Which Life to Live…
Have you ever felt like there’s a whole world out there, waiting for you to explore, but you just can’t decide where to begin? I know I have.
A hundred years ago, being 23 meant your life was probably already decided for you. Maybe you were running the family business, raising kids, or working a job you didn’t choose but inherited. The world was smaller, your choices fewer, and the idea of stepping outside the life you were handed? For most people, it wasn’t even a thought.
Now, the world is so interconnected it feels like you could go anywhere, do anything, be anyone. But that openness comes with its own weight. Having the whole world at your feet doesn’t make it easier to step forward—it makes it harder to choose which way to go. At 23, you’re expected to be figuring it out, but all the possibilities just make you wonder: Am I already behind?
I’m 23 years old, and somehow, I feel like I’ve already lived 30 different lives. Which is funny because most of those lives involve me saying, “This time I’ll get it together.” Spoiler: I didn’t. The more I think about my life, the more the world feels like a small, manageable place—but also, like an overwhelming, never-ending void of possibilities. Some days, that’s exhilarating. Other days, it’s like, Why did I sign up for this ride?
Case in point: recently, I went on a desert tour in Dubai with my best friend. We met this cute Italian couple—mid-thirties, very in love, living in their small hometown, and having a life so different from ours that it felt like we were in a rom-com directed by two separate filmmakers. They needed help translating between Italian and English, which we happily did. We told them about our lives: the languages we know, the places we’ve lived, and how we’ve somehow ended up there.
Then came the question. “I’m sorry, girls, but how old are you?” When we said 23, their faces froze. “It feels like you’ve already lived so many lives,” they said.
And honestly? I didn’t know what to do with that. To me, nothing about my life felt extraordinary. I mean, yes, I’ve moved around, learned a few languages, and adapted to different cultures, but isn’t that just…life? Turns out, no. To them, it wasn’t normal. To them, it was a whole cinematic experience.
That moment hit me hard. Not because I think I’m some globe-trotting genius, but because it made me realize how much of what I think is normal isn’t, and how many barriers make the world feel massive and impossible for other people. Geographic barriers, language barriers, financial ones, and the worst of them all: the thought that whispers, this isn’t for me.
Let me tell you—that barrier? It’s the boss level of limitations. It sneaks into your head and tells you all the reasons why you can’t, shouldn’t, or won’t. And it doesn’t just come from inside you. It’s backed up by society whispering the same thing in surround sound. Here’s the wicked part, though: most of those barriers are nonsense. No, really. They’re things we made up. The more I’ve traveled, the more I’ve realized that breaking through them is a lot less complicated than we think. Moving to a new country? Not that hard. Learning a new language? Annoying but manageable. Feeling like you belong somewhere new? Okay, that one takes a minute, but it happens. The secret is that the world isn’t as hard to figure out as we make it seem.
But here’s where it gets tricky: not everyone has the chance to learn that. Some barriers are harder to break through than others—whether it’s a lack of resources or just the weight of fear and doubt. And not everyone gets to see the world as something they can figure out. That thought stays with me.
I think about how many people will never see the world the way I do. And not in some oh, look at me, I’m so enlightened kind of way. It’s just that I’ve been lucky enough to unlearn the belief that life has to be small or limited. I’ve been lucky enough to realize that most barriers aren’t walls—they’re flimsy curtains you can push aside, if you’re willing to try.
That’s not to say I don’t get scared. Oh, I get scared a lot. I’ve stood in new places, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, and thought, Why did I think I could do this? But here’s the thing: every time, without fail, I’ve figured it out. And every time, I’ve reminded myself that the world isn’t as unreachable as it looks.
Still, it’s not always easy. Some days, the world feels huge in a paralyzing way. There are too many places I’ll never see, too many experiences I’ll never have, too many versions of me that I’ll never meet. It’s like staring at a buffet that’s way too big and realizing you can only eat one plate (two if you’re ambitious). That realization can feel heavy.
“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”
For me, my life looks like that fig tree right now, branches stretching out in every direction. Each branch represents a different version of who I could be: a life in Denmark, a life in Italy, a life of moving to a new country every couple of years. One branch is about being a writer, another about working in the business world, and there are branches for the friends, my family, the relationships, and the places I’ve discovered and loved. Every fig on that tree beckons with the promise of a future I could choose, but the more I stare at it, the more I wonder: How do I pick just one?
That’s why some days, the world feels huge in a paralyzing way. But other days? Other days, it’s exhilarating. Knowing there are still so many lives out there, waiting for me to stumble into them? That’s the kind of thought that makes you feel invincible.
Since that moment, I’ve been thinking about that Italian couple a lot. The look on their faces when they realized how different our lives were. I wonder if they know how incredible their life must look to someone else. I wonder what they dream about, and if they feel stuck behind their own barriers sometimes.
At 23, I know I’ve only scratched the surface. Somewhere out there, there are new cities, new people, and new stories waiting to collide with mine. That thought is both terrifying and thrilling, but honestly why would you have it any other way?
If the world feels too big or unreachable, remind yourself that most of the limits we feel are just that—feelings. They’re not real, and they don’t have to hold you back. Wherever you land, you’ll figure it out. You always do. And that’s the beauty of life. It’s messy, unpredictable, and sometimes hilariously absurd—but it’s always, always worth it.
Lots of love,
Elena
