My Life One Step at a Time

I used to think that life was supposed to happen all at once.

Big dreams. Big changes. Big wins.

But what I’ve come to learn is this—life rarely works like that.

For me, life has happened slowly. Awkwardly. Unevenly.

One step at a time.

I grew up in a quiet town, the kind of place where you know your neighbors, where the seasons still mean something, and where everyone seems to have a plan for their future by the time they’re seventeen. Except me.

At seventeen, I was lost.

While others were applying to colleges and picking majors, I was staring out my bedroom window, wondering what was wrong with me. I wasn’t lazy. I wasn’t ungrateful. I just didn’t know who I was supposed to become.

I remember sitting at the dinner table one night with my family. My mom was talking about scholarships. My dad was checking community college brochures. And my little brother—he was already dreaming of being a firefighter. I felt like I was running in place while everyone else had already taken off.

That night, I wrote in my journal:

"Maybe I’m just behind."

But now, years later, I would rewrite that line to say:

"I wasn’t behind. I was just becoming."

After high school, I didn’t go straight to college. I took a job at the local bookstore instead. The pay wasn’t great, but the peace I felt surrounded by stories and quiet readers was worth every dollar I didn’t earn.

And that job? It was the first step.

Because in that small bookstore, I discovered what I loved: stories, people, patience, and the comfort of small, meaningful moments. I met an elderly woman named Mrs. Carmen who came in every Wednesday. She lost her husband years ago and always bought romance novels to "remind her of the love she still believed in."

She told me once, “You don’t have to rush your life. Love and purpose don’t keep a schedule.”

That stayed with me.

The next step came a year later when I enrolled in a night class on creative writing. I was terrified. Everyone seemed more talented, more confident, more... everything. But I kept showing up. I turned in every assignment. And by the end of the semester, my professor pulled me aside and said, “You have a quiet strength in your writing. Don’t ignore it.”

That encouragement was small—but it shifted something inside me.

Maybe I wasn’t lost.

Maybe I was just walking a slower road.

In my twenties, I faced a lot of uncertainty. I moved out of my parents' house, shared an apartment with two strangers who became best friends, and had a relationship that didn’t end in forever—but taught me what I didn’t want to settle for.

There were nights I cried over rejection letters from magazines I wanted to write for.

There were mornings I stared at the ceiling wondering if I was doing anything right.

But I never stopped walking.

One step.

Then another.

Then another.

Sometimes growth doesn’t look like fireworks.

Sometimes it looks like waking up and trying again.

Sometimes it looks like staying when you want to run.

Sometimes it looks like learning to love yourself on the days when nothing feels lovable.

I’m still not where I thought I’d be by now.

But I’ve learned that “where you are” matters far less than “how you’re moving.”

This morning, I sat at my kitchen table with a cup of coffee and re-read that same journal entry from years ago. The one that said, “Maybe I’m just behind.”

I smiled.

Because the truth is, that girl wasn’t behind. She was just beginning.

And she was doing it bravely—even if she didn’t know it yet.

💬 Moral / Life Lesson:

Life doesn’t happen all at once. It unfolds in quiet, uncertain steps. And that’s okay. You are not behind. You are becoming—at your own pace, in your own way. One step at a time is still progress. Don’t underestimate the journey you’re on simply because it doesn’t look like someone else’s. Your path is yours for a reason. Keep walking.

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Thank you for reading...

Regards: Fazal Hadi