Choose How You Want to Live: When the Way You Live No Longer Reflects What You Want

The water runs over my shoulders as I stand beneath the shower. I can hear it striking the floor, a steady familiar sound that fills the room and softens everything beyond it.

For a few minutes, there is nowhere else I need to be.

I let the water run over me, enjoying the feeling of being still while everything around me continues moving.

I have always loved this time of day. The shower is where I often find myself making promises, reaching decisions or imagining something I would love to create. There is something about having a little space to myself that allows ideas to take shape without being interrupted.

Yet this morning, something feels different.

I am unsettled.

I can't point to one particular thing that is wrong. I know why I am in Western Australia, helping care for Dad, and I am grateful to be here. My days have a different rhythm, with responsibilities that require me to adjust my usual routines.

I can do that for two weeks.

The thought of continuing indefinitely, though, brings a different feeling.

I recognise how much I miss the ordinary things that help me feel like myself. The freedom to organise my mornings. The time to think without interruption. The satisfaction of sitting down to write and allowing an idea to develop.

As I stand beneath the water, I notice that what I am missing isn't simply a routine.

It is the feeling of being in alignment with how I want to live.

My mind begins wandering towards home.

For years, FIFO has shaped our family life. My husband works away, and when he is home, we adjust to being together again. We have become familiar with that rhythm, making room for family, work and the different demands of everyday life.

Now our circumstances are changing.

I imagine sitting in my office, with the kitchen just nearby. I can almost hear the fridge opening, the toaster popping and the sounds of someone moving around while I am trying to follow a thought onto the page.

They are ordinary sounds. Sounds that belong in a home.

Yet I know how easily an interrupted thought can disappear before I have found the words to express it.

I begin picturing our mornings together.

There is something lovely about the opportunity to share more of our everyday lives. I imagine having coffee together, enjoying conversations without the pressure of another FIFO departure and having greater freedom to decide what we would like to do.

At the same time, I find myself wanting to protect the space I need for my work.

For twenty years, I found ways to create routines around the needs of our family, often fitting my own work and interests around everything else. More recently, I've had greater freedom to develop a rhythm that supports my thinking, writing and creating.

I enjoy that freedom.

And I enjoy sharing my life with my husband.

Both matter.

As the water continues running, I begin recognising what has been sitting underneath my unsettled feelings.

I don't want to return home and gradually become frustrated because we haven't considered how our days might work together.

I don't want him to feel restricted by my routines, either.

I want us to enjoy this opportunity.

My thoughts move towards the many homes and places we have lived over the years. At least eight moves, each bringing a different environment and another opportunity to imagine what life might become.

I remember how much I have enjoyed picturing a lifestyle before we created it. Exploring the possibilities, imagining what we might experience and finding ways to bring those ideas into our lives.

Then I think about Cairns.

That move was different. We found ourselves responding to circumstances rather than creating the lifestyle first, and I concentrated on making sure the girls were okay, my husband was okay and I was okay.

I know how to respond when life requires it.

Yet I also know how much I enjoy creating something deliberately.

The water is still running, and I find myself returning to the question that brought me here.

What helps me find my balance?

Perhaps the answer isn't another routine or a better way to manage interruptions.

Perhaps it begins with recognising what I genuinely want, understanding what matters to the person sharing my life and being willing to have the conversations that help us discover what could work.

I don't know exactly what our next stage will look like.

For now, I can feel the difference between waiting to see what happens and beginning to imagine what we might create.

I don't want us to drift into our next way of living. I want us to choose it.

Notice When You Are No Longer Choosing

The first part of making a genuine choice is recognising when something about the way we are living no longer feels right.

Sometimes that recognition arrives through an obvious experience. We are unhappy in a particular situation, frustrated by a repeated problem or aware that something important needs to change.

Other times, the clues are much quieter.

We may feel unsettled when our routines are interrupted, irritated by things that wouldn't normally bother us or increasingly tired of adjusting to everyone else's needs.

The behaviour is worth noticing.

Yet the behaviour is not necessarily the answer.

It is the clue.

We can be quick to interpret these experiences as evidence that we need to become more organised, more patient or better at managing our responsibilities.

Sometimes those things help.

Sometimes the difficulty is that the arrangements we are trying to manage no longer reflect what matters to us.

A routine can become so familiar that we stop recognising it as something we have helped create.

