On the off chance that my alarm wakes me up before my internal clock, It’s not a gentle nudge. It’s the daily launch sequence into a world that feels both impossibly vast and frustratingly narrow. Single, living in a city that promises everything but delivers mostly overwhelming choice, I’m not just looking for a future, I’m looking to find a map, the compass, and possibly even the right continent. I have ADHD, and my brain, a brilliant, tireless supercomputer, often feels like it’s running 50 programs at once, none of them fully optimized. “lost” feels like my default setting. Not physically, I can usually find my way to the grocery store. But existentially. My peers, or so it so it seems from the curated squares of Instagram, and pieces of information randomly gathered, throughout hyperspace, and other random places. Seem to be confidently articulating their five-year plans. My five-year plan has never begun, and if it even started, it would change three times before I even get out of bed.

There is the “Too Much” and “Not Enough” of the ADHD mind. This feeling isn’t just a mood; it’s a constant feedback loop shaped by my ADHD. Life is “too much” in its sensory input, its endless tasks, its executive function demands. Every email is a potential rabbit hole, even if its junk mail, every choice a monumental multi-step project, every conversation a labyrinth of tangents. The sheer volume of things to do and things to remember creates a mental rattle. Decisions, even small ones, can be paralyzing. “What do I want for dinner?” can spiral into an hour-long debate with myself about nutritional value, cooking time, dishes to use, ingredients to use, or if I even have them, only to end up with a bag of chips, my usual go to.

Yet, simultaneously, there’s the “not enough.” A gnawing sense that I’m underachieving, that my potential is being squandered by forgetfulness or a struggle to maintain focus. The hyperfocus that makes me a wizard at a new, exciting project can vanish as quickly as it appeared, leaving a trail of half-finished hobbies and brilliant but unexecuted ideas. The quiet moments, meant for reflection, can become “deafening silence”. Where imposter syndrome and self-doubt echo loudly. Why can’t I just do the things I know I should? Why does everyone else seem to have it together?

Looking for “My future” is less about choosing a path and more about trying to see one through a dense fog. Traditional career trajectories feel alien. The idea of committing to one thing for decades fills me with a restless dread, yet the constant shifting leaves me feeling like an amateur. What if I pick the wrong future? What if I get bored? What if I start something and can’t finish it? My relationships, too, are impacted. The spontaneity and vivacity of her ADHD personality can be charming, but the challenges with consistency, memory, or the occasional blurting out of an unfiltered thought can be misunderstood. Being single, I crave a connection, but I often feel a barrier – a fear of being “found out” as disorganized or “too much” for someone else.

I am slowly, tentatively, learning that art of “restless stillness.” It’s not about curing my ADHD, I know it is part of who I am and have always leaned as far away as possible from it, because I didn’t believe it was real, or I didn’t believe it was an issue, and all the things my ADHD brain was telling me. But now I realize after many many years of avoiding it, and ignoring it, I must take it on straight ahead and find strategies to navigate its currents.

Externalizing the Chaos: I am embracing the tools: A website, a blog, digital reminders, Anything I can do that is a deliberate attempt to offload mental clutter.

Micro-Goals: Instead of “figure out my career,” I focus on “research ADHD once a week” or “write a blog post about the struggle.” Small, achievable steps chip away at the overwhelming mountain.

Embracing My Strengths: My ADHD also means creativity, rapid problem-solving, incredible resilience, and a unique perspective. I’m learning to lean into these, seeking environments where her unconventional thinking is an asset, not a hindrance.

Self-Compassion: This is the hardest part. Letting go of the shame, forgiving myself for forgetting, for procrastinating, for being “different.” Understanding that my brain works differently, not defectively. Seeking Connection (The Right Kind): Instead of aiming for perfect relationships, I’m looking for people who appreciate my authentic self, who understand my neurodivergence, or at least are willing to learn.

My future isn’t a straight line. It’s more like a vibrant, interconnected web, constantly growing and shifting. I’m learning that “Lost” isn’t a permanent state, but a temporary feeling in a journey of discovery. The compass might spin wildly at time, but with practice, I am finding my own true north, not by fighting the whirlwind of my mind, but by learning to strut within it. The path ahead is unclear, but for the first time, I’m starting to believe that the most exciting parts of my future will emerge precisely because of, not despite, my restless brain.