"For most of my life, I assumed that arriving was the point. Like many people, I believed adulthood would eventually deliver a clear role, a measure of security, and a sense of belonging I could point to and say, This is it. This is who I am. I trusted that if I worked honestly, followed what mattered, and stayed true to my values, that moment would come."
"Now, much later, I'm facing the possibility that it never will. I know I'm not alone in this, even if we don't often talk about it. Many of us carry an unspoken expectation that effort will eventually resolve into something recognizable-something stable, legible, and rewarded. When that doesn't happen, we tend to turn inward, assuming we missed something or misunderstood the rules."
"There is a fear I rarely admit, even to myself. It's not exactly the fear of failure, or aging, or financial uncertainty, though all of those are close by. It's the fear of being an embarrassment. Not publicly. Not dramatically. Quietly. The kind that never causes a scene but lingers in the background of family life, unspoken but felt. I sometimes worry that my children see me as someone who implied-perhaps too casually-that things would work out."
For much of life, arriving is assumed to be the point: adulthood will deliver a clear role, security, and belonging that validates effort. Effort and integrity are trusted to produce a recognizable, stable place. When that outcome fails to appear, people often internalize blame or believe they misread life’s rules. Staying means remaining present without expecting arrival, continuing to live in an unresolved life and cultivating presence amid uncertainty. A quiet fear of embarrassment can underlie that experience, worrying about how loved ones perceive unmet expectations. Naming and acknowledging the condition of staying helps reduce isolation and clarify how to live forward.
Read at Tiny Buddha
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