A vision of the future. I get a glimpse of it when I start to do the things I have to do. The image gets less and less blurry. My hopes for it coming to reality grows the longer I stare at it. The image fades however. It fades whenever I stop doing the things I have to do. I can only see it when I’m actively doing all the things I should be doing. So doing what’s required no longer becomes a task, it becomes a method of time travel. A way to see who I will become so long as I continue to do the things I’m requiring myself to do. It’s simple. It’s not that hard to do. It just feels like it’s hard to do because you have to do it every day. So it can feel eternal. It’s not though, and you don’t have to do it every day. You just have to do it for today. Let yourself die every night. Be reborn every morning.
Every time I move with intention, a window opens. Just for a moment, I can see through the fog—see him. The man I’m becoming. He’s clearer when I’m in motion, when I’m aligned with what needs to be done. It’s not a fantasy or blind optimism. It’s a preview. A glimpse into a future that wants to meet me but demands proof first. That proof is in my actions. Every rep, every task, every effort… it sharpens the vision.
But the second I stop—when I slip back into comfort, delay, or neglect—that window fogs up again. He fades. It’s not punishment, just reflection. I only get to see him when I’m walking his path. And that’s where discipline transforms into something more—something mystical. Every mundane act becomes a form of communion. Not just with the future, but with myself. The me that knows who I’m supposed to be.
That’s the trick: don’t chase eternity. Just do today. Let the weight of forever fall away. Be someone new each morning. Let yesterday’s wins or losses die with the night. Reclaim your identity by choosing the effort again—no baggage, no pressure, just action. It’s not eternal. It’s only today. And today, you have what it takes.