The Art of Changing Your Mind Without Justifying It

I've recently told some family members that I've changed my mind about something I was quite excited about.

Naturally, they were confused about the sudden change of heart.

I think especially for older generations - who didn't have as many options, who didn't have the freedom or privilege to change their mind about their career because you simply had to stick to it, this is a pretty foreign concept.

But let me start at the beginning.

For those who don't know me, I study law independently through the University of London.

I love the independence. I love that one day I can sleep in all day and hustle through the next. I love that one day I can be on the beach reading case law, and the next I'm surrounded by mountains under a warm blanket, reading contract law.

Yes, it takes discipline; it's not for everyone.

And of course, a small part of me still aches for the typical student life experience. Almost everyone in my circle has asked me, "Don't you feel like you're missing out on student life?"

And that thought became deeply embedded in me.

I'd been around student life before. At gatherings, at parties, tagging along on the edges of it. But it was never quite mine. I was there, but I wasn't really part of it.

Not my people, not my world.

So I began to wonder: am I missing out on something wonderful?

I didn't realize it at the time, but that thought had planted itself deep in my head.

Through some unexpected changes in my life, I eventually thought, fuck it, maybe I should apply to some on-site universities.

So I did.

I'd always dreamed of living in England, London specifically. I got accepted into some amazing schools. I actually skipped through my apartment when I saw the offers on UCAS.

One particular university was my first choice, and I immediately booked a flight to check out the place and look at accommodations. I was so excited.

A couple of weeks later, on May 12th, I boarded my flight to London. I had an amazing time there. For the 13th, I had a tour scheduled of the university premises to get introduced to the school.

But while strolling through the streets of London, getting distracted by the most British things, a feeling kept creeping in.

I couldn't quite place it.

At first, I thought maybe I was afraid of the tour because it would make everything real. It would mean staying in England for the next three years. Bound to one place.

And that feeling of being bound unsettled me.

Not because I was afraid to commit to my studies. That wasn't it.

I realized I'd outgrown that structured university lifestyle.

I couldn't go back to something so school-like, where you're handed support, surrounded by people whose job it is to help you. I've been out of school for two years now, studying independently for the last ten months, and I couldn't give up the freedom I'd gained.

Enrolling in that school would mean confining myself again: following mundane rules, social norms, dealing with academic pressure. There's nothing wrong with a bit of stress; humans actually need it, but that's a whole different topic.

I've also realized that law, especially, is a very competitive field. Competition is good. You can grow tremendously through it. But for my peace of mind, I decided it wasn't what I wanted.

So I skipped the tour.

Honestly, I was a little scared of that decision because I wasn't sure yet about my reasons. I was afraid I was chickening out.

So I sat with the feeling.

It was uncomfortable, but I let it be there - no pressure.

I went for a walk through London, grabbed a coffee, and sat on one of the amazing red buses I adore so much. Yeah, very touristy of me, but who cares? They make me happy. I let myself just enjoy being there.

And somewhere in that walk, something else came into focus, quieter than the first realization, but just as important.

I didn't actually want the lifestyle. I wanted the idea of it.

The version I'd built up in my head from other people's stories: the parties, the shared flats, the feeling of belonging to something. But that image was never really mine.

It was borrowed.

I want to be in London.
I want to experience it alongside my studies.
I want to focus on my education, but also nourish my photography.
I want to be able to disappear into the British landscapes for days without worrying about missing classes.
I want to experience the cold British rain and get a serious cold.

Or maybe not.

I realized that the seed of wanting that student experience had quietly turned into FOMO.

I hadn't actually been chasing something I wanted. I had been chasing something I was afraid of missing.

And suddenly, I understood why I had been so conflicted.

So, circling back to telling my family about my change of heart.

I wouldn't say I was met with criticism. But even if I was, it made me think. Why were their reactions the way they were?

I think part of it might be generational. People sometimes love to hold us hostage to our own past statements or ways of being. There is almost a weird social expectation that changing your mind somehow invalidates the person you were before.

If you said three years ago that you wanted to be a lawyer, people remember that. If you suddenly say you want to be a photographer, they might respond with, "But I thought you wanted to be a lawyer?" as though you've contradicted yourself rather than simply grown.

But finding yourself necessarily involves changing your mind.

And I think Gen Z is particularly interesting in this regard, because we're simultaneously encouraged to "find yourself" while being expected to define yourself incredibly early.

Pick a degree.
Pick a career.
Build a personal brand.
Have opinions.
Know your values.
Know what kind of relationship you want.
Know where you want to live.
Know who you are.

And then, once you've announced all of that to the world, you're somehow expected to remain consistent.

Especially people who have known us for a long time can become attached to the version of us they know. Your change can make them uncomfortable because it changes their understanding of you.

Someone might say, "But you always hated that."

Maybe I did.

"You always said you wanted this."

Maybe I did.

"You were so sure."

I was.

"And?"

Being certain in the past doesn't create a lifelong contract.

You are not obligated to keep a promise you made to a version of yourself that no longer exists.

And I'm not saying we should become completely directionless or abandon every commitment whenever something gets difficult. There is a difference between growth and running away.

Sometimes we change our minds because something genuinely no longer aligns with who we are. Other times, we're simply uncomfortable and want an excuse to quit. The important part is being honest enough with yourself to know the difference.

That's why I don't think changing your mind should automatically be seen as weakness or inconsistency. Sometimes it's actually the opposite. Sometimes it takes more courage to admit, "I don't want this anymore," than it does to keep going simply because you've already told everyone that this is what you wanted.

You can like something for five years and then suddenly not like it anymore.
You can study something and discover you hate it.
You can study something and discover you love something else more.
You can believe something passionately and then encounter new information that completely changes your perspective.

And that's okay.

I've watched people close to me make some pretty terrible mistakes. I've watched myself make some big mistakes, and I still went through with them because I thought I couldn't suddenly change my mind - it wouldn't make sense to change my mind after being so committed to something.

But even that doesn't have to be the end of the story. We grow through mistakes when we're willing to look at them, accept them, and say, "Now I know better."

That's not failure. That's learning.

I think sometimes we forget just how little of our lives we've actually lived when we're in our twenties.

I mean, who else grew up thinking that twenty-year-olds had their lives together?

I certainly did.

I thought once you were out of school, everything would somehow fall into place. You'd have this amazing job, complete freedom, money, independence, and suddenly you'd just... know what you were doing.

No.

You won't.

You will fail. Probably several times. You'll make decisions you're convinced are right and later realize they weren't. You'll find yourself at a point where you have absolutely no idea what you're doing, or even who you are. You'll change your mind. You'll outgrow things you once thought you'd love forever.

And maybe that's exactly what your twenties are for.

Not necessarily to finally figure yourself out, but to collect enough information about yourself to figure out what you don't want, what matters to you, and who you're becoming.

Maybe we should stop treating our twenties as the age where we're supposed to have everything figured out, and start treating them as the age where we're allowed to figure things out.

To change our minds.
To make mistakes.
To outgrow identities.
To disappoint people who had become comfortable with an older version of us.
To wake up one morning and realize that the life we thought we wanted isn't actually the life we want anymore.

And perhaps most importantly, to trust ourselves enough to do something about it.

Because becoming someone new doesn't mean you were wrong for being someone else before.

It just means you're alive enough to keep changing.

And if tomorrow I decide my favorite color is pink after years of saying it was blue, I hope you'll let me have that, too.