You’re Meant to Be Off Course: The Myth of the Right Next Step
Years ago, I read a book that introduced a metaphor that’s shaped how I think about making progress. It described a plane flying to Hawaii, guided by a system that corrected its path every time it veered off course. The pilot explained that they’d arrive exactly on time—despite being off course 90 percent of the journey. The actual flight path was more of a zigzag than a straight line.
I remember pausing on that line: ninety percent of the time. Winds shift, air pressure changes, instruments make constant micro-adjustments. The point was simple: the plane’s progress depended on its ability to correct, not to be right. Ironically, the only time a plane is reliably on course is when it’s sitting on the ground.
We tend to treat our lives and decisions differently. We wait for the “right next step” to reveal itself before taking off, as if clarity must precede movement. But clarity doesn’t come first—it’s produced in motion. You find your trajectory by flying, not by standing on the tarmac drafting better flight plans.
Responding to drift
When I started coaching, I waited as long as I could before working with my first client. I wanted to feel more ready: more practiced, more credible, more something. But no amount of reading or preparation would have given me what that first client did. She’ll always be my most transformative client, not because of what I offered her, but because of what I learned in the process of being with her.
I learned from the sessions where I spoke too much and the ones where I was too in my own head. I learned how impostor syndrome can keep you hovering just above the moment, half-present and self-conscious. I learned what came naturally, and how to lean on those strengths instead of performing competence. And I learned what needed honing: how to quiet my mind, trust my instincts, and focus less on being impressive and more on being present.
If I had waited until I felt “ready,” I’d still be grounded, polishing frameworks instead of practicing them. The work itself was what shaped my readiness. Every session was a course correction: noticing, adjusting, recalibrating. I wasn’t getting it wrong; I was gathering data and fine-tuning.
A plane’s navigation system works much the same way. It doesn’t avoid deviation—it’s built for it. The whole mechanism depends on recognizing and responding to drift. A pilot doesn’t log each deviation as failure; they are merely feedback loops from which course-corrections are made. The same principle applies to growth: the mistake is only in not adjusting.
Clarity is produced in motion
Stillness can feel deceptively safe but ultimately uninformative. When you’re in motion, you start collecting evidence: what energizes you, what drains you, what propels, what resists. Each small move gives you data that refines the next one. It’s how clarity takes shape: from feedback, not foreknowledge.
Fear often masquerades as caution, but it’s usually just the discomfort of uncertainty. We convince ourselves that more thinking will make the leap safer, when what we need is altitude: perspective gained only by leaving the ground. The longer we delay, the more we confuse inaction with prudence. But the truth is, you can’t fly a grounded plane. Flight requires being in the air.
When in flight, the route keeps evolving even if the destination remains the same. You make forward progress by moving, observing, and adjusting. There’s no perfect line, only a living dialogue between movement and awareness.
Through this lens, being off course isn’t failure—it’s evidence that you’re flying.
So if you’re waiting for the “right next step,” consider this your clearance for takeoff. Start small if you need to, but start moving. Collect data. The instruments that guide you—your instincts, curiosity, and ability to adjust—can only activate once you’re in motion.
Practical reflection:
What step have you been postponing because you want it to feel certain first?
What small move could give you more data than another round of analysis?
Where in your life could course correction replace the fear of getting it wrong?
Clarity is produced in motion. The plane gets where it’s supposed to not because it avoids drift, but because it keeps adjusting along the way.
So fly. Adjust. Keep going. You’re meant to be off course.
