Blank Page

When the blueprint breaks

Any writer will tell you: There’s nothing scarier than a blank page.

And yet, here I am, staring down the typographical barrel of my keyboard and sprawling days that unfurl into weeks no longer pinned with meetings or stitched with purpose.

Tabula rasa, but instead of the support a newborn gets to help them through this tadpole-becoming stage, I have to feed, bathe, and wipe myself — and try to find meaning and something to do with my time — or else I’m at risk of withering away. (An object at rest stays at rest. I didn’t make the rules. It’s simple physics.)

Coming up on two years ago, I left a job that felt like the clear coda of a career. Since then, I have tried several different iterations of life and none of them have stuck.

But I am.

I’m too young (and not independently wealthy enough) to retire, and too old to follow the blind ambition of my youth. I am… discerning? (Which can also be described as picky to the point of paralysis.)

I’m also quite directionless. When you don’t have a dream or the desire to chase it, you feel a hollow aching akin to toothlessness. What had been there is no longer, and the tooth-shaped hole is unsettling to a roaming tongue searching for what once was an anchor in the unsettling deep space of the mouth.

Or something.

I’ve written about this ad nauseam (so you can imagine how much I’ve thought about it!!). I’m not here to spew my existential unrest on you. I’m here to confront that invisible thread of a feeling that unites us, whether or not we choose to pull on it.

Because you can’t go back, you know? Once you pull that thread, untie the sash to peek behind the curtain, pierce the veil, and catch a glimpse of the wizard — it’s over. There’s no going back to the illusion you danced through in your former life. The toothpaste tube has been squeezed.

And now you’ve gotta figure out what to do with all this so it doesn’t go to waste.

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I got to thinking recently about the blueprints that exist in our society. You know, the templates we unknowingly plug into at some point that become our path, the well-worn treads of those who came before us holding our wheel wells in place.

There aren’t many — maybe, what? seven? Each path has its trade-offs, and you may find yourself straddling two with the Venn diagram intersection either tickling or tearing at your most vulnerable parts, depending.

Maybe you’re living one out loud while another one is playing in the background. Or, you could be the type who has simplified and distilled it down to a single track, sticking to it like a guiding star through various seasons and life stages, no matter what external influences toss you about. (If that’s you, I admire that and I’m quite jealous).

I’d bet the average person changes paths at least once in their lifetime, and most probably two to three. (This may be what the quarter- and mid-life crises and third acts are all about.) But despite being common, changing paths marks a period of major upheaval, unrest, doubt, and likely a few moonless nights that scare the soul.

The seedling of a new path is being inserted into the dark, dank, nutrient-rich compost that will help it grow, but it doesn’t know that. It just thinks: “This stinks. What the heck is this s**t?”

The growth process | “Where am I and how did I get here?”

The growth process | “Who am I and what am I doing?”

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Just for fun, I made a list of some of these blueprints. It’s by no means exhaustive, and I don’t claim to have discovered anything unique. Just a thought experiment that I’m sharing here with you as a “yes, and” starting point for discussion and maybe your own exploration of life and meaning and purpose (if you’re prone to this kind of rumination, like I am).

Or, you know, just some fodder for dinner party smalltalk.

1. The Conventional Path

The blueprint traditionally passed down through generations as the "right" way to live.

It looks like this: Go to school → Get a job → Get married → Buy a house → Raise 2.5 kids → Retire (ideally to Florida, or at least somewhere with a Costco)

Perks: stability, safety, belonging, social acceptance, legacy

Drawbacks: conformity, suppression, resentment, misalignment with personal values

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2. The Achiever Path

The path of ambition — for those who thrive on goals and the challenge of proving themselves.

It looks like this: Choose a career → Set ambitious goals → Climb the ladder → Collect accolades → Leave a legacy (a wing of a museum, a scholarship, or just nepograndbabies)

Perks: success, status, recognition, measurable impact

Drawbacks: burnout, emptiness, identity tied to achievement

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3. The Specialist Path

The blueprint for those who like to go deep on a craft, topic, or skill.

