"You Should Know By Now"

The Myth of Clarity

No one has it figured out

"What do you want to do with your life?" The question lands like an accusation. You're supposed to know. You're an adult. Everyone else seems to have a clear answer, a crisp elevator pitch, a confident story.

Here's the secret: almost no one knows. They're just better at pretending.

Watch people at parties, networking events, on LinkedIn. Everyone has a clear story. "I'm passionate about..." "My five-year plan is..." It's theater. Confidence cosplay. Behind closed doors, most are as confused as you. The difference isn't clarity—it's performance.

You assume successful people had clarity early. Most didn't. They stumbled into it. They constructed the "I always knew" story afterward, once they'd landed somewhere worth claiming. Survivorship bias distorts everything: you only hear from those who found their way. The wanderers who eventually arrived rewrote their history as destiny.

Lao Tzu understood this two and a half thousand years ago: the Tao that can be named is not the eternal Tao. The moment you can fully articulate your path, it's probably not your deepest path. Real direction is felt before it's spoken. Clarity that comes too easily is often borrowed, not earned. The deepest truths resist neat packaging.

And consider why others demand your clarity. Uncertainty is uncomfortable—and other people's uncertainty makes us uncomfortable. "What do you do?" is really asking "How should I categorize you?" Your confusion disrupts their mental filing system. Their demand for your clarity is about their comfort, not your growth.

Permission granted: not knowing at twenty-five is normal. Not knowing at thirty-five is normal. Not knowing at forty-five is normal. The people who "knew" often knew the wrong thing. Better to be honestly confused than confidently wrong.

Clarity is overrated. Curiosity will take you further.

The Value of Uncertainty

Not knowing is generative

What if uncertainty isn't the problem? What if it's the raw material? What if not knowing is where all creation begins?

Every artist starts with a blank page. Every scientist starts with a question. Every entrepreneur starts with a problem they can't yet solve. Certainty is the end of inquiry. Uncertainty is the beginning of everything interesting.

Ecclesiastes captures this beautifully: "Thou knowest not how the bones grow in the womb." Life itself is a mystery you participate in but don't control. The greatest forces operate beyond your understanding. This isn't a bug—it's the design. You were never meant to know everything.

Think about what certainty kills. Curiosity dies when you think you already know. Possibility dies when you lock in a path too early. Growth dies when you stop questioning. Relationships die when you think you've figured someone out. The known is always smaller than the unknown. Always.

There's a Zen concept called Shoshin—beginner's mind. In the beginner's mind, possibilities are endless. In the expert's mind, possibilities are few. Your "not knowing" is actually an asset, not a liability. You can see what the certain have forgotten to look for.

Uncertainty can even serve as a compass. What you're uncertain about reveals what matters to you. You don't agonize over things you don't care about. The confusion is a signal: this matters. Follow the uncertainty, not away from it. It's pointing toward your growth edge.

Try this reframe. Instead of "I don't know what I'm doing," try: "I'm in the fertile void where new things are born." Instead of "I should have figured this out by now," try: "I'm still open enough to become something unexpected."

Certainty is a closing. Uncertainty is an opening. Stay open.

The Fog as Ally

Embrace the unknown

You're walking through fog. You can see maybe ten feet ahead. Everything beyond is gray, uncertain, hidden. Your instinct is to wait for the fog to clear.

But here's the truth: the fog is the path. Walk anyway.

We treat uncertainty like an obstacle—something to get through, overcome, defeat. But the fog isn't blocking your path. It's revealing your pace. You can only see the next step. That's all you ever needed to see.

In the Book of Job, God speaks from the whirlwind: "Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?" The translation is clear: you are not meant to see the whole picture. The demand for total clarity is arrogance. The fog is appropriate to your scale.

Consider what the fog protects you from. Seeing too far ahead would paralyze you. If you knew the full cost of the journey, you might not start. If you saw all the failures waiting, you might not try. The fog is mercy disguised as frustration. It lets you take the next step without carrying the weight of all steps.

Learning to walk in fog requires new skills. Slow down—the fog forces this; accept it. Trust your feet—you can feel the ground even when you can't see it. Listen harder—other senses sharpen when sight fails. Stay close to what you know—don't venture too far from solid ground. And take one step, then the next. That's all the fog allows. That's enough.

Remember: everyone you admire walked through fog. They didn't have clarity—they had courage. They moved without seeing the destination. Their path became visible only in retrospect. You're in the same fog they were in.

The fog will lift. Partially. Sometimes. Then it will return. That's normal. Clarity comes in glimpses, not permanent states. The goal isn't to escape the fog forever. The goal is to become someone who can walk through it.

The fog isn't keeping you from the path. The fog is the path.