Reflecting on What Do I Really Want?

Recently, a friend asked me a question that caught me completely off guard.

“Noah—in everything you’ve said today, I haven’t heard one thing… what does Noah want?”

It stopped me.

Not because it was confrontational, but because it revealed a truth I hadn’t considered:
I’ve been talking a lot, feeling a lot, trying to navigate storms… but I haven’t actually asked myself the most fundamental question.

What do I want?

I don’t mean the surface-level wants we all recite when life feels overwhelming.
I don’t mean the wants shaped by fear, anxiety, loneliness, regret, or guilt.
I mean the wants that rise from the truest parts of me—the quiet, steady parts that still exist beneath the noise.

That question has followed me since. It’s been tapping on the edges of my thoughts, urging me to sit with it. Really sit. Because answering it honestly requires something I’m only now learning to practice:

Self-reflection from a place of peace—not panic.

When we’re hurting, scared, or overwhelmed, our minds twist wants into escape routes.
We make emotional decisions disguised as clarity.
We react instead of reflect.
We grasp for anything that silences the noise.

But that isn’t truth. That isn’t desire.
That’s survival.

And I don’t want to build the next chapter of my life from a survival mindset.

So I’ve started exploring this question differently. Slowly. Intentionally. In moments where I feel grounded or calm—even if those moments are brief.

I’ve been asking:

What do I see as joy for the year ahead?

Not the external goals that look good on paper, but the inner experiences that feel nourishing and real.

What genuinely makes me happy?

Not what distracts me or soothes my anxiety—but what brings authentic contentment.

When I feel at peace, what is creating that peace?

Where am I?
Who am I with?
What am I doing—or not doing?
What disappears when peace appears?

And how do I sustain that peace?

How do I protect it from the chaos?
How do I choose it more intentionally?

Because clarity doesn’t come when negative emotions are screaming for attention.
It comes when they have softened, when breath has returned, when the body isn’t bracing for impact.
Peace is the soil where truth grows.

And maybe that’s the real shift happening within me:
A realization that I can’t truly know what I want if I only ask myself in the middle of emotional earthquakes.

Wants born in fear lead to more fear.
Wants born in pain often recreate the conditions of that pain.
Wants born in loneliness grasp at anything that feels like connection.

But wants born in peace—those are different.
They’re steadier.
They’re clearer.
They’re rooted in something authentic, not reactive.

So what do I really want?

I’m not sure yet.
But I’m learning that the answer won’t come from rushing or forcing. It will come from listening—gently, patiently—in the moments where my mind isn’t spiraling and my heart isn’t in survival mode.

The truth will come when I’m quiet enough to hear it.

I’m finally giving myself the space to do that.

If You’re Reading This… A Small Invitation

If any of this echoes something inside you—even faintly—then here’s a gentle invitation:

1. Ask yourself the same question:

What do you want?
Not what others want from you.
Not what fear or guilt or stress is dictating.
But what you actually want from your truest, calmest self.

2. Don’t force an answer.

Most people don’t know right away.
Most people think they should.
Give yourself room to not know yet.

3. Reflect only when you feel even a little grounded.

Not when emotions are overwhelming.
Not in the middle of panic, conflict, or grief.
Clarity doesn’t survive in turbulence.

Find a moment where your breath feels steady—even for a minute—and ask the question then.

4. Notice the small signals of joy.

What makes your shoulders lower?
What softens you?
What brings even a flicker of peace?
These small things are often the compass points.

5. Journal the answers that surface.

Not to analyze them, but to listen.
Sometimes writing reveals truths that thinking hides.

6. Be patient with yourself.

Real wants—the deep ones—take time to surface.
You deserve that time.