Thoughts on being lost, 2026

I was inspired to write this after speaking to a friend who'd described herself as feeling lost recently. I realised I had something to say about this because unlike a year ago, I felt confident saying that things will be ok. On many things, I still feel extremely lost, but the not knowing feels less scary.

A year ago, I felt like things were falling apart. In the space of a couple weeks, my partner broke up with me, my employer rescinded a contract extension that'd been agreed months before, and I left for Greece to start a microgreens farm with a non-profit that I had met once on the phone.

I felt acutely alone and lacking control. Up until that point, there was some semblance of a plan, or at least a direction. Suddenly I was unmoored, with very little to lose and very few places to be.

And so I started trying (and failing at) things. I tried to turn the microgreens farm into an NGO (still tiny), I travelled across the US for a couple months trying to publish a card game I'd designed (no one picked it up), I joined a start-up incubator (where we bombed the final investment pitch). At the height of my being lost, I started working on farms in the English countryside. It made sense for a few reasons at the time (rent being a big one), but in one stint the farm was so poor I had to forage for food.

There's certainly a damning assessment of the last year that one could make: that it was at best a string of unconnected failures, and at worst a waste of a year. But as I write that line I don't feel like any part of me believes that. (And who cares what anyone else believes?)

Yes, there are things I wish I could change, but 'changing things' (or 'being in control') isn't compatible with being at the whims of life and all its unpredictable episodes. As much as I wished my life was different, that I hadn’t made the mistakes which sent me on this trajectory, I am grateful. Through these detours I never would have picked, I feel like I know myself a little better, treat myself a little kinder, love myself a little more.

I also learnt that you can just do things. Even if they don't quite go as you envision, things tend to happen when you’re in motion.

• It hasn't been picked up (yet!), but the card game got further than I had imagined possible: I realised serendipity happens when you write to brands, pitch yourself on the street, and share about what you’re doing.
• The start-up incubator put me in entrepreneurship and recruitment circles, which was fascinating in its own right, but also led to opportunities for myself and friends I was able to point these towards. I also partnered with an AI-startup whose tool I think could make a difference in the humanitarian space.
• Through a very convoluted string of connections, the microgreens farm got me connected to my current employer, Taimaka, for whom I now improve malnutrition programs in rural Nigeria (where I'm writing this piece). It also got my non-profit, From Seed to Shelter, invited to Uganda, where we’ll be taking this project next.

It hasn't been perfect. Particularly in the wake of my heartbreak I have hurt people along the way. I'm still very lost and grieving in that sense, but I’m trying to be kind to myself on that front too. Maybe life will surprise me.

The hardest part of all this was the couple of months I spent at home, applying to jobs. So whenever I’m next stuck, I guess my question is: "How can I be in motion, even if I don't know what that motion is for?" Or maybe: "When I have nothing in the world to do, what do I want to do?"

There’s a lot of pressure in a world of randomness for things to go to plan. Why?

3 August 2026