BEFORE THE ANSWER
Why orientation often matters more than deciding what’s next.
Welcome to Issue #041 of Sojourn. Each week, I share two original essays to help you slow down, reconnect, and rebuild with intention — in a private community that uses travel as a path to reinvention.
There’s a kind of stuckness that doesn’t come from not knowing what to do.
It comes from knowing too much.
Most people I talk to already have a ‘list’ in their head…
Things they could try.
Paths they’ve considered.
Moves they’ve taken quietly, sometimes late at night.
The problem isn’t that they don’t have options.
It’s that none of them feel right anymore.
So they wait.
Or they rush.
Or they choose something just because.
And later, they wonder why the decision didn’t bring the results they expected.
What’s missing usually isn’t motivation or discipline.
It’s orientation.
Orientation is much different from answers.
It’s not about knowing what comes next.
It’s about understanding where you are before you decide to move.
And honestly, most of us skip that part.
We skip it because stillness feels awkward.
Because pausing feels like falling behind.
Because we don’t quite know how to explain it to others, or even to ourselves.
And I get it.
So we move.
We choose.
We act.
Sometimes it works.
Sometimes it doesn’t.
Orientation on the other hand begins quietly.
Often when you start noticing the difference between noise and signal.
Noise is loud.
It shows up as rushed, opinions, advice, timelines.
It sounds like “you should already know this by now.”
Signal is softer.
It’s the thing you keeps showing up in your thoughts, even when you try not to.
A discomfort you’ve been putting aside.
A sense that something doesn’t fit the way it used to, even if you can’t fully explain why.
For a long time, I thought clarity came from having more information.
More input. More thinking. More effort.
But more often than not, clarity comes from subtraction.
From removing what doesn’t belong anymore.
From admitting what you’ve outgrown… even if you don’t yet know what replaces it.
Disorientation also has a way of showing up when something has already ended… but hasn’t been named.
A role you stayed in too long.
A version of yourself you kept performing.
A voice you’ve continued molding to fit expectations.
A chapter that quietly closed, even though you didn’t make it official.
We try to move forward without acknowledging that ending.
But unfinished things don’t just stay quiet.
They follow us. They tug at us. They ‘blur’ what comes next.
Sometimes orientation doesn’t arrive because we’re asking new questions
while an old one is still waiting to be answered.
Then there’s environment:
the part we almost always underestimate.
In travel, this is obvious.
We don’t expect someone who’s exhausted to feel clear in the middle of stimulation.
We give them space. Time. Rest.
We let them ‘arrive’ before asking anything of them.
In life, we rarely do that to ourselves.
We pack ourselves when we’re depleted.
We stay busy when what we need is space.
We push for answers when what’s missing is time alone.
Orientation improves when your surroundings support where you are,
not where you think you should be by now.
Sometimes clarity doesn’t come because the environment simply won’t allow it.
Good travel design understands this intuitively.
You arrive and before you think differently, your body does.
In life and work, we have to be more intentional about it.
We have to slow down enough to notice what’s true.
To admit what’s no longer working.
To let direction guide us instead of forcing it.
Movement without orientation isn’t progress.
It’s just motion.
And motion, without meaning, eventually leads back to the same place, only more tired.
Orientation often comes before answers.
That’s something I keep relearning… not once, but over and over again.
And it’s why Sojourn exists.
Not to rush decisions.
Not to tell you what to do.
But to create space, the kind that lets you see where you actually are, without pressure to resolve it immediately.
Sometimes the most honest question isn’t what’s next?
It’s where am I, really?
Everything that matters tends to make sense from there.
~Ana