“To dwell with out arriving is to discover ways to keep.” ~attributed to the Buddha
For many of my life, I assumed that arriving was the purpose. Like many individuals, I believed maturity would ultimately ship a transparent position, a measure of safety, and a way of belonging I might level to and say, That is it. That is who I’m. I trusted that if I labored truthfully, adopted what mattered, and stayed true to my values, that second would come.
Now, a lot later, I’m dealing with the chance that it by no means will.
I do know I’m not alone on this, even when we don’t usually speak about it. Many people carry an unstated expectation that effort will ultimately resolve into one thing recognizable—one thing secure, legible, and rewarded. When that doesn’t occur, we have a tendency to show inward, assuming we missed one thing or misunderstood the foundations.
Staying, as I perceive it now, means remaining current with out that arrival. It means persevering with to dwell inside a life that doesn’t resolve the way in which we anticipated. This essay is about what it appears like to remain there—and why naming that have issues.
There’s a concern I not often admit, even to myself. It’s not precisely the concern of failure, or growing old, or monetary uncertainty, although all of these are shut by. It’s the concern of being a humiliation. Not publicly. Not dramatically. Quietly. The type that by no means causes a scene however lingers within the background of household life, unstated however felt.
I generally fear that my kids see me as somebody who implied—maybe too casually—that issues would work out. That I’d discover my place. That I’d arrive. I imagined myself as a father who might level to one thing concrete and say, Right here. That is the place I landed.
As a substitute, I really feel like somebody who by no means fairly discovered a spot right here.
A lot of my grownup life unfolded elsewhere—geographically, culturally, creatively. I labored, taught, made issues, contributed. I had function. Nevertheless it usually existed outdoors the seen programs that confer legitimacy. After I tried to totally settle contained in the tradition I returned to, I spotted one thing painful: I didn’t know how you can belong to it, and it didn’t fairly know what to do with me.
That realization got here slowly. Via job functions that went nowhere. Via well mannered rejections. Via the quiet discomfort of being requested, “So what do you do?” and realizing that the reply not match neatly right into a sentence.
What troubles me most isn’t that issues didn’t end up the way in which I anticipated. It’s the concern that this lack of arrival may mirror on my kids—that they could really feel they’ve to elucidate me, or quietly distance themselves, or ponder whether their father believed in one thing that wasn’t true.
That perception—that sincerity, care, and significant work would ultimately translate into safety and recognition—wasn’t one thing I invented. I inherited it. And I handed it on, trusting it will maintain.
Now I’m sufficiently old to query whether or not it ever did.
Getting older has a approach of sharpening these questions. If you’re youthful, disappointment feels provisional. There’s nonetheless time to pivot, to reinvent, to reach later. Because the years go, the story feels much less open-ended. You start to see not solely what you probably did but in addition what you didn’t turn out to be.
And nonetheless—I’m right here.
Nonetheless considering. Nonetheless making an attempt to dwell truthfully. Nonetheless waking every day inside a life that didn’t ship the readability I anticipated, however did ship depth, accountability, and care. Many individuals attain this level quietly, with out language for it, questioning whether or not they’re alone within the reckoning.
I don’t see myself as a tragic determine. I see myself as somebody who didn’t match the story he thought he was imagined to inhabit. Somebody who mistook integrity for forex. Somebody who believed that significant work would naturally result in welcome.
Sometimes, I wake at night time with a humbling thought: What if I misunderstood how the world works? Not in a dramatic approach—however within the sluggish realization that the values I lived by don’t all the time convert into safety or standing.
That concern doesn’t come from dishonesty. It comes from dissonance—from the hole between what we’re advised issues and what’s truly rewarded. And from questioning how these we love will interpret that hole.
There’s a explicit loneliness in feeling like an outsider in your personal tradition. Not exile—only a regular sense that the dominant language by no means fairly landed in your mouth. The language of ambition, certainty, self-promotion. I’ve spent a lot of my life listening greater than declaring, making an attempt to dwell in alignment relatively than ascent.
That approach of being has given me that means. It has additionally left me uncovered.
I wish to be clear about why I’m penning this.
I’m not providing an answer or a lesson. I’m naming an expertise many individuals carry quietly: dwelling with care and intention and nonetheless not arriving the place they thought they’d. I’m writing as a result of naming it might probably soften the isolation round it. Staying is less complicated when it feels shared.
I might form this right into a story of quiet triumph. I might clean the perimeters and counsel that the whole lot labored out ultimately. However that will miss the reality I’m making an attempt to honor. This can be a round story as a result of many lives are round. Nothing right here is resolved. That’s not a failure—it’s merely sincere.
I don’t truly know the way my kids see me. This concern could dwell principally inside me. Nevertheless it speaks to one thing bigger than my circle of relatives. It speaks to how deeply we equate price with visibility, success with legitimacy, and care with measurable outcomes.
I supplied love. I supplied consideration. I supplied presence. I supplied values that don’t match neatly into résumés or retirement plans. Whether or not that can really feel ample, I can’t management.
What I see now’s that our tradition gives little or no language for individuals who age with out trophies. There isn’t any ceremony for quiet contribution. With out markers, we start to doubt ourselves.
Buddhist teachings remind us that clinging—to id, end result, or story—is a supply of struggling. I perceive this intellectually. Emotionally, I nonetheless need my life to make sense in methods others can acknowledge. Letting go of that need isn’t a single second of readability. It’s a each day observe.
Some days I handle it. Different days, the outdated concern returns—that I didn’t turn out to be what I implied I’d, that the ending I anticipated could by no means arrive.
What I’m studying to carry alongside that concern is that this:
A life doesn’t should resolve to be sincere. A guardian doesn’t should arrive to be current. That means doesn’t require ensures.
I didn’t arrive. I could by no means arrive. However I stayed.
I stayed with the folks I really like. I stayed with values that mattered to me. I stayed with work that felt true, even when it didn’t reward me. I stayed with myself when it will have been simpler to vanish into bitterness or efficiency.
To dwell with out arriving isn’t peaceable. It may be humbling. However it’s actual.
And if there’s a function to this essay, it’s merely this: staying counts—even when the ending is unsure, even when the story doesn’t resolve, even when nobody is handing out recognition for it.
Generally staying isn’t the trail to that means. Generally it’s the that means.
About Tony Collins
Edward “Tony” Collins, EdD, MFA, is a documentary filmmaker, author, educator, and incapacity advocate dwelling with progressive imaginative and prescient loss from macular degeneration. His work explores presence, caregiving, resilience, and the quiet energy of small moments. He’s presently finishing books on inventive scholarship and collaborative documentary filmmaking and shares private essays about that means, hope, and incapacity on Substack.
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