This 40th year of mine has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Lately, I’ve found myself questioning my purpose—not just professionally, but personally too. The joy I used to find in my day-to-day life feels more like a memory than a current reality. And when I tried explaining that to my therapist, the best I could come up with was: “I’m not depressed, but I’m just not happy.” She thinks it might be tied to my type A personality. I had some major life goals—ones I worked hard for and eventually achieved. But now that I’ve checked those boxes, I’m left wondering… what’s next? What do you reach for when you’ve already reached everything you thought you wanted?

And while I wouldn’t say I want to completely uproot my life, I won’t lie—there are days where starting fresh somewhere new sounds like paradise. But I’m not in my twenties anymore. I’m not about to quit my job and go “find myself” in another country with no plan. That ship has sailed—and honestly, I’m okay with that. Mostly.

Work has been its own kind of frustrating. I finished my degree a few years ago, fully expecting it would open doors and help me move beyond the only position I’ve ever held at this company. Instead, I’ve been met with rejection after rejection. Maybe it’s because I won’t relocate to the corporate office in a much bigger city. Or maybe I’m just not one to play the political game. I’ve never been a “kiss-up,” and I’m not about to start now. It’s especially disheartening when my ideas get tossed aside—until someone else rephrases them and suddenly they’re “brilliant.” I know I sound bitter. That’s because I am.

The first half of this year felt like a slow crawl—me, constantly looking for something to spark excitement. But now that I’ve stepped into the second half, everything feels like it’s coming at me full force. I’m currently in the running for a board of directors position, which is exciting—but I’ve also been told they’re doing a complete overhaul and need all hands on deck. Great opportunity, right? Just… terrible timing. This also happens to be my busiest season at work, and I’m coordinating nearly every event myself.

And in the middle of all this chaos, we’re preparing to check off a huge bucket list item in September: Italy. I’ve dreamed about visiting that country for as long as I can remember, and I’m genuinely excited. But there’s a part of me already spiraling—thinking about the long to-do list, my dog’s declining health, and the family member with questionable housekeeping skills who’ll be watching our home. I know these are small worries in the grand scheme, but I also know myself—I fixate. I’m working on that.

Speaking of overcommitting, I’ve taken on the job of planning my stepdad’s milestone birthday party. I want him to feel celebrated—but I’m doing it with zero help from his actual child. Every time I bring it up, my step-sibling swears they’ll help… and then ghosts. My mom helps a bit, but it still mostly falls on me. I know what you’re probably thinking: “Girl, you took on too much. This is on you.” And you’d be right—to a point. I struggle to say no, especially when I know someone else’s experience might suffer if I do.

I’m also feeling the weight of trying to keep up online. I was in a solid rhythm with posting regularly, but lately? Not so much. Some days, I can’t even figure out what to write. Others, I just can’t find the energy to keep up. Social media is work. Maintaining engagement, growing your following, staying “relevant”—it’s not nearly as effortless as it looks. If anyone tells you it’s easy, they’re lying. Even the days I choose to skip a workout and curl up with a book make me feel guilty—like I’m being lazy or letting something slip. There’s always something else I could or should be doing.

Honestly, it feels like everything is happening at once, and I’m just trying to stay afloat. But even in the overwhelm, I’m still searching—searching for that thing that makes me want to jump out of bed in the morning. Something that excites me. Something that feels like mine. Maybe it’s a midlife thing. Maybe it’s just me. Either way, I hate how it feels.