When the Path Disappears, Possibility Remains

When the path ahead feels uncertain, trust that the tide will reveal the way.

It starts at a young age, with people asking what you want to be when you grow up. I remember when my nephew was just a few years old, and he answered that question with, “A butterfly.” I thought to myself, What a brilliant answer. Why be confined to the usual choices: police officer, doctor, lawyer, athlete, teacher? Be a butterfly.

In fact, I wish I had made a deal when I was young to get a nickel every time someone asked me that question. In high school, the pressure was on to have an answer so I could make the "right" choice for what came next. In college, the questions never stopped. I even went to graduate school, partly because I still didn’t have an answer. All the while, I flitted from one thing to the next, maybe embodying my nephew’s butterfly idea more than I realized, without any one grand plan.

Then, at some point, you find yourself on a path. For me, it was education. For others, it might be mechanics, law, teaching, bartending—there’s no wrong path. But once you’re on one, people assume you got there intentionally, that you know how to navigate what comes next. If only it were that simple.

Because once you’re on a path, people stop asking what you want to do. They assume you’re doing it. But how do you know if you’re heading in the right direction? And what happens when something, or someone, comes along and wipes the path away entirely?

That’s exactly what’s happening to so many people right now; people who have worked hard, built careers, and contributed in meaningful ways only to find themselves facing layoffs and an uncertain future.

If that’s you, here’s what I want you to hear:

You are not your job. Your worth isn’t tied to a title, a company, or a paycheck. The work you’ve done still matters. The skills you’ve built, the relationships you’ve fostered, and the impact you’ve made don’t disappear just because your role does.

I won’t lie. This sucks. I’ve been there. I’ve felt the disappointment, the shame, the embarrassment. But I’ve also learned that those feelings? They weren’t mine to carry. They belonged to the people or the organizations that made the decisions they made. My role, and yours, is to remember who we are, to know our worth, and to seek our next beginning.

And just because people have stopped asking you What do you want to do? doesn’t mean the question isn’t still relevant. In fact, maybe now is precisely the time to ask yourself this question. Not out of panic or pressure, but out of possibility. What have you learned from this role? About yourself? About who you do and do not want to be?  What does living in possibility feel like at this point in your life? 

Transformation takes time—trust the process, embrace the change.

Living in possibility means shifting from What now? to What if? It’s allowing yourself to wonder, to dream a little, even when the ground still feels unsteady. It doesn’t mean you have to have the answers right away, but it does mean giving yourself permission to explore what could come next, without judgment, without assumptions, without the weight of who you thought you should be. Maybe it’s rediscovering an old passion that got buried under deadlines and responsibilities. Maybe it’s realizing that you’re stronger, more capable, or more adaptable than you ever gave yourself credit for. Maybe it’s simply sitting in the unknown and trusting that clarity will come. Living in possibility isn’t about ignoring the hard parts; it’s about believing that something new can grow from them.

You may need time in the cocoon: to grieve, to rest, to sit with the unknown. That’s okay. Transformation isn’t rushed. Possibility doesn’t demand immediate answers. But don’t forget that when you emerge, you might just be a whole new kind of butterfly, one that sees the world, and yourself, differently.

Whatever comes next, you’re not alone. And if no one has told you yet today, you’re going to be okay.

TL;DR: Losing a job is disorienting, painful, and unfair—but it does not define you. Your worth isn’t tied to a title or a paycheck. This is an opportunity to ask yourself what you truly want, not out of pressure, but out of possibility. Maybe this is your cocoon moment—a time to rest, reflect, and reimagine. When you emerge, you might just be a whole new kind of butterfly. Whatever comes next, you’re not alone. And if no one has told you yet today—you’re going to be okay.