2 Lies and 1 Truth
It’s January yet again, that time of the year when we go through resolutions like groundhog day.
Year in, year out, it’s the same feeling.
New old resolutions, new old aspirations.
All lead back to the same place.
The playbook looks like this: work 1-2 years, get promoted, eventually become a manager. Buy a house. Start a family. Check the boxes.
At 25, I had it all mapped out. Vision boards, timelines, five-year plans. I was convinced that if I just worked hard enough, everything would fall perfectly into place.
You guessed it: It didn’t.
And I’m grateful for that.
Those spreadsheets? They only work if you actually want what you’re planning for. The thing is, I thought I did. But I wasn’t chasing what I wanted deep down. I thought I knew myself. Alas, I was chasing proof that I was doing it right — The recognition. The validation. The approval. I’d spent my whole life optimizing for achievement without ever asking myself: What are those trophies for?
Was it because it felt good? Albeit momentarily?
I was in IT because it made sense. Good money, stable career, everyone said it was smart. I was good at it, so why question it? Except I did question it. Every single day. But I convinced myself. The nagging feeling didn’t matter. Logic mattered. Practicality mattered. I made myself believe that it was my duty to keep doing what I was already doing.
That’s the first lie: The logical choice is the right choice.
It’s not. Sometimes the logical choice is just the safe one. And safe isn’t the same as “right for me”.
But what is right?
So I tried something different. I started a creative business — chalk lettering. Handwritten signs for cafes and restaurants. I loved it. The craft, the creativity, building something that was mine.
Then COVID hit. Clients disappeared. I kept going anyway. Paid for ads, subscriptions, hired a business coach. Burning cash, lots of it. Told myself it was just a rough patch. Eventually, I said I’d take a break. One month. Maybe two.
The break turned into six months. Then a year. I didn’t close the business right away. The business registration stayed active, domain names kept renewing. I told myself I’d go back when I was ready.
I never did.
When the registration finally lapsed, I realized: I wasn’t fighting to save it because I didn’t want it back.
That’s the second lie: If you just try harder, passion comes back.
It doesn’t. Sometimes it’s just gone. And admitting that isn’t failure really. It’s honesty.
In corporate, I kept wanting. Chasing promotions. Leading programs. Mentoring people. I told myself I wanted the title, the responsibility, and the recognition.
And maybe I did. But the parts I actually, truly loved? The conversations. Sitting with someone who was stuck and asking questions that helped them see things differently. Watching them figure out what they actually wanted, not what they thought they should want.
I’d been doing some form of coaching work for years. I called it mentoring. Or leadership. Or “just being helpful.”
Until one day, I asked: What if this IS the thing?
What if I’d been circling it this whole time? through IT, through the business, through the chase — and I just couldn’t see it because I was too busy chasing the shiny objects? The glittering titles that I THOUGHT I WANTED.
The truth that hid behind all the lies: Shiny objects distract you from who you truly are.
I distracted myself, unwittingly, by never asking WHY.
Once I saw it, I knew.
That was a wake up call. I finally got myself educated in coaching. Learned how to do it right - the principles, mentors, books, the works. And now I coach people through the same thing I went through: figuring out what they actually want when everything else feels like it should be enough but isn’t.
Here’s what I’ve learned through three pivots, including one failed business, and way too many spreadsheets:
Real growth doesn’t follow the lines we draw.
The version of you at 25 doesn’t have to be the version of you at 30. You’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to let go of the plan. You’re allowed to become someone your past self couldn’t imagine; and not because you failed. It’s because you finally figured out who you actually, truly are. You’re allowed to realize you’ve been chasing the wrong thing, or that you’ve actually been chasing the right thing all along, just calling it by the wrong name.
The most interesting art goes against the grain. For life isn’t about having everything figured out, and most definitely not about coloring within the lines.
It’s about being brave enough to stop when something stops being yours. And it’s about paying attention to what keeps showing up — even when you’re calling it something else.
This year, I’m not making resolutions.
I’m not drawing new lines and pretending they’re different from the old ones.
I’m just getting honest about what I actually want.
And building toward that.
For once, I know that: Not because it makes sense. Not because it’s practical. Not because it’s what I’m supposed to want.
But because it’s mine.
And maybe it’s been mine the whole time.
I’ll be here once a month (or so) writing about transformation, identity, and what it actually takes to stop lying to yourself about what you want.
If that resonates, welcome.
Yours,
Nate
This really lands. I appreciate how you frame honesty not as a dramatic reinvention, but as a quiet refusal to keep lying to yourself. The idea that we often chase the right thing under the wrong name feels especially true and disarming in the best way. Beautifully written !!
You're right, real growth isn't following the lines we draw. It's about who we become, who we meet, and how we change. What's more, when you're on top of the world, finally having gotten what you wanted, that feeling is elusive. We can't chase the high. We chase the journey.