The Unbelonging: From Feeling Lost to Finding My Own Game

“Enough of this!” I say to myself often. I used to think this was a bad thing, a self-criticism that made me feel like an accident in a world I wasn’t meant for, a world where everyone else seemed to have found a calm, settled existence.

I’m told most of us feel that way, but it doesn’t help the dread that comes with it. It’s a feeling of unbelonging, a fear you’ll never measure up to the kind of life success others seem to manage. It’s feeling like you have no idea what game we’re all playing. Did you bring a tennis racquet to a cricket match? Did everyone else go yachting instead? I feel that way a lot. And as I result, I walk away from things others feel I really shouldn’t… jobs, opportunities, social indicators of status or success…

There’s a lot no one told me, a lot I wish I had learned earlier. I wish school had taught me financial literacy. I wish my father had taught me about emotional stability and how to keep a steady moral compass. I even wish he had given me permission to pursue music. A part of me still carries a deep resentment for that disconnect.

But I’m learning to see that resentment not as a permanent state, but as a roadmap. The things I wish had been given to me are now the things I get to build for myself, including new messaging foundations. And in doing so, I’m honouring not just the life I wish I had, but the one I’m actively creating.

I’ve come to realise that “Enough of this!” isn’t just a frustration; it’s a gut-level rejection of a conformity trap; of a life I never truly chose. It’s the part of me that refuses to conform to a game with rules I don’t understand. It’s a spark of rebellion that says, “Wait, there’s another way. There’s a different game, and I get to make the rules.”

I also know I can’t spend my life wishing for things, especially those that didn’t happen. What I can do is look at what I have—and I have a lot to be grateful for—and choose to honour and reflect on those things. Whether it’s my partner, home, physical possessions, or my own abilities, ambitions, desires, and, most importantly, intentions.

“Doors & Alleyways” (2023) is, in some ways about this feeling

The greatest act of gratitude isn’t just listing the things I have. It’s looking at what I can do with them and the kind of person I can be. My intention is to be someone who seeks wisdom, even if it’s not given freely. My intention is to honour the desire for music in my soul, even if I’m just playing for myself. My intention is to become emotionally stable and a safe harbour for others, even if I have to teach myself what that means.

This is the new game I’m playing—one where the prize isn’t what I have, but who I choose to become.