You’re sitting in the kitchen at 3:53. Scrolling through Instagram. Someone’s posting about their meditation practice. Someone else launched their business. Your neighbor’s running half-marathons now. And you? You’re eating cereal, telling yourself tomorrow’s different.

Tomorrow’s never fucking different.

You fill out the form. Download the app. Buy the gear. Text your friend about your new plan. Feel that familiar rush – like you’ve already arrived somewhere, like typing words equals transformation. But 96 hours later, it’s all digital debris. Screenshots of intentions. Notifications you ignore. Equipment gathering dust.

You think you’ve done something. You think you’ve started. You’ve done fuck all.

Your life is a museum of abandoned beginnings. That gym membership from January. The language app with 3% completion. The journal with five entries before the year turned stale. You’re a collector of starting lines, never a finisher of races.

Here’s what’s really happening: you’re addicted to the feeling of possibility. That dopamine hit when imagining change. But change isn’t imagination. It’s that moment when you have to get up anyway, do it anyway, be who you said you’d be anyway.

Every day you don’t act is evidence for the prosecution. Proof that your desires are just emotional porn you consume when real life feels too small. You’re jerking off to the idea of a better version of yourself while that version slowly withers from neglect.

Your fear isn’t mysterious. It’s simple. You’re terrified that effort might reveal your limitations. That showing up consistently might expose the gap between fantasy and capacity. So you stay suspended in the warm bath of almost-trying, occasionally dipping a toe in the water of commitment before retreating.

The clock’s ticking. Not in some metaphorical way. Literally. Each second of stalling is a second closer to the grave, carried there by your own hands, your own choices, your own refusal to be uncomfortable.

You want different?

Stop hunting for the perfect moment, the right feeling, the ideal circumstances. Those are mirages in the desert of your own making. Start where you are. With what you have. Despite how you feel.

Because thinking about change isn’t change. Planning isn’t progress. Researching isn’t doing. And tomorrow isn’t promised to give you another chance to keep pretending tonight doesn’t count.

The person you could be is dying while the person you are maintains the comfortable fiction that someday, somehow, you’ll be brave enough to actually live.

Your move.

Stay safe.
And don’t forget to be awesome.