Reshaping the Vision: A Future that Breathes

When asked to write about “the best possible future” and “the future I fear,” I froze.

Not because I don’t dream. Not because I’m afraid to imagine. But because the structure of the questions felt… rigid. As though I were being asked to predict a future I could control, plan for, and pave with certainty. As though anything less than a polished, high-functioning version of myself would be a failure.

But what if that’s not how life works?

What if the future we’re meant to live isn’t born from goal-setting and bullet points—but from a quiet, deep trust in who we are becoming?

I don’t want a five-year plan that ties me to fixed outcomes. I want a relationship with life that lets me shift, evolve, and unravel when needed. I want to allow myself to misstep without shame. To lead with love when I can—but not beat myself up when fear sneaks in. I want to live, not perform a version of success.

So I rewrote the exercise.

Instead of asking What do I want? I asked:

What does it mean to know myself? To live a day that feels alive, even if it’s messy? To lead with love, even if I forget sometimes?

My vision became less about reaching milestones and more about returning home to myself over and over again.

I will know myself—not as an achievement, but as a rhythm. I will follow what makes me feel alive, not because it guarantees happiness, but because aliveness is the thread that connects me to truth. I will be fearless sometimes and afraid sometimes, and I will make space for both. I will love. I will learn. I will get it wrong. I will repair. I will trust my unfolding.

That is the future I choose.

But what about the one I fear?

Here’s the thing: I don’t believe there is such a thing as a wasted life. Even the feared future—where I fight the current, lose touch with my joy, or feel heavy with confusion—is still sacred. It still teaches me. It still counts.

I might lose sight of my purpose. I might fall into patterns that make me feel stuck. I might shut people out, mistrust myself, or let fear guide me. But even then, I am not broken. I am not behind. I am not wrong.

Those moments are compost. They are raw material for blooming I haven’t yet imagined.

What I fear is not failure. What I fear is forgetting that I am allowed to return to myself at any time. That no path is too far off course. That I don’t need to be perfect to be powerful.

So I’m letting go of the “best possible future” and “worst possible future.”

Instead, I’m writing a life that feels—alive, whole, wild, curious.

A life where I:

• Trust the unfolding, even when I don’t understand it.

• Choose love, and forgive myself when I don’t.

• Take missteps and count them as steps.

• Let myself rest, bloom, ache, try again.

• Remember that detours are still part of the path.

We don’t need to punish ourselves into growth. We don’t need to fear the wrong turn. We just need to keep coming back to love—especially self-love.

I trust. I return. I unfold.

That is the only vision I need.