I’ve spent a lot of time imagining what I’ll do once everything lines up, once the timing’s right, once I feel ready, once the pieces are in place. It’s not even that I believe success should be easy. Just that, somehow, I’ve always expected it to feel easy when it’s time. Like I’ll know. Like I’ll slide right into it without resistance. But that day never comes. Not really. There’s a part of me that only wants to move when things are smooth and light and exciting. As soon as effort or uncertainty shows up, I feel myself pulling away. I try for a bit, just enough to say I tried. Then I quit. I reframe. I tell myself that wasn’t the right path anyway. It’s not that I don’t want things. I do. But the moment they start to cost something - time, pride, focus - they stop feeling like a dream and start feeling like a burden. And that’s when I start rationalising my way out. Sometimes I don’t even realise I’m doing it. I’ll blame my circumstances, the people around me, the structure of the world. Sometimes the excuses can even sound logical, like I’m just waiting for a better opportunity or trying to do things “the right way.” But underneath all of it is just fear. I don’t want to commit to something unless I know it’ll work and I want proof before I begin. I can't put a part of myself at risk without some kind of guaranteed reward. So instead I cycle through plans. I talk about them. I make notes. I fantasise about the moment when everything clicks, usually in some dramatic way, like being thrown into a situation where I have to act. Where it’s sink or swim. Where failure would at least be honest. Imagining how well I would do in a world that forces my hand, like a zombie apocalypse, because then I wouldn’t have to choose - then I wouldn’t have to feel like I was the one stopping me this whole time. There’s a part of me that finds comfort in that idea, the fantasy of being forced to rise to the occasion, because if I die, at least I die trying, and if I win, I prove something to myself. But real life doesn’t work like that. No one’s coming to force my hand.

Most of us want to change something about ourselves. Maybe we want to be more confident, more focused, more creative, more fit — or just different. We imagine this future version of ourselves and think, “Yes. That’s who I want to be.” But no matter how clear that picture is, we often stay stuck exactly where we are. Why? It’s not just because we lack motivation or discipline. A big reason we don’t change is because everything around us is designed to keep us the same. Our daily routine, our job (or lack of one), our friends, the places we go, the conversations we have, even our wake-up time and eating habits — all of them form a kind of invisible structure. And that structure is built for the current version of us, not the one we want to become. I know this personally. I’ve spent a long time wishing that one day I’ll just wake up and suddenly be the kind of person who makes music regularly, shoots videos, earns enough money to travel, writes a book, writes a screenplay, becomes good at drawing — the whole dream list. But deep down, I also know this: if I don’t make meaningful changes to the environment around me, all the things that stop me now will keep stopping me forever. Let’s start with work. Your job affects more than your bank balance. It decides your schedule, your energy levels, your self-worth. If you spend your day bored or burned out, it’s no surprise you don’t come home buzzing with creativity. It’s incredibly hard to become passionate and focused when you’re already exhausted. For me, the problem is the opposite — I don’t have a job right now. I’m terrified of rejection (see my previous post for that one), so I keep putting it off until it becomes absolutely unavoidable and a lot more stressful than it needs to be. There are hundreds of thousands of things I could do about it. Do I do any of them? Nope. And then there are friends. People tend to see you as the version of yourself they first met. So when you start to change — maybe you want to drink less, speak up more, try new things — your friends might laugh it off, change the subject, or just look confused.

I don’t know if the title question is one that many people think about consciously. It’s a question that gets sidestepped whilst pursuing something else. ‘Well, I know what I need to get. A glorious career, a loving partner, a lot of money, a better education, my dream car, a house the size of Liechtenstein…’ Wanting things is unhappiness, so surely having them is happiness… I don’t know about you, but every time I’ve achieved something I have worked extremely hard for, it’s brought me happiness for a day or so, and then it’s just on to the next thing. Almost like I’m in pursuit of the wrong thing entirely. So when will I be good enough? The Origins of "Enoughness" Think back to when you were a kid. Not the big, dramatic moments, but the small ones - drawing a picture and showing it to a parent, getting a test score back from your teacher, making a joke to see if someone laughs. Every reaction, every glance, every word leaves a subtle imprint. If success brought you praise, you learned that success equals approval. If people responded to mistakes with disappointment, then failure may have felt like rejection. I remember when I was seven, my parents were busy with my younger siblings and preparing to move, so I didn't receive much attention for a little while. At school, I was average at most subjects and good at maths. But after we moved, I was suddenly good at most subjects and great at maths (because the tests were easier.) I proudly told my parents, "Hey Mummy? Daddy? I got full marks in my maths test today!" Their faces lit up. "Oh wow! We’re so proud!" Well, I had their attention now… But here's the thing: those lessons were absorbed by someone who didn't understand the world yet. A child’s brain doesn’t register parental stress and distraction. Instead, it thinks, ‘Maybe I'm not interesting enough.’ Those early interpretations don’t always fade with time; they just become background noise, quietly influencing decisions long after we've forgotten where they started.

"Do you think this world is good?" As I was winding down for bed last night, I received the above text message from my good friend and I thought to myself, 'That's a pretty vague question.' Here's the response I sent: "I would ask for a definition of 'this world' and 'good' but I’ll give it a go anyway. I think the average person walking by you on the street is nice and pleasant and kind and helpful if they can be. I think that people generally lean selfish in a way that makes total sense, but averages out to many decisions going for the guy in power and against the little guy, until you end up like we are today. I think that the world is the world. I can’t apply good or bad to the ecosystems and wildlife. I saw a butterfly land on a flower earlier and that was nice, but on Tuesday I saw a grey squirrel pounce from a branch and slash a pigeon minding it’s own business scattering feathers into the wind - which happened to be blowing in my direction - and that was less nice. I think that the universe is massive, we’ll amount to very little 'in the grand scheme of things' but I think that’s not our job. I think we’re supposed to do our best and live a good life by whatever standards we deem, and some people agree to the standards I hold and some people don’t and that’s OK - and important to remember. I think good and bad are awkward words to describe anything, because the full context of a thing or a person or an event is often obscured before the judgement making process, and after the initial judgment is made the mind hardens to that 'fact'. You can't teach a man that which he thinks he already knows. I think I’m good, until I’m bad by accident and sometimes, even worse, on purpose. I think you’re good, because I don’t know what capacity you have to be bad. I think a stranger walking up to me is bad because I don’t know the capacity they have to be good. I think good can be done by bad people, and bad done by good. I think it’s nuanced in a way that is not satisfying but very human.