It was a Tuesday. I remember because I always hated Tuesdays - not quite the fresh start of Monday, not close enough to the weekend to matter. I was sitting in the parking lot of my office building, engine off, staring at the steering wheel like it held all the answers to my life.
Three hours earlier, I'd been in a meeting where my boss praised me for being "so reliable" and "always consistent." Sounds good, right? Except all I heard was "you never take risks" and "you're completely predictable." The kind of predictable that keeps you safe but slowly kills your soul.
I'd been working at that company for six years. Six years of doing the same thing, with the same people, getting the same results. I was successful on paper - decent salary, corner office, respect from my colleagues. But sitting in that parking lot, I felt like I was disappearing one day at a time.
Here's the thing nobody tells you about being stuck: it doesn't happen overnight. It's not like you wake up one morning and suddenly realize you hate your life. It's more like slowly sinking into quicksand while everyone around you says "at least you have job security."
That Tuesday, something shifted. Maybe it was the way the late afternoon sun was hitting my windshield, or maybe I'd just reached my breaking point.
But I started asking myself questions I'd been avoiding for years:
When was the last time I felt excited about anything? When did I stop dreaming about what was possible? How did I become someone who chose comfort over growth every single time?
The answers weren't pretty.
I pulled out my phone and started typing in my notes app. Not a resignation letter or a business plan - just honest thoughts about what I actually wanted. Not what I thought I should want, or what would make my parents proud, or what looked good on social media. What I actually, genuinely wanted.
It took me forty-five minutes to write three sentences. That's how disconnected I'd become from my own desires.
Three hours earlier, I'd been in a meeting where my boss praised me for being "so reliable" and "always consistent." Sounds good, right? Except all I heard was "you never take risks" and "you're completely predictable." The kind of predictable that keeps you safe but slowly kills your soul.
I'd been working at that company for six years. Six years of doing the same thing, with the same people, getting the same results. I was successful on paper - decent salary, corner office, respect from my colleagues. But sitting in that parking lot, I felt like I was disappearing one day at a time.
Here's the thing nobody tells you about being stuck: it doesn't happen overnight. It's not like you wake up one morning and suddenly realize you hate your life. It's more like slowly sinking into quicksand while everyone around you says "at least you have job security."
That Tuesday, something shifted. Maybe it was the way the late afternoon sun was hitting my windshield, or maybe I'd just reached my breaking point.
But I started asking myself questions I'd been avoiding for years:
When was the last time I felt excited about anything? When did I stop dreaming about what was possible? How did I become someone who chose comfort over growth every single time?
The answers weren't pretty.
I pulled out my phone and started typing in my notes app. Not a resignation letter or a business plan - just honest thoughts about what I actually wanted. Not what I thought I should want, or what would make my parents proud, or what looked good on social media. What I actually, genuinely wanted.
It took me forty-five minutes to write three sentences. That's how disconnected I'd become from my own desires.