I didn’t think I would ever end up this confused again, but here I am. I’m as confused as ever. This place that I’m in, it’s not sustainable. Not if my goal is to keep going forward. It halts me in my tracks, it’s done it all week long. Delaying the things I said I’d do. Eating the things I said I wouldn’t. It clouds over me and makes anything acceptable. So I’m taking myself out into the wilderness. I’m going to go speak to myself and find some sort of peace agreement. I have the sell the dream to myself all over again. Get him to believe in the cause. In why we do anything.
Confusion is loudest when I stop honoring my own word. It turns everything gray so I can’t tell the difference between compromise and collapse. I’ve let it blur the borders this week—missed the marks, ate the shortcuts, called it “fine.” It isn’t fine. It’s friction dressed as mercy. And I can feel how it’s slowing me, how it makes anything acceptable if I sit in it long enough.
So I’m stepping out where the signal is clean. No screens. No noise. Just the wilderness and the part of me that doesn’t lie. I’m going to renegotiate with myself—not to bargain softer terms, but to remember the terms I chose. I’ll speak the plan out loud, until the words feel like steel again. Vision first, then rules that protect it. Simple. Hard. Non-negotiable.
I’m not searching for motivation; I’m rebuilding belief. I’ll sell the dream back to myself with receipts: what I’ve done, what it cost, what it gave. Then I’ll give myself a down payment today—one decisive action that proves the contract is active. When I return, the line will be bright again. And anything that doesn’t move me forward won’t be “acceptable” anymore—it’ll be impossible.
