Posted on 14/09/2025
When you fail at something, it’s easy to keep looking back. You replay how you wanted everything to go under your will. What if what happened was according to your own plan?
Why is it so? Because you think that what you want is the best for you. That belief makes every “what if” louder and every loss feel heavier.
I still feel that little sting when I imagine the flights I won’t take, the uniforms I won’t wear, the airports I won’t get lost in.
What is much better than easily flying to different countries, for free, and even getting paid? None. It’s like the ultimate life for me (aside from settling down and being happily ever after with my own family). That fantasy was vivid and sweet, and losing it felt like losing a big, perfect world.
However, since I know that my chances of becoming a flight attendant are now zero, I redirect my thoughts to the future. Instead of staying stuck in regret, I try to imagine what could come next.
But, because the future is uncertain, and only God knows it, I start worrying about it. In the past, I was never really that worried about the future. I’m an INFP type and kind of optimistic towards the future (this optimistic nature itself ‘killed’ me when my dream future was crushed. I feel like a moron who only knows how to daydream).
Being worried about the present (and crazily, about the past) makes me restless. It pulls me into a loop of “if onlys” and “why me.” It’s easy to think that God will abandon me like He did when my dream was crushed.
But since I have this desire to make my condition better, I slowly learn to switch my thinking. It doesn’t happen overnight; it’s more like tiny course corrections—a thought here, a decision there.
I try to let God do the rest. My fight had ended; now it’s God’s turn. That thinking makes me do nothing but live in the moment. Living in the moment doesn’t mean giving up; for me, it means paying attention to what I can do now.
I’m still scared to dream again and set big goals, so I just live my life trying not to think too much. Sometimes “not thinking too much” is my way of protecting a fragile heart.
Now I use my time to rebuild my business and start blogging seriously (this is not my main blog, though). I practice small daily habits that feel doable—such as writing short drafts. Also exploring new skills and opportunities, such as AI, that could support my life in the future. AI feels strange and exciting at the same time; it might open doors I didn’t know existed. I don’t know which skills and opportunities would really work, but at least I’m trying.
I’d try everything to continue my life. I might still be wounded, but I need to survive. Some wounds are slow to heal, and that’s okay. I might not know God’s real plans behind my failure, but He sure wants me to stay alive.
So I keep going—awkward, hopeful, and a little scared—because surviving is sometimes the bravest thing you can do.
