You’re not lost. You’re just following someone else’s map.

The living room. I sat down on the couch, hands waving as I explained my PhD funding dilemma to my parents.

“So that’s where I’m at,” I concluded, gesturing with my glass. “I’m trying to decide whether to transfer programs or walk away entirely.”

My mother tilted her head slightly. My father cleared his throat.

“Remind me again,” he said, his voice careful, measured. “What exactly is your PhD about?”

The glass stopped halfway to my lips. Time seemed to freeze as the question hung in the air between us. What is your PhD about? From anyone else, it would be a straightforward question. But from my parents — the people who had raised me, who had been hearing about my doctoral studies for two and a half years, who knew I was working six different jobs while studying full-time after my promised funding disappeared — it felt like betrayal.

My chest tightened. I placed the glass down carefully, though my instinct was to slam it. How could they not have been paying attention, especially at this crucial moment when I needed their guidance most?

“Behavioral science,” I said flatly. “Studying how people change their behavior, working with farmers on the decision to adopt sustainable agriculture, and why they might resist.”

But inside, a storm was brewing. My thoughts raced to all the terrible stories I’ve always told myself: They don’t care. They haven’t been listening. They’ve never really understood me. I’m completely alone in this. My mother must have noticed something in my expression. She reached toward me, but I shifted away slightly, standing up to refill my water.

Twenty minutes later, as we moved to the living room, something unexpected happened. The tightness in my chest had dissolved. The anger had vanished.

Instead, I felt a sense of clarity washing over me — and with it, a surge of love and appreciation for my parents stronger than ever.

What happened in those twenty minutes? I realized three essential truths that marked my transition into actual adulthood. 

First, my parents didn’t know the details of my PhD, not because they didn’t care about me, but because they only cared about me. They weren’t interested in the academic particulars—they were interested in whether I was okay, whether I was growing, and whether I was becoming who I wanted to be. If I were doing what I needed to do, that was enough for them.

Second, even if my parents somehow knew everything about behavioral science, the politics of academia, and had both secretly completed their PhDs when I wasn’t looking, it wouldn’t have mattered. Because at 27 years old, I stood before a decision that would define my life’s direction, and I alone had to own that choice.

And finally, the most liberating realization: I didn’t want them to save me. I didn’t need them to. I had everything I needed to make this call, and while that didn’t mean it was easy, I wanted the power to choose my path.

My compass was within me all along. The fact that I could recognize this — that I was prepared to trust my own internal compass — was itself a testament to their parenting. At every turn, my parents have encouraged my siblings and me to make our decisions and own the consequences of them.

In that moment in the living room, when I decided that not only do I choose, but I actually have to choose forever going forward, I became an adult in the truest sense.

For some people, this moment of internal authority happens earlier. For some, it never occurs at all. Having now worked with hundreds of leaders at the world’s most prestigious organizations, I can tell you that the number of adults in the room rarely equals the number in attendance.

Those who know who they are — and what they truly value — refuse to compromise their authentic direction to placate others, and embody the “I choose” energy. These people are rare and immediately recognizable.

Their internal compass points to their true north, regardless of who’s watching.

Why we get lost

We live in a culture obsessed with success. From our earliest years, society hands us a map for success — prestigious schools, lucrative careers, impressive titles, material acquisitions — without being taught how to read our own internal compass.

High-school Danny believed success meant an Ivy League degree, a professional soccer career, financial security, and shelves lined with impressive books. College Danny, though not at an Ivy, thought a PhD represented the pinnacle of achievement as my guaranteed path to respect, opportunity, and yes, even more books. PhD Danny became desperate to escape academia, convinced that a six-figure consulting salary and teaching executives would finally bring fulfillment. And books.

You can probably see where this is going. I secured the consulting job and the six-figure salary. And far too quickly, I found myself wondering why, yet again, I did not feel fulfilled. This pattern — achieving external markers of success only to find emptiness — isn’t unique to me.

All of us could name people in our lives who achieved everything society values — wealth, status, power — and yet remain deeply insecure, perpetually restless, and profoundly unhappy. 

The reality is stark but liberating: Resume achievements cannot equal lasting satisfaction. They were never designed to. Our brains evolved with a negativity bias — a survival mechanism that’s always scanning for the next challenge or threat, often leaving us mired in perpetual dissatisfaction. Research in behavioral science shows this neurological treadmill consistently returns us to our baseline happiness regardless of external achievements.

Meanwhile, our culture has amplified this dissatisfaction by over-emphasizing measurable accomplishments, from IQ tests to college admissions, creating a pressure that now begins in kindergarten.

What does this mean for you? It means it’s harder than ever to determine what your version of success actually looks like. The measures we’ve been told matter — explicitly or unconsciously — are largely misaligned with genuine fulfillment. There’s too much noise drowning out your internal signals.

