or if ‘right’ even exists.
When you don’t know what to do, the first step isn’t figuring it out. It’s admitting that you don’t have to. Sit in the discomfort for a minute—seriously. Let it marinate. Maybe you’re not stuck; maybe you’re just… waiting for the water to boil. (Yes, I just compared your existential crisis to pasta prep. Let’s move on.)
Instead, zoom in on the smallest possible thing. Not “What am I doing with my life?” but “What am I doing today?” Or better yet, “What am I doing in the next ten minutes?”
And what if your days are already so packed with surviving that the idea of doing anything extra feels laughable? What if “finding your passion” sounds about as realistic as winning the lottery or discovering you have a love for kale? Forget big, sweeping changes—this isn’t a movie montage where you quit your job and start throwing pottery in a sunlit studio (unless that’s your jam, of course). On those days, it’s not about hobbies or reinvention. It’s about survival… with a twist.
The twist is making even the smallest act feel deliberate. Add something ridiculous to your grocery list just because it makes you happy—popsicles, glitter pens, those cookies you loved as a kid. Can you get through your inbox while listening to the soundtrack of Rocky? Probably not, but you’ll laugh at yourself for trying. Survival doesn’t have to be joyless—it just has to feel yours in some small, ridiculous way.
The thing is, action creates clarity. You don’t figure out your life by sitting still and thinking harder. You figure it out by moving—physically, mentally, emotionally. If you don’t… one day you’ll blink, and suddenly it’s ten years later, and your only accomplishment will be perfecting the art of stress-scrolling.
And I know it sounds scary, but not knowing is where the good stuff happens. It’s where the weird, unexpected, life-altering decisions are born. The stuff that makes for a good story later, when you can laugh about it over overpriced wine with someone who thinks you’re a genius for “just going for it.” But in the moment? It’s chaos. You’re Googling “How to know if you’re having a midlife crisis at 30” while panic-eating Doritos. And that’s okay.
Still, I know what you’re thinking: What about the big stuff? The dreams, the passions, the finding-my-place-in-the-world moments?
First of all, passion isn’t something you find. It’s something you stumble into while you’re busy doing something else. It’s the thing that surprises you when you weren’t even looking for it.
You don’t have to try everything at once. You pick one thing. Not the perfect thing. Not the thing that guarantees lifelong happiness and eternal fulfillment. Just… a thing. Try stuff. Even if it feels random, even if you’re bad at it. Honestly? Especially if you’re bad at it. Take a pottery class. Learn a language. Bake a cake that collapses in the middle but still tastes amazing. Go to that weird community improv class and realize halfway through you are, in fact, not an improv person. Action—even ridiculous, unimpressive action—builds momentum. And momentum? That’s how you trip and accidentally fall into something meaningful.
But what if you’re too paralyzed to even start? Stop thinking about forever. You’re not committing to a lifelong contract with whatever you choose. This isn’t marriage in the ‘50s. Just because you try something doesn’t mean you’re stuck with it. No one’s going to burst into the pottery class you signed up for and yell, “Well, I guess you’re a potter now! Hope you’re ready to dedicate your life to ceramics!”
That’s the beauty of starting—it doesn’t have to be perfect, permanent, or even promising. Starting is just… starting. It’s giving yourself permission to explore, to test the waters, to get it wrong. And you will. Which brings us to the good news: you’re going to fail. Yes, that’s good news. You’re going to start something and realize halfway through that you hate it, or you’re terrible at it, or it’s just not for you.
Failure can be liberating—if you let it. Not in a grand, movie-montage kind of way, but in a quieter, ‘well, at least now I know’ kind of way. It’s freeing because it lowers the stakes—you don’t have to nail it on the first try. Sure, you might end up halfway through karaoke wishing you’d picked literally any other song, but failure isn’t a dead-end. It’s a crack in the wall—a chance for something unexpected to slip through.
And if all else fails, distract yourself. Yes, I said it. People love to say, ‘Don’t distract yourself from the problem,’ as if you’re one deep thought away from solving it all. But sometimes the problem needs a little ignoring. Watch grown adults argue over decorative pillows on reality TV. Take a walk and pretend you’re the brooding lead in an indie movie. Clarity doesn’t like an audience—it tends to sneak in when you’re busy doing something else.
The point is, you’re not going to think your way out of this. Clarity doesn’t come from sitting there, endlessly replaying the same options like a broken record. It comes from doing. From trying. From messing it up and then laughing at how badly it went.
At the end of the day, not knowing what to do with your life isn’t a problem to solve. It’s a starting point. Not a blank page, but a messy one with coffee stains and scribbles in the margins.
The pressure to always know what’s next is a scam. Some of the best parts of life happen when you’re wandering aimlessly, lost in the wilderness of “no idea.” Because that’s where the good stuff hides—in the unexpected turns, the missteps, and the hilarious mistakes you’ll later describe as “character-building.”
And maybe one day, in the middle of something totally unremarkable—cleaning your kitchen, strolling through a bookstore—you’ll feel it. Not a lightning bolt or a big reveal, but a quiet little thought: This is nice. It’s not everything, not the answer, but it’s enough. Enough to remind you that figuring it out isn’t the goal. The goal is to live a life full of “this is nice” moments, wherever they lead you.
So, if you’re standing in that intersection, clueless about what comes next, here’s your permission to stay there a little longer. Watch the clouds. Text a friend. Try something that might be terrible. Maybe fail, then fail again. And remember: life isn’t about having all the answers. It’s about asking better questions.
—The Ash Files—Where life’s unexpected moments get filed away—sometimes neatly, sometimes under “figure it out later.” From writer/creator ASH, expect weekly musings, honest stories, and a reminder that no one has life entirely figured out [least of all me].✨
"The pressure to always know what’s next is a scam."—thank you! I'm so tired of seeing everywhere in the media characters who were destined to be something. I’ve always had too many interests, too many attempts at something new. I had one passion that left me burned out, depressed, and desperate. So, I decided to change everything, making myself look like a girl who's just unable to stick to one thing. And this is so scary, yet so liberating—to be able to do anything I want, to live anywhere I want, to start over in my 30s. I realized that my first (new) job doesn't have to be perfect; it doesn't have to be the thing I’ll do for the rest of my life. It's just a stepping stone on my new, exciting journey. And God, does it feel good to find someone who understands and encourages that!
"Almost everything that happens is either a good time, or a good story!"
Really enjoyed the read, always worth just flinging it at the wall and seeing what sticks. I find myself thinking about all the times things went wrong on holidays rather than the perfect ones!