I’ve been thinking about how much pressure there is to know.

To know where you’re headed. To know what you want. To know how to get there.

In school, the path feels drawn out — syllabuses, semesters, grades. There’s always something or someone showing you where to go next. But when you start looking toward a career, the map suddenly disappears. The road isn’t straight anymore; it bends, splits, loops, and sometimes fades altogether.

I’m studying finance, and there’s comfort in its structure — the logic that fits. But when I think about the real world of finance, the one beyond the classroom, it doesn’t feel so exact. It feels uncertain, layered, full of social and professional naunces that I can never fully prepare for.

And that uncertainty can be loud. It whispers that maybe you’re behind, or maybe you’ve missed something everyone else seems to understand. I used to think clarity was something you reached — a moment when everything clicks and you just know, you know? Now I’m starting to think it’s something you build, slowly, through experience, mistakes, and quiet reflection.

Maybe clarity isn’t a destination at all. Maybe it’s a side effect of momentum — of showing up, trying, learning, and letting yourself be shaped by what doesn’t go as planned.

I still don’t have everything figured out. I don’t think anyone really does. But I’m learning to be okay with that. There’s a strange kind of peace in uncertainty — a reminder that becoming isn’t supposed to feel clear. It’s supposed to feel real.