There are things that call to us. Places we want to live. Experiences we yearn for. And often, the timing feels wrong, the money isn’t there, or the conditions aren’t ideal. Life rarely presents a perfect set of circumstances.

It’s easy, in those moments, to convince ourselves that we’re fine without what we want. We get busy. We quiet the ache. But what if that ache isn’t something to push away? What if it’s information?

Fear complicates all of this. It keeps us safe, but it also keeps us still. What if I’m too old? What if I make a mistake? What if I hurt someone? What if I spend the money and regret it?

The question underneath all of that is simpler and harder: what am I willing to live without, and what am I not?

What often gets lost in the stories we tell ourselves is agency. We act as if choices are permanent, as if one wrong move ruins everything. If I move and hate it, I’ll be stuck. I’ll have wasted time and money. But what if choices don’t trap us? What if they teach us?

This isn’t an easy concept to accept. It sounds comforting, even liberating, but not always easy to believe.

Two years ago, I decided I wanted to leave the city. I was exhausted by the cost of living and drawn to the idea of hiking, space, and weekends that felt quieter. I moved to the suburbs, bought a car, and committed fully.

And I was miserable.

I liked the town. I hated the commute. The traffic drained me. I missed the ease of city life, the simplicity of a short subway ride. So I sold my car and moved back.

I learned that living in the suburbs of New York City and commuting from there isn’t for me. I learned that as long as I am at my current job, I am happiest living in New York City, even if it means making financial trade-offs.

I still think about the money I spent. The hit to my savings. It’s easy to frame that as waste. But I don’t think it was. I didn’t mess anything up. I learned something valuable about myself.

I don’t think there’s a single answer to this question. Some things I can live without. Others I can’t. What matters, for me, is to keep asking questions: what will I regret not doing? What feels impossible to let go of?

The hardest part is continuing to listen when the answer isn’t clear yet, and having the courage to listen when it finally is.