Not There, Nor Anywhere 🛤️

Sometimes, I wonder if the discomfort I feel about my life is self-imposed — a tool my mind uses to make me work harder, move forward, stay on track. It whispers, “You’re not there yet,” even when I don’t know where “there” is. But what if I’m exactly where I need to be?
What if this feeling of being underdog is not a flaw but a much-needed motivation to keep me moving forward?

I keep wondering what it is about my life that I don’t like so much. Dissatisfaction sits quietly in the background, sometimes so subtle I can’t put my finger on it. Is it the fear of being left alone, of becoming lonely? Or the endless, nagging pressure to live up to some invisible standard I’ve set for myself? I don’t know where to begin to untangle it.

It’s easy to focus on shortcomings and imperfections. “I should have done more,” “Why am I not happy?” Acknowledging the wins, admitting that maybe I’m not even on track at all, is hard.
Dissatisfaction becomes the lens through which I view my strength, turning them into stepping stones rather than destinations. It seems like allowing myself to feel satisfied means I’m no longer trying. And after all, trying is what I’ve built my life around.

But lately, I’ve been questioning this statement. What if this feeling isn’t a sign that something is wrong? And what if ambition doesn’t always feel like chasing a horizon that keeps slipping away?

I think about my days — the little rituals that fill them. The rush of completing a task, the quiet satisfaction of learning something new, the fleeting moments of connection that light me up.
These moments are so easy to overlook because they don’t scream success or progress. They don’t announce themselves as milestones.
They are the foundation of my life.
The things that make it whole, even when they're not perfect. They fill in the little gaps left by the big moments.

What if the question isn't whether I'm on the right path? What if the question is whether I'm pausing long enough to see the scenery, letting myself feel joy without measuring what's next?
What if it's not about stopping the desire to grow, but about realizing that growth doesn't have to come from a place of emptiness?