You know the answer. You know what you have to do. That’s where your anger stems from, from knowing it. You don’t want to have to do it, but you want it, so you have to. How else will you believe yourself when you tell yourself you want it? The proof will always be in what you do, and if you keep doing what you’re doing, you won’t make it. You won’t believe you’ll make it. You’ll forever be a slave to your senses. It won’t happen, because I won’t let it happen. I’ll do whatever I have to do. There’s nothing in the world I want more.
When you know exactly what needs to be done, but still resist doing it, the tension becomes unbearable—it’s the friction between clarity and avoidance. That inner anger isn’t confusion, it’s recognition. You’re not lost; you’re unwilling. But willingness is the cost of becoming who you say you want to be. The mind won’t believe the dream unless it sees you bleeding for it—sacrificing, pushing, acting even when it’s hard. If you keep hesitating, you’ll lose trust in your own word. And when that happens, discipline dies. You can’t let that happen—not now. Not when you’re this close.
