A simple yet frequent question I’ve pondered as I age.

It’s not me spiralling into an existential crisis, but as I navigate life and approach the end of my time as a student (a long 17-year run), I find myself in a reflective mood. Revisiting the advice I’ve been given over the years to help shape my future, I recall the classic reassurances: “Don’t worry, you’re young, you’ll figure it out,” or the ever-patronising, “You young people stress over everything. When I was your age… [insert an irrelevant anecdote from their mid-20s that has nothing to do with your actual concerns].”

But I often wonder — what happens when I’m no longer “young”? When my youth is no longer a context but a memory, and “figuring it out” isn’t just an expectation but an obligation woven into the fabric of adulthood — an obligation no one quite prepares you for, I might add.

At 21, as I write this, I’m fully aware that I’ve been a legal adult for three years now. I’d like to think my head is screwed on… for the most part. It’s not that I don’t want to be a responsible adult; it’s more that I find myself asking: what does being a responsible adult even mean? And if adulthood is as open-ended as people suggest, if the so-called “rules” vary for everyone (which they clearly do), then how does one even begin to ask for help when it’s needed?

As a high achiever or someone who appears independent, “You’ll figure it out” has been the go-to response from older people whenever I’ve sought guidance about the future. Now, as the time to figure things out is well and truly here, I realise I don’t actually know what it is I’m supposed to be figuring out — or how.

The default advice? Graduate, get a good job (if the market permits), and build from there. Solid, practical, and ultimately necessary. I fully intend to support myself legally (I simply do not have what it takes to be a convicted felon). So, in that sense, I appreciate the guidance. But in a world where we are constantly encouraged to “have options,” what does it mean to actively choose what’s right for you? And is it really so outlandish to ask those closest to us for help in making those decisions?

There’s a roadmap we’re often presented with: Do well in school. If you get bullied, it’ll “build character” (though I remain unconvinced). Go to university. Get a job. Move out as soon as financially and mentally feasible (which, for the sake of sanity and freedom, I highly recommend). Procreate and/or get married — whenever you feel ready to invite everyone and their mother to your wedding, only to be met with side-eyes from your aunt’s best friend’s cousin’s sister, whom you didn’t invite because you were entirely unaware of their existence until they were offended by their lack of an invitation.

The point is, this “plan” can feel incredibly isolating. Nowhere along the way is it normalised to ask for help — or even explained how to do so effectively in the myriad of social situations life throws at us. And when you’re perceived as high-achieving (which, if you’re between 14–21, seems to be code for “low maintenance”), there’s this silent yet insidious assumption that you must have all the answers. You’ve got yourself this far, so why would you need help now?

The problem is, people often overlook a few key things:

Projection. Some people haven’t progressed as far — whether academically, geographically, professionally or otherwise — and don’t feel qualified to advise you. Rather than admit this, they may dismiss or even resent your questions, allowing them to avoid confronting their own feelings of inadequacy.

Context. You’re still new here. No matter how brilliant you are, no one exists in isolation. We are all connected, whether we like to admit it or not. The point is, no one raises themselves from birth. Even if your support system wasn’t perfect, it existed. So, the abrupt shift in expectation — the sudden demand for self-sufficiency — takes adjustment. That’s entirely natural.

Communication. It’s both our greatest strength and our biggest failing. Across accents, languages, and emojis, communication underpins human survival, yet we still misunderstand each other constantly. Asking for help isn’t easy. Admitting you don’t have the answers to your own experience? Even harder. And that’s assuming you even know what kind of help you need in the first place. Not every qualified teacher is someone you’d want teaching your child, just as not every footballer is someone you’d want to analyse a game with.

Which brings me to my next point: own your preferences.

A bit of a curveball, I know, but this is what I’ve realised is the simplest answer to my original question. We often believe that seeking advice implies a right or wrong choice — that the decision we make will define us irreversibly. In reality, that’s almost never the case. Has choosing your left shoe before your right ever ruined your day? Has a minor tweak to your CV ever impacted your career more than your passion for the work (or lack thereof)?

Reframing decision-making as a matter of immediate preference rather than an all-or-nothing gamble can alleviate some of the stress we place on ourselves — and by extension, the stress we project onto others. Instead of asking, What should I do next?, maybe ask: What excites me? What does my dream life look like? And what are my preferences right now?

Your dream life will materialise in time, but like anything intangible, it only becomes real through action in the present. A very Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs perspective, I know — but you see my point.

The truth is, tomorrow isn’t promised. Our arrogance lies in making plans despite knowing we have no guarantees. But we do it anyway. And so, in the here and now, acknowledging what you enjoy and what you don’t — not moralising it, just recognising it — grounds you. It keeps you from living too much in the future, while still steering you towards one that genuinely fulfils you.

At the end of the day, even the most daunting decisions could vanish in an instant. Mortality is a sobering reality, but for an overthinker, it can also be a freeing one. When I remind myself of that — and pair it with an awareness of my likes, dislikes, and values — it becomes easier to navigate life without demonising those who’ve never been encouraged to think similarly. People are, after all, products of their time, culture, and environment.

This isn’t a call to action, just a note to myself — a 3AM thought train set loose on the page. So if you needed to hear this too, let me be the one to tell you: you’re doing better than you think. And if you struggle to find people who remind you of that, then let me be one of them.

Thanks for reading. I’ll try to make a habit of this, but who knows when inspiration will strike, amidst the dissertation, coursework, and the ever-looming “3rd July” graduation date glaring at me from the bottom right corner of my laptop screen.

Alas, I’m trying. Aren’t we all?