There are people who have known since childhood what they wanted to be. Who dreamed of treating animals since they were five, and who started making wood crafts at seven and now sells furniture in Scandinavia. And then there's me. And I don't want anything.

Not that I want nothing at all. I can do it. I can handle it. But waking up in the morning with the thought: "I know why I live" - ​​no, that's not about me. And you know, for a long time it seemed like a failure. Because it seems like you can't do that - be an adult and not have a life's work. The world is set up this way: you have to be something, someone, know the answer to the question “who are you” without hesitation.

But I don’t know.

I tried. I signed up for courses, looked for myself in other people’s stories. I read so many motivational books that I could probably open my own library “for the lost”. I tried drawing, embroidering, dancing, coding, writing, making candles, making soap… And everything is not it. It doesn’t irritate, but it doesn’t light up either.

Have you ever tried looking at someone’s passion and feeling envy? Not because you want the same thing, but because you want to want. That happened often.

Sometimes I sit in a cafe and see someone arguing about films, as if the Nobel Prize was at stake. Or a girl at the next table tells her friend how she left her office and opened a pottery workshop. There is a “yes, this is mine” in her voice, and I catch myself thinking: what about me? Do I have “mine”?

I tried to pin myself against the wall. With lists. Checklists. “What did you like as a child?” “What would you do for free?” “What are you wasting your time on?” I know everything. I’ve been through everything. But sometimes the answers are not “psychology,” “design,” or “helping people.” Sometimes the answers are “nothing.” Or “sleep.” Or “be alone in a quiet room.”

There was a moment when I seriously decided that something was wrong with me. Everyone was running, and I was standing still. But then I realized: movement is not always running. Sometimes it’s an internal process. Sometimes you cook soup, and more happens inside than in a year of studying to become a coach.

Maybe I won’t find my calling. And this is not a diagnosis. This is a state.

But I have an observation: sometimes the business that becomes yours does not come as love at first sight. It appears quietly. Not in a “wow” moment, but in a “okay, I’ll try” moment. And then you just do it. Day. Two. And at some point you realize that you didn’t notice how you came in. As if someone forgot to close the door, and you accidentally found yourself in a room where you feel good.

For example, I love to put things away. Not fanatically. But there is something calming in the way clothes are stacked, how books are arranged by size, how I polish a mirror and it shines. It’s not a passion. It’s peace. And I don’t make a business out of it. But I know: this is where I am real.

Sometimes I think: what if a calling is not a job? What if it’s a way of being? Not “I’m a lawyer,” but “I can hear.” Not “I’m a baker,” but “I give warmth.” And then everything changes. Because you start looking not for labels, but for responses.

I have a friend who worked as an accountant for 15 years and always said: "This is not my thing." Then she went nowhere. And six months later she got a job at a library. They don't pay much there. But she says: "For the first time, I feel like I'm part of something." Not because books are her passion. But because she likes the way the morning smells in the hall where there are no people yet. The way children whisper. The way she knows where each shelf is. It's simple. But that's her.

I don't know where my place is. But I allow myself not to know.

I'm not looking for genius. I'd like to have silence inside. A place where you don't have to seem. Where you can do things simply because you want to, and not because it's part of a long path to success.

I once loved drinking tea in the kitchen and listening to the water dripping from the tap. I was nine. I sat on a stool in my pajamas and thought: I wish my whole life could be like this - quiet, simple, and no one would bother me. Maybe this is my lifestyle?

You know, if you don't feel like you've "found yourself," maybe you're just living. Maybe being yourself is not a goal, but a process. And then the path is not from "I don't know" to "I know," but from "I'm looking for" to "I trust."

Sometimes I think: what if my job is just to be there for those who are looking? Not to lead, not to teach, but just to walk alongside. Not to explain how to do it, but to be an example that you don't have to know. That you can be fickle, quiet, without career milestones — and still be real.