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What a Year of Not ‘Having It Together’ Taught Me

What a Year of Not ‘Having It Together’ Taught Me

Last year, I was the walking cliché of a Gen Zer. Three part-time jobs, an Instagram highlight reel for every minor achievement, and absolutely zero direction. Two years earlier, I’d dropped out of school for a “dream job” I thought would launch my career. Spoiler: It didn’t.

I was floating—stuck in the middle of some existential ocean, paddling toward a horizon that felt nonexistent. Was it terrifying? Absolutely. But that feeling forced me to stop, take stock of my life, and ask the hard questions about who I was and where I wanted to go. Here’s what I learned in my year of figuring it out—or, more accurately, not having it all together:

Live Up to the Right Expectations

We all have that version of ourselves we dreamt up in high school — the one with the dream job, the dream car and a very respectable 401(k). By 25, I was supposed to be wildly successful in the lucrative, sensible career path I mapped out at 17 (based on some random chart about “job security”).

But as 25 loomed closer, I realized something: I didn’t even want those things anymore. So why was I clinging to goals set by a younger, less experienced version of myself?

Here’s the thing: Goals evolve because we evolve. Holding yourself to outdated expectations—or worse, someone else’s—is like trying to wear your high school skinny jeans. It doesn’t fit anymore, and that’s OK. The only standard that matters is God’s, and He’s way more interested in who you’re becoming than whether you hit some arbitrary milestone. And for the record, if He wants you to be a tightrope-walking circus performer, He’ll make it happen.

Social Media Lies (A Lot)

Social media should come with a disclaimer: “WARNING: I used 15 filters to make this look white-washed and beautiful, and I also spilled that artful latte all down my shirt 15 seconds after I posted this.” Because for every flawless sunset selfie, there are 50 rejects featuring double chins and weird lighting. Instagram isn’t life—it’s life with curated filters and an angle that conveniently crops out the mess.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of comparing your behind-the-scenes to someone else’s highlight reel. But life is messy. Real life is full of spilled coffee, awkward conversations, rejection and so much uncertainty. That’s what makes it beautiful—and it’s exactly what doesn’t show up on your perfectly curated grid. So, stop worrying about matching the vibe of some influencer’s minimalist living room. Nobody’s life is as perfect as it looks online, and yours doesn’t have to be either.

Sometimes Quitting Is the Right Answer

When Jesus called Andrew and Peter to follow Him, they were fishermen. Stable jobs. Family business. They literally dropped their nets and walked away. That’s a pretty bold move, and it’s one that still challenges our instinct to persevere at all costs.

Sticking it out isn’t inherently bad. But sticking it out for the wrong reasons — pride, fear or misplaced security — is. Sometimes, God’s calling requires a hard left turn, and clinging to what’s familiar just holds you back. Quitting isn’t failure; sometimes it’s obedience.

Failure Is Your Best Friend

Failure gets a bad rap, but let’s be honest: Nothing teaches you faster. My fear of failure used to be paralyzing. It kept me from trying new things, taking risks and, ironically, growing. But failure isn’t the enemy — it’s the tutor.

Here’s the truth: If you try something and fail, you’re no worse off than if you hadn’t tried at all. The only difference? You’ve learned something. Even Jesus warned against playing it safe in His parable of the talents. The servant who buried his bag of gold instead of risking it got labeled lazy and cast into the darkness. Ouch.

Failure is currency. It’s how you learn what works and, just as importantly, what doesn’t. Thomas Edison failed nearly 2,000 times before perfecting the light bulb filament. Did he quit? Nope. Did he keep swinging? Absolutely. Sure, he didn’t actually say, “I didn’t fail; I found 2,000 ways not to make a light bulb,” but it’s a solid metaphor (and we’ll forgive National Treasure for using it). The point is: Fail hard. Fail often. Then take what you’ve learned and try again.

Your mic-drop moment lands perfectly. Now get back out there, awkwardly pick up that mic, and fail spectacularly. Because failure just might be the thing that gets you where you’re meant to be.

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