Why knowing what you want still isn’t enough

Some years before I had children, my husband and I were cross-country skiing in the Colorado mountains late one winter afternoon. Usually, we were out on the trails well before midday. We knew better than to start too late. When you are in the mountains, daylight matters. Weather matters. Energy matters. Timing matters.

But this day was different. Somehow, we failed to take into account how quickly the light would disappear. By five o’clock, it would be dark, and skiing in the dark was not exactly part of the plan. I do not remember every detail of how we got into that situation, but I clearly remember the realization that we had stayed out too late.

The trail that had seemed manageable earlier in the day began to feel different as the light faded. The air felt colder. The distance back felt longer. The woods felt quieter. We couldn’t see the trail anymore, and we had no map, no compass, no cellphone, and no flashlight. There were no other people around. No one was coming along behind us, and no one was there to point us in the right direction or help us if we became too tired or unsure of the trail.

We had to get back on our own, the best way we could.

I remember that experience as stressful. Of course it was stressful. We were physically tired, the conditions were becoming more difficult, and we had not planned well for the situation we were in. But what I remember even more clearly is something surprising. Underneath the stress, I felt a calmness.

I had a sense of trust that no matter what, we would get back safely. I do not mean that I had every answer. I do not mean that I knew exactly how long it would take or that I felt completely comfortable. I simply remember a deep inner steadiness. We had to keep moving. We had to pay attention. We had to do the next thing. We followed our gut.

And we did get back.

In retrospect, I am glad we went through that experience. Not because I would recommend poor planning. Not because I would intentionally choose to be out on a trail after dark. Not because difficult situations are enjoyable in the moment. But because that experience showed me something about myself.

I learned that I could get through a physically difficult and uncertain situation. I learned that I could stay calm enough to keep moving. I learned that I had more mental and emotional strength than I may have realized before. That experience changed me.

It became a memory I could return to later. It became evidence. It became a reference point. When I faced other difficult situations in life, something in me could say, “You have been in hard places before. You kept going. You found your way through. You have a deep, abiding strength that is there to draw upon when needed.”

Discovering What You Want Is Only the Beginning

In my last post, I wrote about discovering what you truly want. That is an important beginning. Many people spend years living according to expectations, obligations, habits, and other people’s opinions without ever stopping to ask, “What do I actually want?”

We may know what our parents expected. We may know what our spouse needs. We may know what our children require. We may know what our job demands. We may know what our church, community, culture, or friends assume about us. But underneath all of that, there may be a quieter question we have ignored for a long time: What do I truly want?

That question can be uncomfortable. It can feel selfish at first. It can feel unfamiliar. It can even feel dangerous, especially if we have spent years being responsible, dependable, and available to everyone else. But discovering what we truly want is not the end of the journey. It is only the beginning.

Once we begin to know what we want, another question appears: Why is it still so hard to move toward it?

That is where many people get stuck. They may think they are still confused, but confusion is not always the real issue. Sometimes we know more than we admit. We may know the dream, the desire, the direction, or at least the next small step. But something in us hesitates. We pause at the edge of the familiar.

We tell ourselves we are being realistic. We tell ourselves this is not the right time. We tell ourselves other people need us. We tell ourselves we are too old, too busy, too inexperienced, too tired, too late, or too uncertain.

Some of those concerns may contain real information. They deserve to be considered. Wisdom matters. Planning matters. Responsibility matters. But concerns should be examined, not automatically obeyed. Because sometimes what sounds like wisdom is really fear speaking in the language of responsibility.

The “Comfort Zone” Is Not Always Comfortable

We often hear that we need to get out of our comfort zone. That phrase is so familiar that it is easy to pass over it without really thinking about what it means. The comfort zone sounds like a pleasant place. It sounds soft, cozy, and safe. It sounds like a place where everything feels good.

But the comfort zone is not always comfortable.

It is not always happy. It is not always healthy. It is not always fulfilling. Sometimes the comfort zone is simply the place we know best. A person may stay in a job that drains them, a routine that no longer serves them, a relationship pattern that keeps them silent, or a way of thinking that keeps them small. Not because it is wonderful, but because it is familiar.

The familiar has a strange power over us. Even when we are dissatisfied, we know how to function there. We know the rules. We know what to expect. We know how to explain ourselves to other people. We know who we are in that place.

The unknown is different. The unknown asks us to move without having every answer. It asks us to begin before we feel fully ready. It asks us to risk being misunderstood, making mistakes, disappointing someone, or changing in ways other people may not immediately understand. So we call the familiar “safe,” even when it is quietly costing us the life we truly want.

That is a hard thing to admit. It is possible to choose familiarity over growth. It is possible to choose predictability over purpose. It is possible to choose the known discomfort over the unknown possibility. And sometimes we do not even realize we are doing it.

We think we are waiting for clarity, but we are really waiting for certainty. We think we are being careful, but we may be avoiding the very challenge that would help us grow. We think we are protecting ourselves, but we may also be protecting the life that is keeping us stuck.

EXERCISE: Pause and Reflect: Is This Comfort or Familiarity?

Think about one area of your life where you feel stuck, restless, or quietly dissatisfied.

