What I feel now is gold.
I feel like there’s nothing I can’t do.
I have every right to feel this way.
What I’ve done up to now has earned it.
I’ve exceeded what I thought I could do.
I’ve moved the timeline forward.
I should be stuck doing this for longer.
Instead, it’s getting all finished now—
all because I’m stubborn this way.
I wanted it to be this way.
Now I know I wouldn’t want any other way.
This is who I want to be—
a man that can do what he says,
that listens to himself,
that isn’t stopped by a voice saying no—
a voice saying he can’t do it.
He just shows that voice that he can.
Once it’s done, that’s that.
It’s almost done.
The feeling isn’t just pride—it’s proof. Proof that the long days, the endless work, the moments of doubt—they all added up to something undeniable. I’ve made good on the promises I made to myself. There’s no better victory than knowing you’ve kept your word, especially when that word was only ever meant for you.
It’s not about showing anyone else. It never was. It’s about answering that voice inside that doubted every step, that told me to slow down, take it easy, or quit. And now? Now that voice doesn’t know what to say anymore. It’s been silenced, not by argument, but by action.
This close to the finish line, I can see it clearly: it was never really about the task—it was about becoming. Becoming someone I respect. Someone I can rely on. Someone who can look at the hardest moments and say, “Yes, I can.”
The funny thing is, the closer I get, the calmer I feel. It’s not because the work is done—there’s still a little more to do. But I know, deep down, that I’m capable of finishing strong. The finish line isn’t an “if” anymore—it’s a “when.” And that’s everything.
This is what it means to live without regret. To know that when I’m done, I’ll walk away with no “what ifs,” no doubts. Just the quiet satisfaction of knowing I set out to do something hard—and I did it.