It looks like this: Pick a field → Put in your 10,000 hours → Become a go-to authority → Publish, present, or pioneer something (and maybe have an element, law, or syndrome named after you)

Perks: mastery, excellence, inner satisfaction

Drawbacks: obsession, isolation, perfectionism, losing sight of the bigger picture

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4. The Artist Path

The path of those who are here to express the intangible, to move people with beauty, truth, or emotion.

It looks like this: Feel something → Make something → Share it with the world (even if it’s not ready) → Inspire someone/Challenge perspectives → Leave behind a body of work that outlives you (and ideally still makes sense in a post-whatever-this-is-society)

Perks: expression, connection, beauty, originality, resonance

Drawbacks: financial instability, scarcity, lack of recognition, self-doubt

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5. The Activist Path

The path of those who are wired to right wrongs, uplift others, and be part of something bigger.

It looks like this: Notice injustice → Speak up → Rally others → Demand change (and possibly burn bridges) → Hopefully make history, or at least a few re-tweets → Rest when you’re dead

Perks: justice, service, collective healing, transformation

Drawbacks: exhaustion, martyrdom, overwhelm from world's problems, burnout

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6. The Visionary Path

The path of those who see what could be and feel called to create it, even if no one else sees it yet.

It looks like this: See a better way → Dream it in detail → Build something the world hasn’t seen → Try to explain it to people who aren’t ready → Watch it (hopefully) catch on (and cross your fingers that the unintended consequences aren’t worse than what you set out to fix).

Perks: innovation, possibility, future-building, transformation

Drawbacks: disconnection from the present, impracticality, and difficulty implementing ideas

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7. The Wild Path

The pathless path, for those who reject the status quo and live by instinct and curiosity.

It looks like this: Ditch the script → Follow your gut → Wander far and wide (both internally and/or externally) → Try to fit in at a dinner party → Live on your own terms (whatever that means!)

Perks: freedom, authenticity, experience, inner truth

Shadows: instability, rootlessness, disconnection

What am I missing? Which path(s) have you traveled? How many times have you switched, and what precipitated the re-routing? I know I can’t be the only one out here.

If I had to quantify my own trajectory, I’d say I started on the Activist Path in my 20s, but several failed attempts at saving the world and the necessity of survival made me switch to the Achiever track. It feels like I followed that one to completion. I dipped my toe in the shallow end of Conventionalist at various points, but as much as I wanted to want it, I was quick to jump off (or, more accurately, thrown from it like an electric fence).

After that, I veered onto the Artist Path for a while, prioritizing creativity to replenish my energy from the decade of intense productivity output. I also flirted with the Specialist while going deep on perfume-making for a year. And now (for… reasons, probably?), I find myself trodding the unknown terrain of the Wild Path.

No wonder I feel like a pool raft adrift at sea!

This is the least templated template, the Oregon Trail of Paths. Let’s hope the stakes are lower and my ability to weather the journey better than my skill level in surviving the ‘90s computer game version.

If this were the actual Oregon Trail, I reckon I’d be somewhere near Fort Kearny in Nebraska, about 12% into the journey ahead. I’m still close enough to the known world to feel its pull, but its familiar shape is a blur on the horizon. What I thought I needed is scattered on the prairie behind me, and what I still carry gets re-evaluated with each mile.

A stop along the way | Pioneertown, CA | September, 2024

Some would say the hardest part is leaving. But for me, it’s been staying gone. And I have. I’ve stayed gone. Remaining on course, even when there doesn’t appear to be one.

The map has long since been lost or burned, but I’m starting to trust the trail, learning to traverse by feel.

Letting the land redraw me.

I’ve entered the unsettling stretch of trail where dreams grow quiet and instincts begin to speak louder. The boots are broken in now. The sky’s changed color. There have been mountains — not always with majestic peaks, but the kind that sneak up on you, disguised as ordinary hills that drag on and somehow demand everything — and there are sure to be more. But there’s also a balance of misty meadows cast in the golden light of dawn.

This No Man’s Land where I find myself is showing me that the only way through this blank page is not by filling it, but by letting the silence echo until what’s real begins to take shape the way stars once did: in the low holy hum before words could name them.

Because if there’s no going back (and I suspect there isn’t), then forward, however undefined, is the only direction left.

I am half-feral but alive, and I intend to keep going.

And so I go.

The open road | Near Joshua Tree, CA | September, 2024.