What I Found at the Edge of the Map

One of the biggest myths we're sold when we're all still young and stupid is that life is a straight-shot journey from Point A to Point B. All you have to do is follow the totally real life map we're presented with, and everything will turn out just peachy.

Do this, then that. Be this, then become that. Follow the signs. Never stray. And if you do everything exactly right, you’ll reach your destination right on time. Oh, and there will be a trophy and a pizza party waiting for you when you arrive, of course.

But what no one tells you is this. The destination point keeps moving, which hardly matters, because no one ever clarifies where you're supposed to be going in the first place. The map spontaneously redraws itself the moment you think you understand it. 

And the edges? You eventually find out that they don’t mark the end of anything. They mark another big, fat, blank beginning you didn’t know to expect, and it's even more ambiguous and vague than the last.

I spent an embarrassingly large chunk of my one life chasing the idea of “arriving.” At what, I don't exactly know, although I assume it had something to do with success, love, healing, wholeness –– the four horsemen of the well-adjusted. I thought that if I just kept going, I’d eventually reach a place where things made sense. But that never happened. 

What did happen were curveballs. Detours. Periods of standing still so long that I forgot I was even on a journey in the first place. Eventually, I thought I'd reached the end of the map. But it didn't look or feel anything like fulfillment, and there sure as shit wasn't a pizza party waiting for me. It looked like a blank, white page with nothing else on it. 

I sat with that blankness for a very long time, because I didn't know what else to do. And I think that's when I realized the map wasn't ever meant to be the whole plan. It was a set of training wheels made of inherited ideas, social constructs that really never fit me, and a hefty pinch of generational trauma thrown in for good measure. If you're dealing with something similar right now, this is what I want you to know.

1. The end is rarely the literal end

Certain life events –– divorces, job losses, etc. –– can feel like the end of the world, because they're just that devastating. But they're also the endings of chapters in your life story, not the whole damn book, regardless of how they may feel at the time. In some cases, they might also mark the end of how you pictured your life playing out. 

Realizing that absolutely sucks, so it's understandable if you need to mourn for a while. Let yourself be angry or sad. But know that life also has a way of sneaking in new possibilities when we’re not looking. Releasing the idea of what should have happened (but couldn't for whatever reason) makes space for what can happen now.

2. You're allowed to draw yourself another map

Maybe the person you used to be before you made it to the edge of the map had a completely different vision for their one and only life. Maybe you're like me, and social programming, fear, and familial pressure were major factors in what ultimately led you to a big dead end. 

Honor that version of yourself for getting you here. Then start redrawing your map by asking yourself some tough, shadow work-style questions:

• Who am I now, really?
• What truly lights me up, even if it's small?
• What are my non-negotiables that I refuse to compromise on moving forward?
• What kind of life feels aligned with who I’ve become?

Maybe you care less about money now, but more about freedom. You might realize you want a quieter life after chasing a whole symphony of noise over the years. Maybe you just want to be seen for who you are. All of that requires courage, but it also requires permission. Give yourself that permission.

3. You don't need to understand the next step to keep moving

I used to think I needed to know exactly where I was going next in life before I was allowed to move forward, because that's what I was taught to believe. But that's a big, fat lie. If life's taught me anything, it's that so many journeys worth making actually start out in the dark. And the future has a way of presenting new options that would have been impossible even a couple of years prior.

So, if you honestly can't conceive of what to do next? Embrace the power of tiny movements for a while, because they count for more than you think:

• Drink a glass of water.
• Make your bed.
• Take a walk, maybe even without your phone, if you're feeling rebellious.
• Write a paragraph that no one else will read.
• Take a shower. Use the good soap.

These things may feel insignificant, but they keep you moving. And choosing. When the big picture overwhelms you, shrink the frame. Focus just on what you can do within the next ten minutes, the next hour, or the next day. Before you know it, you're in fluid motion again, map in hand or otherwise. 

4. Growth and confusion can look a lot alike

Feeling lost doesn't necessarily mean you're doing something wrong. Sometimes "lost" simply means you're in transition from one phase to the next. It’s uncomfortable, sure. But it’s also often a sign that something essential is happening. You’re not stagnant. You’re becoming.

Think of it like the in-between part of a story. It's the middle chapter where the hero doubts everything, the journey feels too hard, and they’re not sure they actually have what it takes to go forward from there. But that doesn’t mean the story’s over. It just means it's time to turn the page.

5. You're not standing at the edge by yourself

I think the most super-wrong I've ever been in my life was in believing I was all alone in what I was going through –– that I was the only one with a shitty map who didn't know what the hell they were doing. That's a lie. The edge of every map is crowded, even if it doesn’t look like it. It’s full of people quietly breaking down, breaking open, and rebuilding themselves from what feels like nothing.

Want to find them... or help them? Want to help yourself? Reach out. Share your story. Find your weird, wonderful kin, the ones who don’t dare flinch when you say, "I have no idea who I am or what I'm doing."

You can journal. You can go to therapy. You can join a support group or even just a couple of Facebook groups full of like-minded people. Yes, your path is yours alone, but you're far from the only one on it, trying their damnedest not to fuck it all up.

........

Ultimately, winding up at the edge of the map isn’t a punishment, regardless of how it feels. It’s not a mistake, either. It’s an opportunity. The day you say yes to that opportunity, even with uncertainty still in your heart, is also the day you start to draw a new map. Except the new version will consist of your own lines and paths with your own constellations spinning overhead. 

So if you’re standing at your edge right now, trembling or tired or full of longing, keep going. Because this is not the end. It's the beginning of a new understanding that going off-road once in a while is just another part of the journey.

* This piece is part of the Feast of the Wandering Pen, a month-long writing challenge all about showing up, speaking truth, and staying creative.