Waiting for the Breakthrough

I've been waiting for the "big breakthrough" for months.

The moment when everything clicks. When the path forward becomes obvious. When I can finally say, "Here's what I'm doing next," with the kind of confidence that makes people nod approvingly instead of tilting their heads with concern.

Plot twist: it's not coming.

Everywhere I look, September whispers reinvention. New routines. New roles. Fresh starts and "leveling up." Social media is full of people announcing their next chapter with polished graphics and clear narratives.

And I've felt that pressure most acutely in my own career transition.

The unspoken rule seems to be: if you don't have a bold next chapter ready to announce, you're already behind. If you're still figuring it out, you're doing it wrong. If you can't package your transition into a tidy story, maybe you're not ready to be taken seriously.

But here's the truth: that pressure wasn't motivating me. It was keeping me stuck.

I kept waiting for clarity before I made a move. I told myself I needed a complete plan, a clear direction, a narrative that made sense to other people before I could start putting myself out there.

So I waited. And revised. And waited some more.

Meanwhile, the posts I wasn't publishing sat in drafts. The ideas I wasn't sharing stayed private. The connections I wasn't making because I didn't feel "ready" just... didn't happen.

I was so busy waiting for transformation that I forgot how growth actually works.

What finally shifted things wasn't a grand plan. It was a messy LinkedIn post I almost didn't share.

I'd written something that felt too unserious, too unpolished: "Reminder: 'Just vibes' is also a valid project plan. End of summer, back-to-school, hockey season... the calendar demands 'progress,' but the reality is vibes are running the show."

It wasn't strategic. It wasn't part of some carefully planned content calendar. It was just me, admitting that I didn't have it all figured out… and that maybe that was okay.

I hesitated before hitting publish.

I posted it anyway.

And it became one of my most engaging posts of the summer.

Not because it was profound. But because it was honest. Because other people were feeling the same pressure to perform progress when they were really just... figuring it out as they went. Because it gave permission to be exactly where we are, even when that place feels messy.

That moment reminded me: sustainable growth doesn't come from waiting for transformation. It comes from showing up, imperfectly, one piece at a time.

The myth of the "big breakthrough" is seductive. It suggests that if we just work hard enough, wait long enough, plan carefully enough, everything will suddenly fall into place. The clouds will part. The path will reveal itself. We'll know exactly what to do next.

But that's not how transition works. At least, not for most of us.

Transition is messy. It's uncertain. It's full of small, unglamorous steps that don't feel significant in the moment but somehow add up to something over time.

It's posting the thing you're not sure about. Having the conversation that feels awkward. Trying something new even though you're not good at it yet. Showing up without knowing exactly what you're building toward.

It's learning that "not ready" doesn't mean "not worthy of being seen."

So I've stopped waiting for the breakthrough. Or at least, I'm trying to.

Instead, I'm asking a different question: What's one small step I can take today, even if it doesn't feel big enough?

Some days, it's writing something and publishing it before I can talk myself out of it. Some days, it's reaching out to someone I haven't talked to in ages. Some days, it's just admitting I don't know what comes next - and being okay with that.

None of it feels like a breakthrough in the moment. But maybe that's the point.

Maybe the breakthrough isn't a single moment. Maybe it's the accumulation of all the small, imperfect steps we take when we stop waiting for permission to start.

I'm still figuring out what comes next. I don't have a polished narrative or a clear five-year plan. I'm still in the messy middle of transition, where nothing feels certain and most days I'm just making it up as I go. Spoiler alert: we’re all faking this adulting thing.

But I'm not waiting anymore. I'm showing up. Imperfectly. One piece at a time.

And maybe that's enough.