When You Wake Up From Your Own Predictability
Thirty years had passed, and suddenly I couldn’t wait three days.
I actually started laughing at myself when I realized it. Thirty years had gone by since I knew this person, and now I was wondering when I might hear from him again.
Thirty years? Apparently manageable.
Three days? Much harder.
A few days earlier, I had reached out to someone I knew a very long time ago. There’s more history there, obviously, but what matters for this story is that the idea came somewhat out of nowhere. I was curious. I wondered who he had become. I wondered if the attraction I remembered would still be there. It is!
Which is interesting, but not nearly as interesting as what the whole thing stirred up in me.
Suddenly I was excited. Curious. Vulnerable enough to have reached out without knowing how he would respond or whether he would respond at all.
And that’s where this became less about him and more about me.
No matter how much work we do on ourselves, how much therapy we’ve had, how much coaching we’ve received or in my case, how much coaching I’ve done there is always more to learn. More to learn about ourselves, more to learn about other people, and definitely more to learn about the ideas we create when we don’t actually have all the information.
I knew this person 30 years ago. I have memories of who he was then, memories of our time together and whatever conclusions my much younger self formed about him. But I know almost nothing about who he is today, and the same would be true for him. He doesn’t really know me either.
Thirty years is a lot of life.
Marriage, divorce, children, careers, loss, success, mistakes, growth and probably a whole lot neither of us saw coming. We are both different people now.
That alone is interesting to me.
I think one of the things that has changed most for me over the years is that I’m more willing now to take a chance without knowing exactly how it will land.
Reaching out required some vulnerability. I didn’t know what his reaction would be. I didn’t know if he would respond at all. And I do think my work in coaching has helped me become more comfortable with moments like that, not because I suddenly know how everything is going to turn out, but because I know myself better now.
I know who I am. I know I’m a better person than I was 30 years ago. Not perfect, and certainly not above sitting around wondering why someone hasn’t texted me in three days, but more comfortable with myself and more willing to take a chance.
Maybe this is what confidence looks like for me now—not knowing how someone will respond, but knowing I’ll be okay either way.
I’ve wondered how I would have felt if I found out he was married. I honestly don’t know because that’s not what happened. My guess is I would have been happy for him and still enjoyed catching up as friends.
What if he hadn’t responded at all? Again, I don’t really know. I probably would have wondered why, made up a few stories about it, eventually realized I was never going to know the answer and moved on until my next fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants idea struck.
Because apparently I have those.
What actually happened is that he did respond, and the whole thing gave me all the good feels. The curiosity, the excitement, the anticipation, the vulnerability, and the fact that something unexpected had suddenly entered my very predictable week.
And maybe that is what has made me smile the most.
The timing.
I’ve been writing about boredom and predictability and what happens when our lives become so familiar that very little surprises us anymore. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, this thought shows up: Reach out to him.
I did.
And I can’t help seeing a little smile from God in the timing of it. A wink that says, Okay, you’ve been talking about wanting more surprise. Let’s see if you’ll actually do something when it shows up.
Apparently I will.
Maybe something comes from this reconnection. Maybe nothing does. I genuinely have no idea.
I don’t know who he is today, whether we’ll keep talking or what any of this will ultimately mean.
I just know I’m glad I followed the thought.
It made me smile. It made me curious. It gave me something I wasn’t expecting.
And apparently, after waiting thirty years, three days can still feel like an eternity.
“Less Noise. More You.”
A gentle note from me
Everything I share here comes from my own lived experience and the work I am actively doing in my own life. This space is for reflection, encouragement, and gentle practice — it is not therapy, medical advice, or a substitute for professional mental health care. If something in this post lands heavier than you expected, or surfaces something that feels bigger than a tender moment, please reach out to a licensed therapist, counselor, or trusted healthcare provider. Coaching is a beautiful complement to that kind of support, never a replacement for it. Other content you may enjoy:
* This post may contain affiliate links, which means I may earn a small commission (at no extra cost to you) if you decide to purchase through my links. 
Hi! I’m Sandra
I help women whose lives look good on the outside but no longer feel like their own start choosing themselves again.
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