Drawing Your Own Riverbed

Sometimes, lately, I feel like all my decisions have been converging on a single point—a vague horizon that isn’t really anywhere. It sounds dramatic, I know, but it's less about feeling lost and more about recognizing the quiet hum of anxiety that comes with not having a map. The show just ended; Jacobs Pavilion feels far away already. That night felt…significant, somehow. Not in any grand, sweeping way—not like I’d solved some universal truth—but as if something inside me clicked into place. And now, the silence afterwards is almost louder than the music ever was.

I think it’s because for so long, I've been waiting *for* something. For a sign, a direction, permission to actually move forward. It's easy when you’re just drifting, letting momentum carry you along. But now there’s this pressure, subtle but persistent, to choose, to build, to define…something. And the prospect of failing at that feels weighty enough to hold me down. Like a sandbag on my chest.

The thing is, I used to find comfort in not knowing exactly what was next. It felt like freedom. Like leaving room for surprise. But now, it's less about joyful spontaneity and more about just…avoidance. Avoiding the work of making something *happen*. My blog – that’s been my version of avoidance lately. A place to put thoughts without really committing to them. Twenty-seven people read that post. That seems like a small number, objectively. But seeing those twenty-seven little eyes on what I wrote felt…unexpectedly solidifying.

It occurred to me the other day that building a life isn't about finding a pre-existing path; it’s about laying down stones, even if you don’t know where they lead at first. Like creating your own riverbed, shaping the water's flow with deliberate action. It’s not romantic in the way I initially pictured, all swirling currents and effortless navigation, but practical. It’s choosing to place one stone, then another.

I started playing around with this idea of mentally ‘inhabiting’ potential futures. Not like some woo-woo visualization exercise (though who knows, maybe it is!), but more about just…trying on different scenarios in my mind. What would a day look like if I actually finished that project? How would I feel after sending out those emails? Not to predict the outcome – definitely not that – but to get accustomed to the *feeling* of what success might be.

It's interesting because it doesn’t eliminate the uncertainty, but it does shift your relationship with it. It becomes less a terrifying abyss and more…an expanse you can navigate. I remember feeling overwhelmed when thinking about college applications - endless essays, comparing myself to everyone else—but even just imagining what accepting a particular school would feel like, or even a rejection, helped me process the anxiety in smaller chunks. It's not about wishing for something, it’s about experiencing its possibility.

I think maybe that's the key – embracing the feeling of *possibility*. Not clinging to it as a guarantee, because life has a funny way of throwing curveballs, but allowing yourself to feel what it would be like if things went well. It provides an anchor in moments of doubt, a quiet reassurance when you’re staring into that horizon and wondering where to begin. It's not about denying the potential for failure, but proactively creating space for success.

Ultimately, maybe all this boils down to taking responsibility—not just for my actions, but for my own sense of direction. For understanding that there isn’t some external force guiding me towards a pre-determined destination. The map is blank right now, and that's okay. I get to draw it. And the first stroke has already been made, however small.