When not knowing becomes a skill.
Drifting gets framed as something accidental.
A failure to commit, an inability to decide, a lack of discipline. But I’ve started to think drifting can be a deliberate choice. A way of moving through the world without demanding immediate clarity.
It takes discipline to resist fixing everything in place.
Most of us are trained to look for anchors—definitions, conclusions, proof of progress. To leave something open feels risky, like you’re admitting you don’t know what you’re doing. But sometimes not knowing is the most honest position you can take.
There have been moments when drifting led me somewhere I couldn’t have planned.
A conversation that began without purpose but turned out to matter. An interest I followed for no reason that became something essential. A feeling I didn’t label that eventually revealed its shape.
The more I practice staying open, the more uncertainty feels like home.
It stops being a void you need to escape and becomes a space you can inhabit—somewhere you can pause long enough to notice what actually feels true.
Drift isn’t a flaw. It’s a form of trust.
Longitudes Unclaimed 