Seems like I’ll be able to do more
Always seems to be the case
When I start it’s too much
When I finish it’s not enough
Once again it’s that way
I’m finishing up what I need
It was long, took me a while
Not done yet but it’s getting there
Now that it’s close though
I seem to want more
I know I can do more
Will it hurt? Yes
I’m already hurting though
What difference does it make now
I can carry this hurt some more
If it means less hurt later on
I know I’ll be happy with more
Every time I do more I am
Time to give myself some joy through pain.
It always starts with resistance. A task that feels too large, a weight that feels too heavy. But that’s just the illusion of the beginning. The moment you push past the friction, something clicks. You realize you’re not only capable—you’re hungry for more. It’s a familiar pattern by now. The hardest part was never the work itself—it was the doubt that wrapped around it. And now that you’ve broken through, it’s not just doable—it’s desirable.
You’ve come far enough to recognize the pain as part of the process—not a warning sign, but a companion. It’s always going to be there. But now it’s background noise. You carry it like armor. You’ve learned that going further won’t destroy you—it’ll shape you. If it’s going to hurt anyway, you might as well make it mean something. Push beyond what’s required and buy yourself peace later. That’s the trade. That’s the joy through pain.
And that joy? It’s real. It’s earned. It doesn’t come from finishing early or escaping discomfort. It comes from knowing you did more than you had to. That you kept your word when no one was watching. The Void Adventurer doesn’t run from the hurt—he uses it. Bends it into a tool. And every extra step taken in that state is a signal: I am not done yet. I am not finished. There is more of me to give.
