The Life Right Next to You

Have you ever found yourself asking, “Am I living the life I truly want? How did I end up here? Is it too late to choose a different path?”

After decades working as a psychologist, I can report many of my clients (and even myself) have pondered these questions. Have I achieved what I want to achieve? Have I made the right choices, chosen the right exits, added enough risk, added sufficient exclamation points or pauses? Have I tried hard enough? Is it too late to change the path I’m on because, frankly, this one is too (exhausting, difficult, boring, ordinary, lonely…)?

What if the life we want, the life not yet lived, is already right next to you? What if it is possible to jump onto a new path, to one with new views, new dreams, and new destinations? What if the changes we prefer to see in our life are already available, simply beyond awareness?

This past week, I woke at dawn and had my coffee on a familiar hillside where at times I sit overlooking canyons and rolling hills. The view is never quite the same, and that day was no exception. It was overcast and misty, the canyon below was painted in layers of gray, the closest ridges a deep and textured in a charcoal, the distant ones softened into haze. Clouds drifted across the sky like notes suspended on a keyboard, each one lingering just long enough before giving way to the next. While I’d preferred a brilliant and colorful sunrise to accompany my early morning effort, this view was no less inspirational. It was calming, serene and delicate. And once again, nature brought its message: the one true constant in life is change. Having sat on the same bench many times, every time I visit again, the hills still look the same, and yet completely different at the same time. 

We often feel stuck in what seems to be that metaphorical ‘Groundhog Day’. There is the reality we are currently living: the appointments, the responsibilities, the worries, the habits we’ve repeated so many times they feel inevitable. 

From a neuroscience perspective, this process is both hopeful and practical. Our brains are wired to seek efficiency, strengthening the neural pathways we use most often until they become our “default” way of thinking, feeling, and behaving. That’s why familiar routines, even ones that no longer serve us, can feel so difficult to change. The good news is that our brains remain remarkably adaptable throughout our lives. Each time we choose a response that reflects our values rather than our fears, we begin strengthening new pathways. Over time, those small, intentional choices don’t just change our behavior. They help shape the person we are becoming.

If we are honest with ourselves, we know change is hard. However, it is not impossible when we can see the true potency of change. Before we can begin to live differently, we must first allow ourselves to imagine that a different way of living is possible. We must be able to relate and connect at a deeper level within ourselves which inherently feels that longing, or maybe even a nagging, for something more; a sense that another life quietly exists beside the current reality. Not a fantasy. Not perfection. A life that is built from our deepest values, dreams, and truths. If we can make space for this curiosity, then change is possible.

In essence, the greatest distance we travel in life is often not measured in miles, but in the quiet journey between the person we have been and the person we are ready to become. It is the Becoming that is significant. If we see ourselves as the person we are capable of becoming, what would that version look like? The version of ourselves who gardens because being outside restores something essential. Who cooks slowly and gathers people around the table. Who laughs more easily. Who travels with curiosity instead of urgency. Who tends relationships as carefully as the bills that are paid. Who notices birds. Who protects peace. Who chooses rhythms that nourish instead of simply producing.

I don’t think this version of ourselves is imaginary. I think it has been waiting patiently all along.

Fear and worry have a remarkable ability to convince us that survival is the only thing that matters. It narrows our vision until all we can see are the immediate fires, the looming deadlines, the uncertainty just around the bend.

But fear is a poor architect. It can help us avoid danger, but it cannot build a meaningful life.

The life we long for is usually constructed in much smaller ways than we imagine. It appears each time we choose a habit that reflects who we want to become. Each time we apologize instead of defending ourselves. Each time we rest instead of proving our worth. Each time we invest in what matters instead of reacting to what is loudest.

Some parts of our story were never ours to choose. Circumstances, losses, disappointments, and mistakes arrive whether we invited them or not.

But once we know better, once life has handed us the gift of awareness, we inherit something powerful: responsibility. Not responsibility for what happened, but responsibility for who we become next. Perhaps growth is simply the daily practice of allowing our current life to move a little closer to the one that has been quietly waiting for us.

For the month of July, take a few quiet moments to ask yourself:

What does the life beside mine look like? Not the impressive one. Not the expensive one. Not the one someone else expects. The one that feels like home. The one that allows for a bigger breath. The one that says, “I’m safe”. Then choose one small action each day throughout the month that belongs to that person. How would your preferred reality handle stress? What would your voice sound like? What would you eat and drink today that aligns with who you want to be? What would you wear? How would you stand? How would you rest? How would you move if you were in the life right next to you?

There are many trails to take in life and often trails up canyon sides that run parallel, but separate. Different trails, different plants, ecosystems, water sources and light, yet all traveling exceedingly close to one another. One might even take a trail that merges with another trail, four trails leading to the same waterfall, but accessed from different points geographically. 

Your life is potent and powerful. It takes cultivating and listening and pausing and believing. When we settle for the familiar, even when it’s potentially harming us, we miss the chance to sculpt our reality. Thus, my invitation to you this month is to take a moment this summer to consider the life running right next to you. Just as the canyon changes with every passing cloud, we are never as fixed as we imagine. The next version of your life may not be waiting somewhere in the distance. It may be waiting for the very next choice you make.

May this summer be an invitation to take that next step toward the trail running right next to you. You may discover the life you’ve been longing for has been walking beside you all along, patiently waiting for you to notice.

Wishing you a meaningful July!