Perhaps you began working particular hours because they suited your family when your children were young. Years later, those responsibilities have changed, yet the routine remains.

Maybe you became the person everyone turns to when something needs organising. You are good at it, and you genuinely enjoy contributing, but gradually the expectation has grown until you rarely have time for things you would love to do for yourself.

There may be nothing particularly wrong with the way you are living.

It may simply no longer reflect the person you are becoming.

I think this is where our understanding of ourselves becomes particularly valuable.

We each have preferences, interests, values and capabilities that influence the way we enjoy experiencing life.

Some people love structure. Others need greater flexibility. Some feel most comfortable with regular opportunities for connection, while others value time alone to think, concentrate or recharge.

We may enjoy different things at different stages of our lives, and the conditions that once supported us may need to change as our circumstances evolve.

For me, having uninterrupted time to think and write is important.

It is part of how I explore ideas, develop my work and express something meaningful about who I am.

These experiences are not simply activities to fit into the spaces left over after everything else is completed.

They may be important parts of how we recognise ourselves.

When we stop making room for them, the impact can extend beyond the activity itself. We may begin feeling that something is missing without immediately understanding what it is.

That doesn't necessarily mean we need to change everything about our lives.

It may mean there is something we need to make room for again.

Sometimes finding our balance begins with recognising which parts of ourselves we have stopped allowing into our everyday lives.

The River and the Paddle

I have started thinking about our choices as though we are travelling along a river.

Imagine stepping into a small boat and allowing the current to carry you downstream.

At first, the movement may feel quite pleasant. The scenery is changing, the water is flowing and there is very little you need to do.

You can simply enjoy the journey.

Then you notice that the river is taking you somewhere you hadn't intended to go.

Perhaps you recognise a turn you would rather have taken or discover that the current is carrying you further away from a place you wanted to explore.

You can continue drifting and hope you eventually arrive somewhere you like.

Or you can begin considering what influence you have over your direction.

You cannot change the entire river. You cannot decide how quickly the water flows, remove every obstacle or guarantee that the conditions will always suit you.

Yet you may discover that you have a paddle.

The paddle doesn't give you control over everything.

It gives you an opportunity to participate in navigating the journey.

I think we can experience something similar in everyday life.

A responsibility appears, and we adjust. Someone needs something from us, and we respond. Our circumstances change, so we develop a new routine that helps us manage what is happening.

Over time, those responses can become the familiar structure of our lives.

We may continue doing things simply because that is what we have always done.

We don't necessarily stop to consider whether the arrangements are still appropriate, whether they reflect what matters to us or whether other possibilities have become available.

Then one day, we notice that the life we are managing is no longer quite the life we would choose to create.

That can feel unsettling.

We may believe our only options are to continue as we are or change everything.

Yet perhaps the first thing we need to recognise is that we have been allowing the current to determine more of our direction than we realised.

The circumstances may influence the journey, but they do not always have to make every choice for us.

Understand What Influences How You Choose

Having choices available does not always mean we feel free to make them.

Someone may know they want more time for themselves yet continue agreeing to responsibilities they no longer have the capacity to manage.

Another person may want to explore something different but feel uncomfortable because they have become known for being successful in a particular role.

The options may exist. The person may even know what they would prefer.

Yet something influences whether they feel able to choose.

I explored a similar idea in a recent Success Code coaching session about leadership and authenticity.

We considered how our greatest strengths can gradually become qualities other people expect us to maintain.

Someone becomes known for being reliable, so people continually depend on them. Another person is admired for being capable, so they are given more responsibility.

These are valuable qualities, and we may be proud of them.

Yet something can happen when we begin believing we must always be the person everyone knows.

We hesitate to ask for help because we are supposed to be capable. We feel uncomfortable saying no because we are known for being generous.

The strength hasn't become a problem.

The expectation has begun limiting our choices.

This is one of the reasons I have become increasingly interested in what influences whether we make a genuine choice.

Through my coaching work, I have explored seven patterns that can influence the way people pursue what they want.

Sometimes our choices are shaped by beliefs about whether we are good enough, worthy, significant, capable or accepted.

Sometimes we are trying to move away from something we don't want to experience again.

We may believe our options are limited, seek approval from someone important, become attached to a particular outcome or allow circumstances to decide because we haven't consciously chosen anything.