The true cost of misalignment

We often discuss the consequences of misalignment in dramatic terms — midlife crises, burnout, existential despair. But the daily cost of following someone else’s map rather than your own compass is far more insidious.

It’s the Sunday-night dread that settles in your stomach as you contemplate another week at a job that looks impressive but feels meaningless. It’s the reflexive comparison when you hear about a friend’s promotion, followed by the immediate question: “Do I want that too? Should I?” It’s the curious way accomplishments evaporate from memory almost immediately — the promotion, award, or milestone that was supposed to feel significant somehow doesn’t register emotionally.

It’s the constant internal dialogue full of “I should” rather than “I want” or “I choose.”

These are the subtle manifestations of compass interference — creating a constant low-grade anxiety that many high-performers have simply accepted as normal, like background noise they’ve stopped noticing.

When you allow external interference to redirect your compass, two losses occur. 

First, you shape-shift to fit into a box of someone else’s design. You cram yourself into a shape because of what you imagine others want from you. I watched myself become increasingly concerned with fitting in rather than asking, “What do I actually want here?”

Second, you gradually lose the ability to hear your own internal signals. Like a muscle that atrophies from disuse, your capacity to discern what genuinely matters to you weakens over time. The noise drowns out the signal until you no longer remember what your own true north feels like.

The combined cost is a life lived inauthentically — a draining, inefficient, and ultimately unsatisfying way to move through the world. It’s death by a thousand paper cuts, where each decision unaligned with your values takes another small slice of your vital energy.

Even worse, if you do not figure this out — if you do not discern what it means for you to live a life of meaning —  you will reach the end of your life. You will face that moment alone with your thoughts. Only you will know if your life felt meaningful, if it was filled with love, if it made a difference. 

This is why defining your personal scorecard isn’t optional — it’s the difference between a life of authentic fulfillment and dying hollow and full of regret.

Don’t do that. Contrast this with compass-aligned living — the state where your actions and choices follow your internal direction rather than external maps. This creates a positive feedback loop, an eternal engine generating its own momentum. When you’re aligned with your compass, energy expands rather than contracts. Obstacles become interesting challenges rather than draining barriers.

This can sound cliché. It can sound unrealistic. After all, we have bills to pay, responsibilities to manage, and sometimes we simply need to adapt to circumstances beyond our control. And yes, there will be seasons when compromise is necessary — where your compass points one way while your current reality demands another path temporarily. But even in these periods of compromise, your internal compass remains intact.

You already know what you truly want and need. It’s carried within you — in your unique disposition, your natural inclinations, the things that genuinely light you up when no one’s watching or measuring, the presence you bring to every room you walk into.

You just need to listen closely enough to hear it. You need to quiet the external noise to discern it. You need to do the inner work of separating what’s authentically yours from what you’ve been told to want.

It’s never too late to begin this work. It’s never too early to start. And it’s always worthwhile to revisit and refine as you grow.

Calibrating your compass: Finding true north

So, we’ve identified the interference and recognized its cost. Now comes the essential question: How do you work with your compass to find your true north?

In its simplest form, this means identifying what you truly value — not what you’ve been told to value, not what looks good to others, but what matters deeply and authentically to you. It means taking the things you believe to be sacred and being willing to sacrifice for their pursuit, protection, and power.

In an interesting bit of trivia, “sacred” and “sacrifice” share the same Latin root: sacer, meaning “holy.” (Don’t worry, I’m not converting anybody here.) This matters because you show what is sacred to you by what you’re willing to sacrifice for it.

If I value growth, I show it by what I give up for it (moving halfway around the world away from friends and family for seven years), not by what I say. If I value my family, I show it every time I fly to see them for the events I wouldn’t trade the world to miss. If I value integrity, it means there is no amount of money people could give me for an action that sits outside of who I am.

If you’re not willing to give anything up for something, it isn’t truly a value — it’s a preference. And if you can’t explain why you value this thing, that value isn’t yours, it’s somebody else’s.

My own journey of calibrating my compass wasn’t instantaneous. It unfolded through years of reflection, values exercises, coaching conversations, meditation, and honest self-assessment. What has emerged is the start of something uniquely mine — a Danny Kenny compass that no one else could have calibrated for me.

And there are actions you can take now to start living a life more aligned.

The process begins with identification. Looking at a comprehensive list of values, start by circling the 8 or 10 that resonate most strongly.

Then comes the challenging part: narrowing that list to 3 or 4 core values. This constraint forces clarity and prevents the “everything is important” trap. If you value 10 things, you actually value nothing.