Now ask yourself: Am I staying here because it is truly good for me, or because it is familiar?

That question may not be easy to answer right away. Sit with it for a moment. Sometimes the first honest answer is not loud. It may come as a quiet recognition that what we have been calling “comfortable” is simply what we have learned to tolerate.

The Unknown Is Not Automatically Awful

One of the most important shifts we can make is to stop assuming the unknown is automatically awful. Many people do not avoid the unknown because they know it will be bad. They avoid it because they imagine it will be bad.

The mind can turn an unwritten future into a screen for every possible problem. We imagine criticism, failure, embarrassment, disappointment, loss, confusion, or regret. Before we ever take one step, the unknown becomes filled with shadows.

We picture the worst conversation, the worst outcome, the most painful reaction. We picture ourselves failing in front of people who already doubted us. We picture having to explain ourselves. We picture changing our minds and feeling foolish. We picture trying and not succeeding. And after we have imagined all of that, staying where we are can begin to look like the only reasonable choice.

But the unknown is not automatically terrible. It is simply unknown.

That is a very important distinction. The unknown may contain difficulty, yes. It may require preparation, patience, courage, persistence, and growth. It may stretch us in ways we did not expect. But it may also contain discovery, opportunity, answered prayers, new relationships, new confidence, new joy, new purpose, and the very life we say we want.

This is where so many dreams are lost. Not because the dream is wrong, but because the path toward it is unfamiliar. We mistake unfamiliar for unsafe. We mistake uncertainty for danger. We mistake discomfort for a warning to turn back.

But sometimes discomfort is not a stop sign. Sometimes it is simply the feeling of leaving an old identity and stepping into a larger life. That is not easy, but it may be necessary. The life we truly want may require us to become more than the version of ourselves who first imagined it.

There is a reason the negative possibilities feel so persuasive. Our minds tend to pay close attention to what could go wrong. One imagined criticism can feel heavier than ten possible blessings. One possible failure can feel more real than all the confidence that might come from trying. This is our natural negativity bias at work. It is a self-protective mechanism built into each of us.

This tendency can be useful when there is actual danger. It helps us notice risk and act to protect ourselves. But when we are considering a dream, a calling, a new direction, or a meaningful change, that same tendency can hold us back.

The mind may ask, “What if I fail? What if people judge me? What if I disappoint someone? What if I am not good enough? What if this changes everything?” Those are real questions, but they are not the only questions.

We also need to ask, “What if I grow? What if I succeed? What if I become stronger? What if I discover I am capable? What if this opens a door I could not see from where I was standing? What if the life I truly want is on the other side of the very thing I keep avoiding?”

This is not about pretending risk does not exist. It is not about ignoring reality. It is not about positive thinking in the shallow sense. It is about telling the whole truth.

It is also about retraining our mind to no longer assume the unknown is awful, but instead consider it an adventure with benefits and opportunities we haven’t fully imagined!

Even more, we can use the emotions that keep us inside our comfort zone as signals that help us expand it. Each time the mind asks, “What if something goes wrong?” we can use that question not as a reason to retreat, but as a prompt to choose one small action that moves us toward the dream. Over time, those small actions change what feels familiar. The unknown does not disappear, but our capacity to move through it grows.

One of the things we learn in the 7 Laws of the Mind, a helpful training in developing new mental habits by Mark Januszewski and Lori Hamilton Enrico, is that we possess the power to attach any feeling we want to a thought. It’s possible to attach a different feeling to “uncertainty” or the “unknown” than “awful.” I’m choosing to attach “exciting.”

Yes, something might go wrong. But something might also go right. Yes, someone may misunderstand. But someone else may be encouraged by your courage. Yes, you may make mistakes. But those mistakes may teach you what you need to know. Yes, you may have to change. But maybe change is exactly what your dream requires.

When we only listen to the voice that lists what could go wrong, we are not being fully realistic. We are being selectively realistic. We are giving danger a microphone and making possibility whisper from the back of the room.

Possibility deserves a voice too.

EXERCISE: Try This: Give the Unknown a Fair Hearing

Write down one thing you truly want but have been avoiding. Then make two lists.

First, write what your mind says could go wrong. Then write what could go right.

Most of us are very practiced at making the first list. We can quickly name the risks, problems, criticisms, and complications. But the second list matters too. What might open? What might grow? What might you learn? Who might you become if you moved toward this desire deliberately?

The unknown deserves to be seen honestly, not only fearfully.

Challenging Adventures Build Confidence

All these years later, that skiing experience still comes back to me. In Color Code terms, I am a Red. One of the things that Reds typically “want” is to “experience challenging adventure.” I’ve spent most of my life pretending not to know that about myself. But now I find that embracing this aspect of being “Red” gives me clarity about how to move forward.

There is something deeply satisfying about going through a challenging experience, staying the course, and coming out on the other side. It makes me feel powerful. It makes me feel capable. It makes me feel alive. For a Red, progress matters. Accomplishment matters. Overcoming matters. A challenge is not only an obstacle. It can become fuel.

