I stopped making resolutions.

I stopped making resolutions.

Last year’s resolution is still unfinished.

I am not unintelligent.
I know that.

And yet I barely earn more than fresh graduates.

Some of the students I once tutored now earn more than me.
They are living the kind of life I once assumed would be mine by now.

On New Year’s Eve, I sat alone, staring at another year that slipped past me.
Just quiet disbelief.

I kept asking myself what went wrong.
When did this happen.
How did I become this version of me.

I started many businesses.
Every one of them failed.

I wrote many books.
None of them saw the light of day.

I had ideas that could have been worth millions.
None were executed.

Every year, I wrote down the same resolutions.
Every year, I failed to fulfill them.

Not because I was lazy.
Not because I was stupid.

I could see the destination clearly.
I just could not reach it.

Ideas came easily.
Execution felt impossible.

The beginning was always exciting.
The middle was where everything collapsed.

Somewhere halfway, the energy disappeared.
I quit there.

Again.

And again.

So I started asking myself the questions I had been avoiding.

Is there something I have been running from all my life.

Why can’t I finish what I started.

What is standing between my dream and my destination.

I do not want brilliance anymore.

I want momentum.

I want to push through.
I want to finish something.

Even if it is small.
Even if it is imperfect.

Just complete.

Because maybe the problem was never my intelligence.

Maybe it was that I never learned how to stay when things stopped feeling exciting.

And maybe finishing one small, imperfect thing is how I finally begin.

Note: This piece reflects a season many people pass through.
It is not a literal account of my life.