We tell ourselves, don’t we? “Just for now.” “A temporary assignment.” “I’ll save up for a few years, then I’m out.” The human capacity for self-deception, particularly when it comes to time, is boundless. We imagine life as a series of deliberate choices, a carefully navigated path. The truth, however, is far more unsettling. Life’s most significant decisions are often not made through conscious, active choice at all, but through the insidious creep of passive inertia. The ‘temporary’ gradually becomes permanent, one unnoticed year blending into the next, until we wake up one day in a life we never consciously designed, feeling as if we’ve merely waved back at someone else’s beckoning, a life that was never truly ours.

The Twenty-Year Detour

Take Felix L. I met him at a conference 9 months ago, a man who, at 59, had become a renowned elder care advocate. His story was a masterclass in the twenty-year detour. He’d initially moved to the city 29 years ago, fresh out of university, with a meticulously detailed five-year plan. His goal was to work in corporate finance, save a specific amount – I believe it was exactly $99,779, earmarked for an entrepreneurial venture in sustainable agriculture – and then return to his rural roots. He took a ‘temporary’ job in administration at a small nursing home to cover rent while looking for a finance position. He was good at it, surprisingly empathetic. The residents loved him. The management offered him a raise after 9 months. Then another. He found himself spending his lunch breaks listening to stories, advocating for better conditions, organizing small, joyful events for the elderly residents. The finance job hunt slowed, then stopped.

He didn’t notice the precise moment the ‘temporary’ shifted its weight into ‘permanent.’ It wasn’t a grand decision, more a slow, almost imperceptible settling. He simply found himself, at 49, with a mortgage, a community, and a deep-seated passion for a career he’d never planned. He still harbored a faint echo of that agricultural dream, a whisper he’d occasionally silence by telling himself he was doing good work, which he absolutely was. But it wasn’t *his* good work, not the one that had ignited his spirit at 29. He once confessed, with a wry smile, that he kept telling himself he’d start looking for that finance job again, “next month.” For 19 years, ‘next month’ never came.

The Subtle Cage of Inertia

It’s easy to judge Felix, or that younger version of myself staring at a journal of unfulfilled dreams. But I’ve been there. I have a vivid memory, still a little raw, of finding myself packing boxes for yet another move, 9 years ago, to a city I’d never intended to live in for more than a year. I was following a professional opportunity, a truly promising one, and kept telling myself it was a temporary sacrifice. Three years in, I was still repeating the mantra, but my roots were already digging deep into concrete, not soil. My social circle was robust, my routines entrenched. The temporary had become a comfortable, albeit unplanned, cage.

I criticized myself for it, of course, the failure to execute on a clear vision. But perhaps that’s the wrong lens. The real mistake isn’t necessarily deviating from a plan; it’s failing to recognize the deviation and then deliberately choosing a new path, or recommitting to the old one. It’s the passive drift, the quiet surrender to the momentum of ‘what is’ rather than the active pursuit of ‘what could be.’

The Necessity of Friction

We need friction. We need resistance. We need moments of deliberate pause where we shove aside the accumulated clutter of obligation and expectation, and ask ourselves, brutally honestly: Is this still my story? Or am I just a character in someone else’s, or worse, a character in a story I accidentally stumbled into 19 years ago?

This isn’t about regret. Regret is a parasitic emotion, feeding on what cannot be changed. This is about agency. It’s about recognizing that every single day presents a tiny fork in the road, and while many of them are inconsequential, some are highway exits to entirely different futures. We might ignore those signs, or miss them entirely, believing we’re still on the main road until we’re 19, 29, or even 59 miles down a path we never chose.

Reclaiming Authorship

What happens when the ‘just for now’ turns into the entire rest of your life? This question, haunting and persistent, is the driving force behind so many of the major life shifts we witness. It’s the jolt that pushes people to uproot their lives, to pivot careers, to finally pursue that long-dormant dream, or even to formalize a life they’ve accidentally built abroad. It’s the moment of conscious awakening where the map for the last 19 years is finally crumpled, and a new one begins to be drawn.

This isn’t just an exercise in introspection; it’s a practical necessity. Whether it’s mapping out a new career trajectory, making an intentional move, or finally securing the legal framework for the life you’ve found yourself living, these aren’t minor adjustments. They are fundamental shifts in authorship. For those navigating the complexities of international living and formalizing their presence in a new country, services like Premiervisa become not just logistical aids, but crucial partners in reclaiming that authorship.