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For the last 18 months, I’ve been searching for a switch.
I thought that if I could find it somewhere in my mind, everything would change. My confidence would surge, my creative juices would return, and I’d be back in the rhythm of doing what I’ve always loved.
Instead, I found a place a hoarder would love. Piles of junk and impossible to find anything.
I hoped for serendipity. A lucky break. A sudden win. Some external spark that would light the fire again. But nothing came. No bolt of lightning. No aha moment. And certainly no switch.
So I did what I thought would help: I turned inward.
Books. YouTube. Lots of journaling. I journaled like the answers would come to me.
And for a while, I thought it was helping. When nothing was changing on the outside, my desperation to find that switch intensified.
Then, I read something last week that hit a little too hard:
“Inner work is powerful. But you’ve used it as a cocoon — a way to feel busy evolving without doing the uncomfortable external expression of it.” — ChatGPT
Ouch. But the truth I needed.
I haven’t always been like this.
I used to be someone who always had a project in the works. Whether it was an online business, a podcast, or a blog post, I rarely let a year go by without being able to say, “Here’s what I published this year.”
That hasn’t been the case lately.
After ChatGPT revealed that truth, I thought back to what I have attempted over the past 18 months:
Wrote a few personal stories on Substack. Good start, but ended quickly. Same with Twitter.
Got excited about starting an Etsy store selling AI-generated art. Uploaded one product. Quit.
Filmed two business-class seat reviews in 2023. Everything was right in front of me footage, equipment, time but I never edited or uploaded them.
Recorded a YouTube video about starting a YouTube channel. Edited, but never uploaded.
I’m embarrassed to share that short list. You’d think someone with no job would have his back against the wall and try harder.
Each time, I had the time. I had the tools. I even had the excitement.
What I didn’t have was consistent action. I either quit too soon or quit before I even started.
I got addicted to the idea of doing something. I got dopamine from planning and learning, but not from doing. And that’s the trap: waiting to feel good in order to take action.
Somewhere in this past year, I convinced myself that the right idea would feel effortless. That I’d wake up obsessed. That I’d just know it was “the one,” like I had in the past. That motivation would be automatic.
But the uncomfortable truth I’ve discovered 18 months later is this:
Motivation comes from consistent action.
Not the other way around.
You don’t feel like it and then do the work. You do the work and eventually, the feeling catches up.
You start to see progress. You keep your word. You consistently execute. And that starts to feel good.
Journaling, while valuable, became my way of procrastinating. I tricked myself into thinking I was making progress just because I was processing emotions. But if the same emotions appear in 99% of my entries, I’m not making progress. I’m doing the same thing over again and expecting different results.
I remember one day this year, I wrote in my journal that I was tired of writing the same things all the time. For once, I wanted something new to write about.
Which brings me to where I am now:
No more waiting for a switch. No more waiting to be motivated. No more journaling as an excuse to feel like I’m doing something.
It’s time to publish. To ship. To be imperfect. To stop letting the need for quick results derail me. And to keep creating anyway.
Because everything I want in life won’t come from thinking.
It will come from doing.
Hit reply and tell me what's the “switch” you've been waiting for?
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