At other times, we pursue something because we believe it will finally give us a feeling or experience we haven't recognised that we genuinely want.

These patterns are not always obvious.

A decision can look perfectly reasonable from the outside while being influenced by something the person hasn't yet understood.

This connects with an idea I have explored through the work of Chris Duncan, author of You're Not Broken.

Chris distinguishes between approaching life through problems we are trying to resolve and choosing what we would genuinely love to create.

When our choices are organised primarily around escaping an unwanted experience or proving something about ourselves, we may continue responding to the very problem we are trying to leave behind.

A creative orientation begins somewhere different.

What would I want more of?

That question asks us to consider what we want for its own sake, rather than simply what might remove a problem or satisfy an expectation.

I find this particularly relevant when thinking about our everyday lives.

I don't want to create a routine with my husband simply to avoid interruptions, frustration or disagreements.

I want us to create a way of living we both enjoy.

Of course, we will need to consider practical matters. We may have different preferences, and there will be times when circumstances require flexibility.

Yet the starting point can still be what we would love our shared days to become.

That is a different orientation from waiting for difficulties to arise and then trying to resolve each one.

It allows us to consider the life we want to create, while recognising that the people involved may have different ideas about how that life should work.

And that introduces another part of genuine choice.

Sometimes we know what matters to us, yet making a choice brings us into conflict with something else we also value.

We may want independence and connection. Freedom and security. Time for ourselves and time with the people we love.

Those competing needs do not automatically mean one is wrong.

They may simply reveal something we need to understand more clearly.

A genuine choice begins with recognising what matters to us and what is influencing the way we choose.

Make Room for Choices That Include Other People

Understanding what we want is one thing. Creating it alongside people who have their own needs, preferences and priorities is something else.

We can be clear about what matters to us and still find ourselves facing competing expectations. We may want more independence while valuing connection, or need uninterrupted time while also wanting to be available for someone we love.

These differences don't automatically mean something is wrong. They may simply reveal that two people are experiencing the same circumstances differently.

For my husband and me, the next stage of our lives will involve conversations we haven't yet had. I know which routines help me think, write and create. He is still discovering what his days might look like, and I want us both to have room to explore what this new opportunity could mean.

I will probably initiate some of those conversations because imagining possibilities and creating a way forward comes naturally to me. Yet the answers need to belong to both of us.

We may discover that some routines can remain unchanged, while others need to be negotiated. We may also discover possibilities neither of us had considered.

What matters is being willing to express what we want, listen to each other and create something we can both enjoy.

Being true to yourself doesn't mean creating a life that only works for you.

The Cost of Living by Default

There is effort involved in making genuine choices. We may need to question familiar routines, reconsider expectations or have conversations that feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes it seems easier to continue with what we already know.

Yet there is also a cost to allowing life to unfold without considering whether it still reflects what matters to us.

We can become increasingly skilled at managing responsibilities, responding to interruptions and solving problems without noticing how little time remains for the things we genuinely enjoy.

The cost may not be dramatic. It might appear as frustration, resentment or a persistent feeling that something is out of balance.

We may continue meeting everyone's expectations while quietly recognising that the life we are maintaining is not quite the life we would choose today.

That doesn't mean abandoning responsibilities or changing direction whenever something becomes difficult.

It means recognising when circumstances have begun making choices we might prefer to make for ourselves.

We can become very good at managing a life we never consciously chose.

Start Choosing Here

As I think about my shower reflection, I realise that finding my balance isn't about creating a perfectly organised life. It is about creating a life that reflects who I genuinely am, while making room for the people who share it with me.

I know there will be changes when I return home. Some of my routines will stay, others will need to be reconsidered, and there will be conversations my husband and I need to have before we discover what works for both of us.

I don't need to know exactly what those arrangements will look like yet.

What matters is that we choose to create them together rather than simply allow our circumstances to decide.

Perhaps you recognise something similar in your own life. There may be something you have been accepting, avoiding or continuing simply because it has become familiar.

Before deciding what needs to change, consider what you genuinely want and what might be influencing your choices.

There may be conflicting needs to understand, expectations to reconsider or a conversation that would help you see something differently.

You don't have to control every circumstance or have everyone agree with you to make a genuine choice.

Sometimes finding your balance begins with recognising that you still have a paddle, even when you cannot control the river.

You can choose how you want to live, even when you cannot choose every circumstance in which you live.