Last spring, I was having lunch with a friend at a small Parisian brasserie.

Joseph and I hadn’t known each other for very long, but we’d connected quickly.

That afternoon, he told me about work.

His family.

His responsibilities.

Then he stopped.

I could sense he was circling around something more important.

Finally, he looked at me and said:

“I’m 50 years old, and I feel like I’m watching time pass me by.”

There was always something to do.

Always another email.

Another meeting.

Another obligation.

I suggested something simple.

"What if you gave yourself one hour?"

One hour to read.

To write.

To walk.

To do something just for yourself.

He looked at me for a moment.

Then he said something I haven't stopped thinking about since.

"It doesn't count."

"What doesn't count?" I asked.

He paused.

"Reading. Writing. Taking time for myself."

Then he smiled.

"It doesn't count for me."

The answer stayed with me.

Not because it was unusual.

Because I've heard versions of it my entire life.

From ambitious professionals.

From friends.

From people who seem perfectly successful.

And, if I'm honest, from myself.

We live in a world that knows exactly what counts.

Emails count.

Meetings count.

Deadlines count.

Paying bills counts.

Being productive counts.

But reading a book for an hour?

Writing without a goal?

Taking a walk without knowing where you're going?

Those things often feel harder to defend.

As if everything needs a purpose before it deserves our attention.

As if every desire must first prove its usefulness.

The more I think about it, the more I wonder whether many of us only allow ourselves to want something after we've found a reason for wanting it.

A practical reason.

A productive reason.

A reasonable reason.

We tell ourselves we'll write if it becomes a book.

Run if it becomes a marathon.

Travel if it advances our career.

Learn if it improves our prospects.

But what if the desire comes first?

What if the explanation arrives later?

When I look back at some of the experiences that shaped my life, they rarely began with a plan.

They began with curiosity.

What would happen if I took that plane?

What would happen if I wrote a book?

What would happen if I joined a political campaign?

What would happen if I simply said yes?

Some of my most important decisions started as desires I couldn't justify.

At the time, none of those choices were particularly useful.

At least not in the way we usually define usefulness.

They didn't solve an immediate problem.

They didn't optimize anything.

They didn't move me efficiently toward a predetermined goal.

They were simply questions I wanted to live inside.

And yet, many of the most meaningful things in my life emerged from those questions.

Not from knowing.

From exploring.

I sometimes wonder if we've become uncomfortable with questions.

We live surrounded by answers.

Algorithms tell us what to watch.

Experts tell us what to think.

Social media tells us what matters.

Everyone seems to have a framework, a methodology or a plan.

Very few people make space for uncertainty.

And yet, when I think about the conversations that changed my life, they rarely gave me answers.

What they offered was recognition.

Someone listening long enough for a question to become visible.

Someone helping a desire emerge before it had learned how to justify itself.

Maybe that is why so many people feel stuck.

Not because they lack information.

But because they rarely encounter spaces where their questions are allowed to exist before being evaluated.

Before being optimized.

Before being turned into a goal.

The older I get, the less interested I become in certainty.

What interests me now are the questions that refuse to leave.

The ones that quietly follow us for years.

The ones that shape our lives long before we understand why.

Maybe that is what the first hour is really for.

Not to solve a problem.

Not to build a plan.

Not even to find an answer.

But to create a space where a fragile desire can finally be heard.

Because before a desire becomes a decision, a project or a new direction in life, it usually needs something much simpler.

Recognition.

Someone willing to listen without immediately judging, correcting or optimizing it.

Sometimes, we only understand a desire after we’ve had the courage to follow it.

So here's my question for you:

What is something you've wanted to do for a long time but haven't allowed yourself to pursue because you couldn't justify it?

I'd love to hear.

Kevin GK