There are days when everything feels heavier than usual. Days when even the things you love, the routines you’ve built, and the passions that usually drive you forward suddenly feel like burdens. Today is one of those days for me. And perhaps, if you’ve ever struggled to stay consistent with something you care about, my experience might sound familiar.
It has been 939 days since November 12, 2012, the day I first published an article on my website. Since then, I have committed to writing and sharing new work every Monday and Thursday without fail. Week after week, month after month, year after year. And yet, even after all this time, today I feel like giving up.
The truth is, consistency is rarely easy. Despite having nearly a thousand days of momentum behind me, I woke up this morning feeling drained. My mind flooded with doubts: I don’t have any good ideas. There isn’t enough time to write something worthwhile. Maybe I should skip today. Maybe I should just stop altogether.
In moments like this, I remind myself of a crucial lesson I’ve learned: my mind is a suggestion engine. Every thought that crosses my mind is a proposal, not a command. When I feel tired, it’s merely a suggestion that I should rest. When I feel discouraged, it’s a suggestion that I might not be able to succeed. But these are only options, not mandates. And if I pause long enough, I can hear other suggestions rising as well: the sense of satisfaction that will follow if I push through, the pride in honoring my commitment, and the opportunity to reinforce the identity I am building.
The discomfort I feel right now is temporary. Any habit, task, or challenge occupies just a small fraction of my day or week. A workout ends in an hour. A report gets submitted by tomorrow. This article will soon be finished. Life today offers luxuries and conveniences our ancestors could never have imagined. Three centuries ago, survival required killing your own food and building your own shelter. Today, we feel inconvenienced when we misplace a phone charger. When I put things in perspective, I see how minor my discomfort really is. And knowing it is temporary allows me to step into it, to let it strengthen rather than defeat me.
Hard work, once completed, rarely leaves us with regret. Theodore Roosevelt once said, “Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is the chance to work hard at work worth doing.” Yet, we often crave the reward without the labor. We want fit bodies without grueling workouts, respect without relentless effort, success without enduring setbacks. We dream of the gold medal but recoil from the training.
But here’s the simple truth: though starting can be excruciating, finishing is almost always gratifying. Even when the work feels mediocre, simply showing up is a victory. It is the accumulation of these daily acts of courage that shape our character.
Life itself is a delicate balancing act between succumbing to ease and rising through discipline. Our identities are crafted in these quiet, daily battles—in every decision to either press forward or back away. These moments when we don’t feel like doing the work are not insignificant. They are life itself. And how we spend these moments determines who we become.
So, what do I do when I feel like giving up? I show up. I write. Not always at my best, but I write nonetheless. My job is not to measure how brilliant or dull today’s effort may be. My job is simply to do the work and let the world judge its value.
In the end, showing up is what matters most. Because every act of persistence strengthens the foundation upon which lasting success is built.
