Destiny Has Packed Its Bags

I have a talent. I can ruin my entire life in under five minutes. In fact, I’ve probably ruined it at least seventeen times this year. (I like to think so)

One slightly inconvenient email. One delayed reply. One opportunity that slips through.

And suddenly I’m like, “Well. That’s it. Destiny has packed its bags. It was nice while it lasted.” Miss one opportunity? The downfall has begun. Make one wrong decision?
Congratulations. You’ve officially derailed your future. Please enjoy the consequences of your one mistake.

It’s exhausting being this dramatic. But somewhere between overthinking and over-praying, a question started sitting in my chest, quietly, stubbornly:

If everything is already written…if somewhere the ending is sealed…Then why am I acting like I control the universe? Why does it feel like everything depends on me and at the same time, nothing does? Why am I carrying outcomes that may not even belong to me?

And if it’s all written…why does my effort still feel so important?

There’s a specific spiral that hits at 1:47 AM. You’re lying in bed. The room is quiet. The ceiling fan spins like it knows something you don’t. Your phone lights up your face but not your future.

And your brain? Running simulations of ten different lives that haven’t even happened (This is where my yapper brain thrives. We’ll unpack that chaos another day.)

This exhaustion doesn’t come from work. It comes from wondering.

If the universe already knows how this story ends, if destiny has stamped things “Approved” or “Denied”…

Then why am I refreshing my email like my fate is hiding in my inbox? Why am I calculating timelines as if God is waiting for my approval before proceeding? Why am I holding the pen so tightly if I’m not the only one writing the story?

For the longest time, I thought destiny meant fixed. Sealed envelope. Open when you arrive. Simple. Even comforting. But the more I’ve lived, the less that explanation holds. Because if everything were that fragile, if one wrong turn could permanently ruin the map life would collapse way too easily.

Maybe destiny isn’t delicate. Maybe it has structure. Markers. Stops. Maybe it has checkpoints.

The Checkpoint Theory

For a long time, I treated life like it was one fragile route on a map. Like one unexpected result or one silence that lasted too long could permanently mess up everything. It’s dramatic. I know.

But when you think like that, every choice feels heavy. Like it carries the weight of your entire future. Lately, I’ve been questioning that. What if life isn’t that delicate? What if it’s built with checkpoints?

Not dramatic ones. Not neon signs flashing BIG LIFE MOMENT AHEAD. Just quiet stops along the way, moments you’re meant to reach, even if you don’t realise it at the time.

And at each checkpoint, something waits. Not always something shiny.

Sometimes it’s an opportunity.
Sometimes it’s rejection that nudges you somewhere better.
Sometimes it’s a lesson you absolutely did not sign up for.
And sometimes, it’s a version of you that’s stronger than the one panicking right now.

What’s waiting there might already be aligned. But you still have to get there.

Destiny may decide what’s waiting. Your effort decides whether you arrive and who you are when you do.

And here’s what genuinely helps me breathe: There isn’t just one road.
Some routes are longer.
Some messy.
Some unexpectedly beautiful.
Some emotionally inconvenient.

You can take the confident road.
You can take the confused road.
You can take the “I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing” road.

You’re still moving. Maybe not perfectly. Maybe not gracefully. But forward. Just because this road feels uncertain doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It might just be unfamiliar. Or you’re still becoming the person who can handle what’s waiting at the next stop.

And the only thing that truly delays you? Freezing. Staying parked because you’re scared of choosing imperfectly.

The fear. That’s what keeps you stuck.

The GPS Never Panics

Have you ever taken a wrong turn on Google Maps? That tiny spike of panic.
“Oh no.”
“That wasn’t it.”
“Why did I do that.”

And then? The GPS just says: Re-routing. Without any judgement or lecture or dramatic “Well, you’ve officially ruined the trip.”

It adjusts. From where you are. Not where you were supposed to be. Not where you planned to be. From exactly where you are.

That’s the part we struggle with. We don’t like starting from where we actually are. We prefer the version of us who made better decisions. You make one move that doesn’t go as imagined, and suddenly your brain writes a tragedy. “This wasn’t the plan.” “I’ve messed everything up.” “That’s it. Destiny cancelled.”

But here’s the uncomfortable truth: Life is not that fragile. Your future is not that easily offended. It recalculates.

Sometimes through streets that bruise your ego.
Sometimes through silence that forces you to sit with yourself.
Sometimes through outcomes that don’t look impressive, they look invisible.

And if something is truly yours? You don’t lose it because you were imperfect. You lose it when you stop driving. That’s the difference.

And before we romanticise every detour, let’s stay honest. If you keep ignoring the signs, refusing to grow, repeating the same patterns, the road gets harder. Not because destiny is punishing you. But because you’re choosing not to learn. Re-routing only works if you’re still driving.

You can panic.
You can overthink.
You can cry in the driver’s seat.

Just don’t turn the engine off.

Is Everything Really Pre-Decided?

