am i there yet?

Sometimes, I wonder if the unease I feel about my life is self-imposed—a tool my mind uses to make me work harder, push farther, stay on track. It whispers, “You’re not there yet,” even when I don’t know where “there” is. But what if I am exactly where I’m supposed to be? What if this feeling of falling short isn’t a flaw but a necessary drive to keep me moving forward?

I keep thinking about what exactly it is about my life that I don’t like so much. The dissatisfaction sits quietly in the background, sometimes so subtle I can’t put my finger on it. Is it the fear of settling, of becoming stagnant? Or the endless, gnawing pressure to live up to some invisible standard I’ve constructed for myself? I don’t know where to start unraveling it.

It’s easier to focus on the gaps, the imperfections. The “I should have done more,” the “why am I not happier?” It’s harder to acknowledge the wins, to accept that maybe I’m not off-track at all. The dissatisfaction becomes a lens through which I view my achievements, distorting them into stepping stones rather than destinations. It’s as though allowing myself to feel content would mean I’m no longer trying. And trying, after all, is what I’ve built my life around.

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

I think about my days—the small 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. But they are the scaffolding of my life, the things that make it whole, even if they’re not perfect. They fill in the small gaps left by the larger moments.

What if the question isn’t whether I’m on the right track? What if it’s whether I’m pausing long enough to notice the scenery, to let myself feel joy without needing to measure it against what’s next? What if it’s not about stopping the drive to grow, but about realizing that growth doesn’t have to come from a place of emptiness?

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