(Note: How you define these values can be unique to you. I value learning and curiosity, but in my compass, these fall under the broader direction of “growth.” I value connection and service, but these align under my commitment to “leadership” as I define it. You can move things underneath a “master” value.)

The key is identifying what you genuinely value, not what you think you’re supposed to value. This requires ruthless honesty and careful examination. If you say you value “health” but your underlying motivation is appearance or social approval, then your true value might be “confidence,” not health itself.

You know you’ve identified a true compass direction when no external reward could persuade you to abandon it, and no external pressure could force you to compromise it. Test your values with these questions:

• Would you maintain this value even if it cost you financially? 
• Would you hold to it even if it made you socially unpopular?
• When was the last time you sacrificed something for this value?
• Can you identify specific decisions you made because of this value?

For me, this calibration process revealed that my compass consistently points toward growth and integrity. Growth means constant evolution, learning, and development — both for myself and others. Integrity means wholeness, alignment between inner and outer, and the courage to do what’s right even when it’s difficult.

Once identified, these compass directions simplify decision-making tremendously. When faced with choices, I ask whether an option will facilitate growth and whether it aligns with integrity. If both answers are yes, my path is clear. If either is no, I know I’m being pulled off course.

This clarity doesn’t mean the path is always easy. Following your own compass often means departing from well-worn trails and familiar landmarks. It means disappointing people who expected you to follow their maps, and being ok with their negative feelings about it. It means embracing uncertainty.

But the alternative — continuing to follow directions to someone else’s destination — guarantees arrival at a place that wasn’t meant for you. Regular recalibration is essential. Notice where you’ve made choices based on external expectations rather than internal alignment. Be gentle with yourself when you discover you’ve gone off course — the goal isn’t perfect navigation but gradual improvement in reading your own signals.

This process isn’t about rejecting all external input. Other people’s maps can provide useful information about terrain and potential paths. The key difference is that YOU decide which direction to take, based on your own internal compass rather than external pressure.

Finding your travel companions

Once you’ve begun following your internal compass, you’ll notice something surprising: The journey becomes less solitary. Just as my parents supported my independent decision-making (even when they didn’t understand the specific details), you’ll need people who support your authentic direction.

One of the most powerful aspects of compass-aligned living is that it naturally attracts others on similar paths. When you begin navigating by your authentic values, you draw in people who resonate with that authenticity and repel those who are threatened by it.

In my own life, the relationships that have sustained me through this journey haven’t been based on shared credentials or professional affiliations, but on shared commitment to living purposefully and authentically. These connections provide both support and challenge — they celebrate when my actions align with my compass and gently question when I veer off course.

These traveling companions aren’t necessarily headed to the same destination as you. They might value completely different things. What connects you is not the direction of your compass but your mutual commitment to following your own true north rather than society’s prescribed routes.

To find these companions, two things you can do: Ask deeper questions in conversations, moving beyond resume exchanges to values exchanges: “What’s been most meaningful in your work recently?” or “What do you love about what you do?” instead of “What do you do?”

Create spaces for authentic conversation — dinner gatherings where phones are put away, walking meetings where nature slows the pace, or regular check-ins with trusted friends where you can all speak truthfully.

The unexpected benefit of finding these connections is that they serve as mirrors, reflecting back both your alignment and your blind spots. They help you calibrate your compass more accurately through their observations and questions. These relationships provide companions who care more about you staying true than reaching any particular destination.

That is priceless.

From calibration to navigation

The journey from external validation to internal alignment isn’t completed in a day, a week, or even a year. It’s an ongoing practice of listening to your signals, making choices aligned, and adjusting when interference pulls you off course.

This foundation — understanding what truly matters to you — is essential for finding your purpose and living an examined life of wisdom.

For now, your next steps are simple:

• Set aside 30 minutes this week in a quiet space with no distractions
• Identify three moments in your life when you felt most aligned—when your actions, your values, and your sense of purpose seemed perfectly in sync. These might be moments of achievement, but they are more likely moments of presence or connection that wouldn’t necessarily appear on a resume.
• For each moment, ask yourself: What values was I honoring? What was I creating or contributing? How did alignment feel in my body? These moments contain the first clues for your personal navigation system.

Remember: As you begin this calibration work, be patient with yourself, celebrate small course corrections, and trust that your authentic path will reveal itself through consistent practice and attention.

Your compass has always been within you. Now it’s time to learn to read it. The poet Mary Oliver perhaps captured it best when she asked: “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

In that moment with my parents in the living room, I wasn’t just making a decision about my PhD — I was choosing my path based on what I care about rather than following someone else’s map. Your moment of choosing may look different, but the freedom it brings will be just as profound.

The answer won’t be found on anyone else’s map. It can only be discovered by following your own compass.