But this is not only true for Reds. Different people may describe the result in different ways. One person may feel stronger. Another may feel wiser. Another may feel freer, more faithful, more peaceful, or more confident. The point is that challenge can become evidence.

When we go through something difficult and come out on the other side, we discover something about ourselves that we did not know before. We are no longer guessing whether we can handle hard things. We have proof.

That is why some of the very things that stop people in their tracks can become stepping stones. They can even become a staircase. What if life could be seen as a series of (challenging) adventures, strung together one after the other?

Not every challenge is one we would choose. Not every adventure is planned. Sometimes we find ourselves in a difficult situation unprepared and unsure, just as my husband and I found ourselves on that trail as darkness came.

But then we have a choice. Do we panic? Do we retreat? Do we stand still and wish the situation away? Or do we stay the course, pay attention, move deliberately, and discover what we are made of?

That does not mean we deny the difficulty. It does not mean we pretend everything is easy. It does not mean we rush forward without thinking. It means we stop seeing every challenge as proof that we should quit.

Challenges need not always be walls. They can be invitations to become stronger and more self-aware.

Waiting to Feel Ready Can Keep Us Stuck

Many people wait to feel ready before they move toward what they truly want. They want certainty. They want the timing to be perfect. They want the path to be clear. They want the outcome to be guaranteed.

But most meaningful dreams do not work that way.

Readiness often comes after movement, not before it. Small steps create evidence. Evidence builds confidence. Confidence makes the next step easier.

This does not mean we should be reckless. The lesson from my skiing story is not that preparation does not matter. Preparation matters very much. But there is a difference between preparation and avoidance.

Preparation helps us move forward with wisdom. Avoidance keeps us circling the same fear. Preparation asks, “What do I need to learn?” Avoidance says, “I cannot begin until I know everything.” Preparation asks, “What is the next right step?” Avoidance says, “There is no point unless I can guarantee the outcome.”

Preparation builds a bridge. Avoidance builds a cage.

A deliberate next step may be very small. It may be writing the dream down. It may be praying about it. It may be talking with one trusted person. It may be researching one possibility, learning one skill, making one phone call, or setting aside one hour a week.

The next step does not have to be dramatic to be powerful. It simply has to move us in the direction of the life we say we want.

EXERCISE: A Question to Carry With You

Instead of asking, “Am I completely ready?” try asking: What is one small, deliberate step I can take next?

That step may be simple. Write the dream down. Pray about it. Research one possibility. Talk with one trusted person. Set aside one hour. Learn one skill. Make one phone call.

Readiness often comes after movement, not before it.

The Cost of Standing Still

It is easy to see the risk of moving forward. It is harder to see the risk of standing still.

Standing still can look responsible. It can look patient. It can look sensible. Sometimes it is. There are seasons when waiting is wise. But there is also a kind of waiting that is not wisdom. It is delay. There is a kind of patience that is not peace. It is fear. There is a kind of responsibility that is not love. It is self-abandonment.

If we never move toward what we truly want, there is a cost. We may lose confidence because we keep breaking promises to ourselves. We may lose energy because we are living divided between the life we have and the life calling to us. We may lose clarity because unused dreams can become buried again. We may lose joy because part of us knows we are not being honest.

The cost may not arrive all at once. It may come quietly, over time, as a dull ache or a sense of restlessness. Sometimes the life we call safe is actually draining us. Sometimes the unknown we fear is the very place where our energy would return.

Moving Toward the Life That Is Opening

The life we truly want may not arrive all at once. It may unfold one step, one decision, one challenge, and one act of courage at a time.

At first, the unknown may still look uncomfortable. It may still bring up every reason to turn back. But if we keep moving deliberately, something begins to change. We begin to trust ourselves. We begin to recognize the difference between true danger and ordinary discomfort. We begin to see that the unknown is not only a place where things can go wrong. It is also the place where things can open.

And maybe that is part of living the dream life. Not having every answer in advance. Not avoiding every difficult trail. Not waiting until the way is perfectly lit before we begin. Maybe part of living the dream life is becoming the kind of person who can move forward even when the path is unfamiliar.

That may be the deeper work. It is not only discovering the dream. It is becoming strong enough, honest enough, and willing enough to walk toward it.

And then there is another part that can be just as important. We must be willing to accept it.

That may sound strange. Why would someone resist accepting the life they truly want? But sometimes receiving the dream means accepting a new identity. It means accepting greater visibility, responsibility, freedom, or change. It may mean allowing ourselves to become someone others did not expect. It may mean no longer hiding behind old limitations.

Sometimes we are not only afraid of failure. We are afraid of what success will ask of us. We are afraid of becoming the person who no longer has the old excuse. We are afraid of the life opening in front of us because once it opens, we must decide whether we are willing to step into it.

So here is the question I am asking myself: What is one thing I truly want that has been waiting just outside my comfort zone?

And here is the question I offer you: What if the unknown is not the enemy but in reality your friend? What if it is the next challenging adventure leading you toward the life you were created to live?

Knowing what you want is not enough. At some point, you must become the person willing to move toward it — and be ready to accept the life that opens when you do. Check out MarkJQuiz.com to see more about your type and tendency, and what obstacles you might be facing.