Sunset the calendar and say goodbye to 2024. By all accounts an enchanting, wonderful trip around the sun with wonderful things for wonderful people. And yet I’ll sit here, in this chair I’ve yet to replace, and wonder what happened so strongly that I feel stuck. As if I made no progress at all, as if my place in the world is rooted to earth, shale, and stone. I know 2024 was a success in most standard, world-accepted metrics. My KPI’s have been hit to appease the marketers, revenue exceeded for my shareholders. And I won’t enjoy a single bit of it. Based on shear numbers, I can’t be the only one feeling this way. I think most can understand that no matter what we do, there is always something missed, something more we could have done. And in my own neurotic way, I can recognize that my expectations are untenably high. So great that Charles Dickens rolls in his grave as I refuse to celebrate a single thing that happens. 

By all accounts, I’m where I should be. 

But the existence of the word “should” in the above sentence is indicative of the issues I’m facing. I’m operating as if there is a clear cut metric or formula to succeeding in life, as if there is a perfect way to operate, navigate, and maybe there is. A framework for defined success exists in most people, and is accepted in a wide range of would-be influencers and educators. But how does that affect me? 

I’m not even waxing poetically here; I’m thrashing in the waters of my conscience. Desperately seeking some concrete understanding that I can evoke here, to push this message across. The waters grow cold, the waves ever higher, and I am at the mercy of ideas I’m too naive to comprehend. 

I know what I did in 2024, but why wasn’t it enough? 

I planned on listing out my perceived accomplishments and achievements here, but it felt too self referential. It was bragging, at best, and rose-colored glasses at worst. In broadstrokes: 

My best working year, professionally. My team and I exceeded in most metrics especially considering the growing pains, and organizational change.

I’m physically the strongest I’ve ever been. I reached out for help to a dear friend of mine and I was able to exceed all of my set fitness goals. 

God, Pierogi is really the best dog I’ve ever had, he’s gotten so good at listening. I wish you could see him do all his tricks. 

I’ve had a ton of gaming success this year as well, and since that’s how I spend my free time I felt it was worth mentioning. 

Financially I’ve got my partner and I in a great position to accomplish our future goals. Dream house is less than five years away. 

And I have to tell you, even after reading this aloud to myself, that it isn’t enough. This is not enough. There is more I could’ve done, more I could have accomplished. If I had pushed myself harder, I could have… 

Could have what? Realistically? 

All of this just to say that some wiring in my brain is wrong. My expectations for myself are so brutally high that I am unable to enjoy even the slightest success or accomplishment. It stems from childhood, if I wasn’t immediately good at something it was failure. I was a failure, still am. Call it being a perfectionist, or anxiety, or compulsive, I know that the biggest obstacle in my way is me. 

So what? 

This screaming into a journal is self-serving but also a calling card. Please understand that if you’ve ever felt even the slightest bit similar, I’m here for you. I constantly tell my partner that the world is against her, no point in joining it. It’s just another piece of great advice that I will never apply to myself. (Because the advice isn’t good enough, if you know what I mean.) 

This entire world will convince your brain that there is more that you could be doing, and sure that’s true in some respect. But you know what else is true? 1% progress is better than zero. That success isn’t a place you end up, it is a process you take on. It requires upkeep, maintenance, and constant attention. And if it feels like I’m not talking to you directly, you’re right. I’m screaming at myself right now. Let this barbaric yawp sound through the cosmos, amongst the stars. Let the gravitational pull of distant celestial bodies ping the tuning fork in my brain. 

This work is never finished.