I'm starting a new series

A new space to write

Today, I’m turning 27. And over the past 26 years, I’ve learned to be okay with not knowing where I’m headed. I’ve actually grown comfortable with that, and realised that maybe that’s, for me, what happiness looks like.

Writing helps me stay close to what matters. Especially in this phase of my life, where everything feels wide open. That’s why I’ve decided to create a little space. A space to write, reflect and share thoughts on intuition, dreams and other unfinished life plans.

Maybe some of my thoughts will resonate with you too. Or maybe you just enjoy reading along as I figure things out. Either way, you’re more than welcome on my own substack. That’s where the journey continues after this post.

I’m not sure how this series will get shape. Maybe it will be a diary, or just a collection of thoughts about intuition, dreams and other unfinished life plans. I don’t know.

And honestly, that’s my usual answer to most big life questions:

“What’s your ideal life?”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“What are your goals?”

I usually just smile (awkwardly) and say, “I don’t know.” Because the truth is, I’m still figuring it out.

So, my goal with this series?

I don’t know. There’s no plan, but a good feeling. And that’s already a good place to be.

I’ve never really had a life plan. No whiteboard with goals or clear expectations for the future. When I was younger, I even felt pressured by questions like: “What’s your passion?” or “What’s your goal in life?” As if everyone else had a ready-made answer. And there I was, wobbling. It made me insecure. Sometimes, I even felt a bit dumb for not knowing.

But as I got older, I let go of that pressure. It became okay not to know. In fact, it felt like a relief to simply admit: “I don’t know”.

In 2022, I paused my studies to go on a solo trip. I still remember the moment when I was asked: “Will you go back to studying after?” As always I answered: “I don’t know.” But this time, it felt right.

I needed distance from my studies, cause I had lost direction. I wasn’t working toward anything that made me happy.

To find out if this was just a phase, or a real sign to change course, I needed space. Without fixed expectations for that time, I stayed open to whatever came my way. Turns out, that was the best thing I could’ve done."

As a student, I was broke, of course. If I wanted to leave at all, I had to find work and start saving.

I had already graduated as a nurse in 2019, so I could’ve gone for a steady job with fixed hours and a solid income. It would’ve been the fastest way to save up and leave. But I chose a different path: unskilled jobs, flexible shifts, zero-hour contracts. It just felt better at the time, although I couldn’t really explain why.

Looking back, at this point my intuition was already pointing me in another direction. A direction I couldn’t quite explain yet, but one that made more sense to me than the “safe” option, with more space to figure things out.

While I was working, I kept dreaming of a camper van. But on minimum-wage hours, that just wasn’t realistic. So I brought the dream down to size: I bought an old car. Less comfort, same freedom. And that was enough.

At first, I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know anyone living in a car, so I wondered if it was even possible. Then, during one of my odd jobs, I spoke to a colleague who confidently said, “It’s possible. I’ve done it. And I would be happy to help you figure it out.”

That encounter with my colleague was exactly the kind of connection I had been quietly hoping for. The kind my gut had been leading me to, even before I had the words for it.

I just strongly felt like diving into a world where I would meet people who, like me, were on a journey. People with the same curiosity, for something different, for another kind of life. People I could actually connect with. I figured those conversations would happen more in cafés than in hospitals. No rigid schedules or fixed paths, just flexible hours and unexpected encounters. Sure, it meant a lower salary. But it felt like an investment that would take me further than money ever could.

A year later, I had saved enough for a car, gas and a little breathing space. I drove south. That was pretty much the only direction I had. I wasn’t traveling toward a destination, but for the experience of being on the road. Where I would end up, didn’t really matter.

Or as Alain de Botton puts it in The Art of Travel:

“We are prone to forget how much more there is in the world than the little we are preparing ourselves for.”

Along the way, I grew more intuitive, more free. I trusted that small flame inside me, the one that would light up if I started missing my studies. I knew if the urge to return came, I would feel it clearly. But that moment never showed up.

What did come was happiness. Experiences that showed me another direction could make me happier. And that the spark I had hoped for during my studies, the one that would guide me toward a career at home, never really came to life.

And then, I met Bernardo. He followed his own path, I followed mine, and somehow they led to the same place.

According to The Alchemist, life is generous to those who follow their personal legend. I’ve come to truly believe that. And through honest reflections and thoughts, I want to try and unravel what that actually means. For me, and maybe for others too.

So welcome to this little space, for reflections on intuition, dreams, and other unfinished life plans. About the freedom of not having the answers, and still looking forward with curiosity.

For those of you who resonate, or are just curious in reading along, you’re very welcome on my Substack page

Thank you for coming along!

Jule Noah