I Don’t Know What I Like Anymore

Dear Friend Who's Forgotten What She Likes,

I almost asked my daughter's permission to buy a cat.

Not a real cat. A Fortnite cat. A little digital pet that costs 1200 VBucks and follows your character around the map.

I was really drawn to the cute white style with the pink heart around its eye… already knew it was the cutest thing I'd seen all year… already had my finger hovering over the purchase button.

And then I caught myself wondering if that one was my favorite… the other pets were cute too. And there I was about to ask my daughter, "Which pet do you think I should get?"

Here's the thing: I'm 58 years old. I've made bigger decisions than buying a digital cat. I left my marriage, took early retirement, and I'm living on land my grandfather cleared. But I almost couldn't buy a virtual pet without checking with someone first.

That's when it hit me: I don't actually know what I like anymore.

The Woman Who Disappeared Into Everyone Else's Preferences

For years, my house looked like Bass Pro Shop threw up in it. Greens and gold everywhere because that's what worked with the deer heads and camouflage and all the outdoor stuff my ex loved. I told myself I liked it, and maybe I even believed it at the time. You get really good at liking what makes peace, you know?

Then I divorced, and suddenly my whole aesthetic changed. Soft pinks, sage greens, creamy whites… shabby chic and watercolor dreams. All these colors I'd apparently been sitting on for decades just waiting for permission to exist.

But here's what nobody tells you: finding out what you DON'T like anymore is the easy part. It's the figuring out what you DO like that'll knock you sideways.

I've got this life I genuinely love. Both my kids living here with their families… five grandbabies running around that I can see whenever I want.

But I took early retirement, the marriage is long gone, the kids are grown, and my parents passed away.

So who am I when nobody needs me to be anything specific? What do I want to do? What do I like?

Do I want to travel? Maybe.

Do I want to dive deeper into embroidery? Possibly.

Should I pick up my Nikon and actually learn photography instead of just letting it collect dust? I have absolutely no idea.

And honestly? That terrifies me more than I want to admit.

The Questions We Ask When We Already Know the Answer

There's this moment that keeps happening, and I wonder if you've experienced it too. You're at a restaurant, you know exactly what you want, your mouth is already watering for that one specific thing on the menu. And then you hear yourself say, "What are y'all getting?"

Why do we do that?

I'll tell you why. Because for 20, 30, 40 years, what we wanted wasn't actually the point. The point was making sure everyone else got what they needed, making sure dinner worked for him, making sure the kids would actually eat it, making sure nobody was disappointed or uncomfortable or put out by our choices.

We became really good at liking what was convenient for everyone else.

And now?

Now we're sitting here with actual freedom to choose, and we've forgotten how.

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Matthew 6:21 (KJV)

Scripture tells us our heart follows our treasure. But what happens when you've spent decades treasuring everyone else's preferences over your own? What happens when you realize you don't know where your heart even is anymore because you've been too busy following everyone else's?

You don't just wake up one morning and suddenly know yourself again. That's not how this works.

The Terrifying Freedom of "I Don't Know"

Let me tell you what I'm learning, mostly because I need to hear it myself: It's okay to not know.

It's okay to stand in the paint aisle at Home Depot for 45 minutes holding six different samples of basically the same color because you're genuinely not sure which one makes you happy.

It's okay to buy something and then return it two days later because you realized you only liked it because it reminded you of something your mom would've picked.

It's okay to try embroidery and discover you actually hate it. Or love it. Or feel completely neutral about it, which is its own kind of revelation.

You're not behind. You're not broken. You're not losing it.

You're just meeting yourself for the first time in a really long time. And that person? She's probably different than who you were before you became everyone's person. She might be quieter in some ways, louder in others. She might like things you never expected or not like things you always assumed were part of your personality.

The woman I was at 25, the one who got married and had babies and built a whole life around making sure everyone else was okay? She doesn't exist anymore. And I'm slowly, terrifyingly, realizing that's actually fine.

What This Actually Looks Like on a Wednesday

I'm not going to give you five steps to discovering yourself or whatever. Because honestly, I don't think it works that way. But here's what I AM doing, mostly just stumbling through it:

I'm making myself choose things without asking for input. Even stupid things. Which coffee creamer, which route to take home, which pet cat to buy in a video game. Because apparently that's where I need to start.

I'm paying attention to what I reach for when nobody's looking. What videos do I actually watch on YouTube? What makes me stop scrolling? What do I think about when my mind wanders? That's data. That's your heart trying to tell you where your treasure actually is.

I'm trying things and letting them be terrible. Last month I thought maybe I'd like mochi because my daughter raves about it. Turns out I genuinely hate the texture and don't want to eat it ever again. That's useful information. One less thing to wonder about.

I'm giving myself permission to change my mind, to like something for a season and then be done with it, to buy the expensive coffee and decide it's not worth it, to commit to nothing except maybe showing up for myself the same way I've shown up for everyone else.

And I'm writing it down. Because there's something about seeing your own preferences on paper that makes them feel real. "I liked this. I didn't like that. I want more of this." Simple stuff. Obvious stuff. But when you've spent decades not tracking it, you've got to start somewhere.

When You Realize You're Allowed to Want Things

Here's what I keep coming back to: For the first time in my entire adult life, what I want actually matters. Not because I've earned it or because everyone else is taken care of or because I've finally got my act together. But just because I'm a person who gets to want things.

That's it. That's the only qualification.

And if you're sitting there thinking, "But I don't even KNOW what I want," then welcome to exactly where you need to be. Because you can't discover what you like if you're too busy performing what everyone else needs you to like.

You get to not know. You get to try things and hate them. You get to change your mind seventeen times about the same decision. You get to want something different this year than you wanted last year.

You get to like what you like, even if it doesn't match anything, even if it doesn't make sense to anyone else, even if you just discovered it yesterday and might feel completely different about it tomorrow.

Your preferences matter. Your likes matter. Your wants matter. Not because they're world-changing or profound or even particularly interesting to anyone else. But because they're yours.

And after spending most of your life making sure everyone else's preferences had space to exist, it's your turn now.

Even if that starts with buying a digital cat without asking anyone's opinion first.

With love,

Mary Kaye 💕

I'd love to hear from you: What's something you realized you don't actually like anymore? Or something you're discovering you DO like for the first time? Drop a comment below - sometimes just naming it out loud helps.