my year off course

a look into the unplanned, the uncertain, and what it means to make lemonade with life

May 30, 2026

Try as we might to seek the best for ourselves in life, life often has other ideas. Much like the predetermined path playing out in all of its glory, our days may take us down a delicately winding track, abundant with emotional turbulence, untamed encounters, and the beginning of an endlessly beautiful story—the one you never saw coming.

As a principle, I have faith in fate. Believing in what is meant for me provides me with a kind of inner calm I fail to conjure up in many other circumstances. In knowing that I’m to trust in the moment, trust in the unknown, trust in the seemingly strange and unwanted occurrence that has come my way—in confidence that it’ll lead to something greater—I am humbled. It’s a part of myself I both pride myself on and question the most.

Perhaps it’s a coping mechanism, perhaps it’s a way to still the waters of life—either way, I have faith in fate. Many a time, when life has looked as if it were about to betray me, when life has looked as if it were presenting me with none of what I desire and all of which I don’t, I come close to losing certainty. Who wouldn’t—when in the face of the unplanned and utterly unwanted—question it all? But time and time again, my tale begins to unfold in such a way that not only proceeds to shock me, but brings a smile to my face. Life can be funny like that.

Not too long ago, Reader, I shared my current state with you—a state that is largely the same and altogether so different. A state I thought you might like to be updated on. Because, although I entered into this year with clearly defined expectations on what might unfold, I could never have foreseen the chapters that followed.

I pride myself on my resilience. I don’t so much wear it as a badge of honour as I do rely on it in times of need. Despite being an admittedly sensitive soul, I have thick skin and tend to stand stoic in moments I’m required to the most. I often forget how resilient I truly am until I find myself in an instant when it instinctively kicks in, feeling it find comfort in the muscle memory it’s built deep within my being.

It feels good to hold strong in times when I could so easily crumble. It feels good to be unaffected by an another’s expectation, an offhand comment, or a change of course when I could so easily quiver, ruminate for days or weeks on end. It feels good to be in control of my emotions, understanding that I may choose how or if to react to what comes my way, when I could so easily spiral as I once often did.

As such, I’ve come to expect the unexpected. I’ve come to plan loosely and move fluidly, trusting greater than I have before. Trusting that—despite what may seem offhand, what may even appear as unsettling at first—is likely to have purpose, to be an integral part of my story. All too often, the unplanned and uncertain are taught to be feared. We’re told to find solace in the solid, to seek certainty and reliability above all else. But I’ve found that the nature of all three is rooted firmly in fear.

This piece is currently free. But if you’d like to support of an artist, consider becoming a paid subscriber.
I truly appreciate your presence and support. It’s what provides me with the time and space to continue writing, to continue the creation of my work.

I—like you may have done so too—have sought something solid, certain, and reliable in times when I required reassurance. But can any one thing remain as solid and certain and reliable as a constant? I don’t believe so. Through lived experience and the appreciation that human life is founded in evolution, no one thing ever truly remains constant. Trees grow, life ends, times change, love dies. Constant is a myth. Even when something appears constant, it’ll shift. It, too, will eventually evolve—morphing into what it needs to be to match the era it finds itself in.

Constant, much like time, age, and beauty, is a societal construct—a crutch to keep us safe, assured, going. But in the constant, we find faith. In the constant, we find courage. And if, as a collective, we need the constant to confidently forge the way to what we truly desire, we have the choice to let the constant be.

And yet, even in knowing that, I still chose another way. I chose to embrace the unplanned and find faith in where it will take me. I chose to celebrate the uncertainty and hold sure that its steadier, softer sister will show her face soon. As she always has. Over the years, I have unlearnt the need to rely on the constant—the need to search for something concrete. Instead, I have made a home out of the ever-changing—the true fluidity of life. At a risk of contradicting myself, it feels safer here, more constant.

I’ve begun to understand that, in the moment I become comfortable, a change will come. In the moment I think up an ideal or settle on a plan, a new route will form. That may be very well down to my nature—my inclination for variation. In some ways, I wonder if it’s become my own quiet act of rebellion, my own will having its way. Whatever it may be and whatever shape it may take, I trust in it. I have faith in fate.

With such an outlook, one does learn oh so quickly how to make lemonade with life. Despite not being an avid fan of the original saying and having a fondness for lemons themselves, I have come to make do with what I have. More than make do, triumph. No matter where I find myself, I do my best to see the light. I would say I’m rather good at romanticising life, but I don’t wish to fall trap to the current trend.

Naturally, I am human—so, of course, there are times when I struggle to see through. Times when I must first wait until the moment is right to make use of where I am. I have a beating heart, blood running through my veins, a mind full of emotion, thought, and insecurity—so, of course, I don’t always get it right. But I do my best, and my best will always be good enough. And when I find myself in a chapter of life that has veered off course—much like most of this year has been—I get curious. I pause, I process, and I start to foster an insatiable appetite for curiosity and wonder. Because without wonder, where would we be?

Reader, life may not always look the way we thought it would—it may even feel challenging and destructive at times—but the best and often only thing we can do in moments such as this is to give ourselves grace. Without grace, without perspective and patience, we put ourselves at risk of a difficult life—and Reader, I can’t actively advocate for accepting and enabling a life that is anything less than we desire it to be.

And if there’s one thing I do know for certain, it’s that I will always have faith in fate.

Thank you for being here and reading—it truly means the world to me. If you’re not ready to become a paid subscriber but you’d like to make a small donation to support of an artist and keep pieces like this free for readers, you can do so here.