"I still don't know quite what I'm supposed to do or be"

A confession of not knowing carries a quiet bravery. It names a universal tension: a world that prizes certainty colliding with a self still unfolding. The phrase “supposed to” hints at an external script, expectations handed down by family, culture, or the highlight reels of peers, while the self searches for an inner compass. Admitting uncertainty interrupts the rush to perform coherence. It allows life to be an exploration rather than a performance of decisions made too soon.

The pairing of “do or be” reveals a double weight. One burden is action: to choose a career, a path, a series of visible markers that signal progress. The other is essence: to define identity with a crisp label, as if a single word could capture a moving target. Together they create pressure to both produce and crystallize, to prove and to become, all at once. Yet genuine growth rarely follows a straight line. Identity is iterative, shaped by experiments, missteps, curiosity, and the quiet accumulation of experiences that confirm what fits and what does not. Not knowing, then, can be a practice of humility, a disciplined openness that keeps space for surprise.

Modern life amplifies the problem. Social platforms reward conviction; career ladders reward specialization; the calendar punishes detours. But pretending to know rarely brings peace. Naming uncertainty can be an act of agency: it resists borrowed destinies and invites a slower inquiry into values, affinities, and forms of contribution that feel alive. Small bets, reflective pauses, and the willingness to revise become more honest guides than grand declarations. The sentence holds both discomfort and relief, the discomfort of ambiguity and the relief of permission. You do not have to be finished to be real. You can be underway: attentive, provisional, and sincere, letting what you do and who you are evolve in conversation with each other.