You probably do know. You just don't like what it would cost.

“I don’t know what I want” is one of the most common sentences I hear. It is also, quite often, not accurate.

What people usually mean is: I know, and it is inconvenient. I know, and it would disappoint someone. I know, and I am not sure I am allowed.

Wanting is a skill you can lose

If you have spent fifteen years being reliable — good at reading rooms, good at anticipating what other people need — you have trained a particular muscle very hard and let another one go quiet. That is not a character flaw. It is practice.

The recovery is unglamorous. It starts small and slightly embarrassing: what you want for a Saturday. What you would say no to if there were no consequence. What you notice you envy in other people, because envy is data, not a moral failing.

Beware the impressive answer

There is a version of this work where people discover a want that is conveniently ambitious. A bigger role, a bolder move, something that photographs well. Sometimes it is real. Often it is another way of being approved of, wearing different clothes.

A true want tends to be more specific and less flattering. Fewer people. More time outside. Work that is smaller but yours. It rarely makes a good announcement.

So the question is not really “what do I want”. It is: what have I known for a while, and what would I have to face if I said it out loud?