Another night, another mindless scroll through TikTok before sleep. My thumb pauses on a video, the creator's voice cutting through my dark apartment: "Do you know that Q1 2025 had already passed and just 1 and a half months more, we'll reach the half year mark of 2025."
My stomach tightens as she continues: "Have you read the book you said you'd read? Taken that new course you swore you'd start? Quit the job you complain about every day and applied for a better one?"
I pause the video, my finger hovering over the screen as reality crashes down. The Coursera courses I signed up for remain untouched, progress bars frozen at 12%. The books I promised myself I'd read sit in a cardboard box in the corner of my room. And somewhere in the storage room, my dumbbells are probably collecting dust, silent witnesses to abandoned intentions. Only six weeks before we hit the year's halfway mark, and I've barely begun.
Vision boards have always made me uneasy. Last January, my coworker Amelia proudly displayed hers, a collage of travel destinations, career milestones, and fitness goals, while I nodded politely, hiding my skepticism.
"What's on yours?" she'd asked.
"I keep mine... digital," I lied, tapping my temple with my index finger.
The truth? Those unchecked boxes haunt me. Each unmarked goal transforms into evidence of failure, of promises I couldn't keep, even to myself.
My phone buzzes with a notification. Lisa's been promoted to senior manager. Three scrolls later, Kai announces his engagement with a photo of a beachside proposal. Then comes Emma's update about her toddler's first steps.
I put my phone down and glance at my own life. My desk is organized, my performance reviews consistently positive, my deadlines always met. Yet the sensation of running in place follows me everywhere.
Last night, after submitting a project two days early, I collapsed onto my couch and spent three hours scrolling mindlessly through social media. When my eyes grew heavy, I started dreaming and rethinking about the past, where I have spent 7 years going through so many ups and downs and what got me here. Sleep finally came, but memories lingered.
I start rethinking what caused my unmotivated self. I remember sitting at my desk in a studio apartment, an ocean away from my family. My journey abroad still continued, but that same circle of friends did not survive some hardships.
"I'm fine on my own," became my mantra during video calls home. "I'm actually getting so much done without distractions."
The reality played out differently. I'd work frantically until exhaustion, then disappear into a cave of isolation for days. Sometimes my phone would show messages from three days prior that I hadn't noticed. A package of groceries delivered to my door meant I didn't have to see another human face.
That period rewired something in me. Now, the thought of stepping outside my carefully constructed comfort zone makes my heart race like I'm facing a predator instead of an opportunity.
This morning, I woke up earlier than usual. Instead of reaching for my phone, I grabbed a notebook that had been sitting unopened on my nightstand for months.
On the first page, I wrote: "What am I actually good at?"
The pen hovered for a moment before I forced myself to write:
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Planning projects down to the details
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Writing clear, thoughtful emails that get responses
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Listening to others
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Solving complex problems when given quiet space to think
The list looked small, but seeing it written down created a tiny spark. I turned the page.
"What do I want to learn next?"
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Public speaking without the nervous stomach
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Project management
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Various job-related skills I've been putting off
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Relearn Japanese that I've forgotten
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Making friends as an adult (is there a manual for this?)
Now at weekends, I promised myself to cook and learn new recipes. Instead of ordering delivery or eating out, I went to the grocery store. The sun felt foreign on my skin when I actually went outside and breathed that fresh air instead of being surrounded by air conditioner and artificial light at my home office.
I wandered through the flower section and found myself drawn to bright pink lilies that seemed almost too vibrant against the sterile white tiles of the store.
"Those will make any room come alive," said the woman arranging the display.
"That's exactly what I need," I replied, realizing how true those words were.
At home, I placed the flowers on my desk. Their vibrant petals stood in stark contrast to my minimalist workspace. I boiled water in a small pot, measuring matcha powder into a bowl, a ritual I'd watched online but never attempted.
The drink tasted bitter, but making it felt significant. A small action, completely unnecessary, done purely because I wanted to.
Before bed, I wrote three tasks on my tracking app for tomorrow:
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Walk for 30 minutes before work
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Read a new blog before sleep or finish the next chapter of my book
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Send a message to ask for reference and CV feedback
Small, almost embarrassingly simple goals, but ones I knew I could complete.
One of my friends used to say something that's stayed with me: "If you only give 80%, you'll receive 80%. But if you commit 100%, you could receive 1,000%, because that extra 20% is where miracles happen."
I've been living at 65% effort, just enough to appear successful, just enough to not invite questions. That final push, the zone where discomfort lives, has remained untouched.
Today, when my alarm rang for my morning walk, every fiber wanted to hit snooze. The voice in my head listed logical reasons to stay in bed: It might rain. I could walk tomorrow instead. No one would know.
I put on my shoes anyway, fingers fumbling with the laces.
That twenty-minute walk turned into thirty as I discovered a community garden I'd never noticed before, just three blocks from my apartment. A man with soil-covered hands offered me a sprig of rosemary. "It helps with memory," he said with a wink.
The rosemary now sits next to my pink lilies, a tiny reminder that the world continues to offer surprises when I show up for it.
I'm not transformed. My comfort zone hasn't magically expanded overnight. The thought of networking events still makes my palms sweat, and sometimes I still cancel plans for the relief of solitude.
But I've learned that action creates confidence, not the other way around. The mornings I force myself onto the treadmill are the days my mind feels clearest. The moments I volunteer an answer in a meeting, even when my voice shakes, are when colleagues later seek my input.
Vision boards work for some, but I've found power in the daily checklist. In celebrating small wins instead of mourning ambitious failures. In recognizing that the gap between who I am and who I want to be doesn't close with dreams alone.
Tonight, I'll check off my three tasks. Tomorrow, I'll write three more. And somewhere in the accumulation of these tiny victories, I'm discovering a version of myself who's not just surviving but beginning to thrive.
The journey isn't about crossing some distant finish line. It's about becoming someone who's brave enough to start.