The version of me from two years ago wouldn't recognize this life

I'd just come out of the sauna and dropped onto a sunbed to wind down.

I had a bit a free time, so I decided to send some WhatsApp video notes with one of the homies.

Nothing serious, mostly chatting shit and reminiscing about our time in Bali together.

In one of his video notes, he said something that made me stop.

"We're always talking about how we need to figure out this and figure out that.
But what? We're not figuring out shit."

He was half joking. But he wasn't wrong.

When I actually think about it, I'm not sure I've figured out much of anything since I quit my job a few years ago.

And his line pulled up something I've been carrying for a while.

There's a specific kind of stress that comes from feeling like you haven't figured your life out yet.

It’s staying up until 2am researching business ideas.

It’s sitting with my friends and family and not really being there.

It’s never being able to switch off.

And it always circles back to the same question:

"What do I want my life to look like?"

I could never answer it.

I'd lie in bed and genuinely not know.

It cost me more nights of sleep than I'd like to admit.

And that felt like proof I was behind.

Still on that sunbed, I took a moment to look around.

And it hit me out of nowhere.

I am already living in the life I dreamed of years ago:

Two years ago I would have read that back and assumed someone was describing a different person's life.

But it's mine. I'm living inside the exact thing I couldn't picture back then.

So my friend was right that we haven't "figured it out."

And also completely wrong about what that's supposed to mean.

The things you're chasing right now, you probably won't clock the day you finally get them.

They just quietly become your normal.

So every so often you have to stop and actually count what's already in your hands.

The feeling that there's still something to work out doesn't mean you failed.

It means you're still walking.

And that feeling is going to follow you at every level you reach, so you might as well stop waiting for it to disappear before you let yourself feel good about where you are.

It's easy to look back at who you were two years ago and feel a little embarrassed.

But that guy is the reason any of this exists.

You don't have to call your old self a failure to admit you've outgrown him.

Most of what you build shows up looking a little different than the version in your head.

That's not the plan failing.

That's just what real things look like standing next to imagined ones.

The version of me from two years ago couldn't imagine this was possible.

Which means the version of me two years from now is looking at something right now that I can't picture either.

So you are, at this exact moment, living inside a life some past version of you was desperate for.

And you're standing at the bottom of another one you still can't picture.

This isn't exactly the life I pictured two years ago.

There are still parts that aren't where I want them.
The money, for one.
A few other things I'm still working on.

But for the most part, it's everything I wished for.

So when my friend says we're not figuring anything out, I know what he means.

And from the inside, some days, it really does feel that way.

But I'm already living inside the answer I couldn't come up with back then.

You're probably closer than you think.

Right now, somewhere in the middle of all the stuff you're still trying to fix, there's a good chance you're already standing inside a life some earlier version of you was begging for.

Whatever it was you used to lie awake wanting. Some of it, you already have.

You just stopped noticing it.

And you don't get to wait until it's all finished to feel it.

Because it's never going to be all finished. There's always going to be one more piece.

You're standing in the middle of it.

The least you can do is look up every once in a while.

See you in two weeks,

— Chun