What if destiny isn’t a fixed script waiting to unfold? What if it’s possibility, structured, but responsive? Maybe there are checkpoints. But who you are when you reach them that part isn’t pre-decided.

Imagine doors. Not just one. Several. Some aligned. Some distractions. Some locked for now. Just because a door exists doesn’t mean you’re ready to walk through it. You might meet the right person but if you haven’t healed, you won’t recognise them. You might get the opportunity but if you haven’t prepared, you won’t sustain it.

We want the door. We don’t always want the becoming.

Sometimes what’s meant for you doesn’t arrive not because fate denied it, but because you weren’t ready to hold it without dropping it. That’s not destiny failing you. That’s life refining you. And refinement isn’t soft. It stretches you. It humbles you. It rearranges parts of you that were comfortable staying the same.

The Illusion of Control

There’s this thing about us humans. We love control. We want to know how. When. With whom. In what format. And preferably with zero inconvenience. We want tracking numbers for our dreams. “By 25, this.” “By 27, that.” “Dear God, kindly stick to the timeline.” And when it doesn’t align with our mental spreadsheet, we spiral.

Most of our suffering doesn’t come from uncertainty. It comes from trying to control the uncertainty. We don’t crave control because we’re powerful. We crave it because we’re scared.

Scared our effort will embarrass us.
Scared our love will be wasted.
Scared our dreams will laugh at our face.

So we grip tighter. The timing. The outcome. The exact shade of the future.

As if God needs a project manager. But control is heavy.
And sometimes we’re so busy obsessing over how it should happen that we miss how it’s already happening. Control feels safe. Trust feels reckless. But maybe we’re not meant to control the whole journey. Maybe we’re meant to participate in it.

The Power of Random Tuesdays

Life rarely changes on cinematic days. It changes on random Tuesdays. On days you almost cancel. On days you feel ordinary. On days you wake up tired and unimpressed.

You assume nothing significant will happen. And then something shifts. A call. A conversation. An opportunity. A place that suddenly feels like home.

It feels random. It isn’t. It’s all the no’s lining up quietly behind the scenes. You can only connect the dots looking backwards. You can chase something for months.
You pray. You overthink. You refresh your email like it owes you money. Nothing.

Then one day, the day you loosen your grip just a little, the day you say, “Okay. I’ve done my part.” That’s when it arrives. Not because you stopped wanting it. But because you stopped trying to strangle it into existence. Not surrendering effort. Just surrendering the timeline.

Life doesn’t need your micromanagement. It needs your movement.

And sometimes, it rewards you on a completely ordinary Tuesday.

Not Every Checkpoint Is a Reward

Not every checkpoint comes with applause. Some come with loss. Some with rejection.
Some with silence so heavy it makes you question your worth. Because we thought growth would look impressive, not invisible.

But growth doesn’t always arrive dressed as opportunity. Sometimes it arrives as disappointment. Sometimes a door closes and you think, “That was it. I missed it.” But pain isn’t always proof you’re failing. Sometimes it’s proof something in you is shifting. Something outdated is being peeled away. Something unready is being strengthened.

Not every checkpoint rewards you. Some refine you. And refinement feels like being pulled apart before you’re put back together.

The Treasure Inside

In The Alchemist, the boy travels the world looking for treasure, only to find it where he began. The treasure was always there. He wasn’t.

He needed the deserts. The doubts. The distance. Not to find gold, but to become someone who could recognise it without doubting himself. The journey didn’t take him to treasure. It changed him.

Maybe the job you’re chasing isn’t the treasure.
Maybe the discipline you build while chasing it is.

Maybe the love you’re searching for isn’t the treasure.
Maybe becoming emotionally steady enough to receive it is.

The checkpoint might not be outside you.
It might be you.

So… Is Everything Written?

I don’t know. And honestly? I don’t think I need to anymore. Life wasn’t asking me to predict it. It was asking me to participate. If something is aligned with you, it won’t require you to betray yourself to keep it.

You won’t have to shrink.
You won’t have to beg.
You won’t have to make yourself smaller just to hold it.

And if something leaves? Let it.

If it’s yours, it will find you, without costing you yourself. If it isn’t, no amount of control will make it stay. That’s not loss. That’s clarity.

So why work? Not to control the ending. But to become someone strong enough to meet it.

“Man ka hua toh achha.
Na hua toh aur bhi achha.”

If it happens your way, beautiful. If it doesn’t, even better as the story isn’t finished yet.

Maybe the real question was never, “Is everything written?”

Maybe it was this: Will you keep walking even when you don’t know how it ends?

Because what’s yours won’t be scared off by one wrong turn.

It won’t vanish because you hesitated.
It won’t retreat because you weren’t perfect.

If it’s yours, it will cross seven heavens to reach you.

But you?

You have to stay on the road long enough to meet it.

So panic if you must.
Overthink if you must.
Announce your dramatic downfall if you must.

Just don’t quit.

Destiny doesn’t scare that easily.

And neither should you.