Sometimes I have these days where, on paper, everything goes perfectly.

I wake up early. I go to the gym. I get to class on time. I take good notes. I follow up on emails. I cross off every single item on my to-do list. I even eat my vegetables. I do all the things I’m supposed to do, and I do them well.

And at the end of the day, I feel proud.
Not loud, brag-about-it proud. Just a small, quiet feeling of I did what I said I would do.

But underneath that pride, there’s a strange emptiness. Like I’ve been building something all day, only to realize I’m not sure what it’s supposed to be.

Because as much as I like feeling productive, I’ve started to wonder if I’m actually being productive — in a real, meaningful way. Am I moving toward something? Or am I just good at staying busy?

I’ve gotten used to being hardworking. To be “efficient.” To measuring my worth by how many tasks I can juggle, how cleanly I can make my life look from the outside. And it works — it really does.

I win things. I get the email. I see the green checkmark.
People say, “Wow, you’re really killing it.”

But it never feels like I’ve made it.

Because no matter how far I go, the bar just moves. Someone else has more. Someone else did it faster. Someone else turned the same accomplishment into a stepping stone while I’m still staring at it, waiting to feel something.

Even when I “win,” I just feel like I’ve survived. For now.

And there are moments, quiet ones, when I sit alone in the library or walk back from a meeting under the flickering streetlights, and I wonder:

What exactly am I running toward?

What’s the reward at the end of all this?

Another round? Another mountain? Another polished bullet point that proves I’m still worthy of being here?

I keep telling myself that if I just do it all, and do it perfectly, I’ll finally reach something.

But the finish line keeps disappearing the closer I get.

And the scary part is: what if I do make it? What if I get everything I’m chasing, and it still feels like this — a game I don’t remember choosing to play, with rules I didn’t write, and a prize I no longer want?

I used to think success would feel like peace.
Now I’m starting to think it just feels like more.

Maybe I just like being productive because it makes me feel a little less insecure about life — like I have a purpose, even when I have no idea what it is.