I'd Rather Do Anything Than Write This

I’d rather do anything else than write something that will prove I’m not made for this.

It is one day before the new year, and if I measured 2025 by my writing, it would be summarized more by silence than sentences.

It’s not easy for me to admit. Even though the proof - or lack thereof - stares me in the face.

I spent the whole year repeating the same cycle:
- Convince myself to just write anything.
- Re-convince that it has to be life-changing.
- Fold - head face down on my desk.

One felt meaningless, the other impossible. So, I stayed stuck. Each cycle I was left a little more worse-for-wear, a little more defeated, and exhausted from a battle I wasn’t winning. I watched myself from outside the room failing at the one thing I claimed to want.

But not knowing what to write about wasn’t the problem.

This was:
I wanted to matter.

And writing for the world to see and then ignore it, would be the proof that I didn’t.

I didn’t want to write something no one cared about.

Worse still is I know the trap of relying on external validation. And yet I craved it.
I wanted the dream more than the work, and the fantasy more than the risk. To stay in a dream that couldn’t hurt me; far away from a reality that could.

It’s numbing to watch yourself get in your own way. To chase a goal while clinging to the comfort of not trying.

That pattern doesn’t just show up in writing. It shows up in every goal we chase but can’t seem to reach. The habits we can’t quit. The relationships we can’t escape. The futures we keep postponing.

They’re all the same conflict.

We want the change, but we want comfort even more.

I wish I could give you a clear answer on how to break that cycle forever. I can’t.

But if you’re reading this, it means I finally did the one thing I avoided all year: I stopped protecting myself and hit publish anyway.
And for today, that’s enough.