I woke up early today—earlier than usual, in fact. Almost instinctively, I reached for my phone, a habit I’d sworn to break. This time, though, the act felt innocent enough; after all, a phone is an excellent way to check the time. It was 4 a.m. The realization stirred mixed feelings in me. On one hand, waking up this early was a rare achievement. On the other, it meant I had some time to sleep before the day officially began.

I tried to fall back asleep, burying my face into the pillow, but sleep refused to return. The bed no longer felt like a sanctuary; it was just a surface beneath me. I debated getting up and starting the day, but I’d set a goal: wake at 5 a.m. sharp, head to the gym, and enjoy a quiet, uninterrupted workout. This routine was meant to bring structure to my life, to instill a sense of progress and discipline.

People often talk about the endorphin rush of exercise, the supposed happiness it brings. Yet after a week of consistent workouts, I still felt a void. I couldn’t understand how fitness influencers seemed so radiant, so fulfilled, while I struggled to find even a hint of satisfaction after each bench press. But progress isn’t immediate, I reminded myself. Success demands patience, even when it feels impossibly out of reach.

Lying there, my thoughts took a darker turn, as they often do in the quiet hours. I reflected on the year—another one filled with mediocrity and unmet expectations. It’s the holiday season, and everyone around me seems to be celebrating their wins, reminiscing over cherished memories. I have none of that. My year was a series of missteps: barely holding onto a job, making no meaningful memories, and facing an uncertain future.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. I’d envisioned a life filled with close friendships, career growth, and creative contributions to the world. Instead, I found myself isolated, doubting my value to those I called friends. They rarely called or texted, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I simply wasn’t memorable or important enough.

Maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. People gravitate toward those who bring value to their lives, and perhaps I hadn’t offered enough. If my career were flourishing, I might accept the loneliness. But with both my personal and professional life at a standstill, it was hard to see a way forward.

Still, there’s a sliver of hope. Hustling every day could eventually lead to something better. But right now, I feel drained—physically, emotionally, and spiritually. I used to love work, losing myself in hours of coding and problem-solving, often forgetting to eat. That passion feels like a distant memory now, replaced by exhaustion and apathy.

Lying in bed, the thought of getting up felt insurmountable. The day ahead loomed large, an overwhelming reminder of how far behind I’ve fallen. It’s tempting to stay in this darkness, to distract myself and escape reality. I picked up my phone again, scrolling aimlessly through social media, where others’ successes and happiness only deepened my despair.

Then the alarm rang, jolting me out of my thoughts. The sound wasn’t just a signal to wake up; it was a reminder to snap out of my mental haze. I’d made a rule for myself: whenever I start to wallow, I need to leave the house.

So I did. I got dressed, grabbed my gym bag, and stepped into the cool 5 a.m. air. The breeze was refreshing, a stark contrast to the heaviness I’d felt moments earlier. I walked for a bit, letting my mind wander to a fantasy world where I was significant—maybe a celebrated writer or a successful entrepreneur.

Eventually, I got into my car. Driving has a calming effect; it narrows your focus to the immediate task of navigating roads and watching for pedestrians. My mind remained blank, but at least it wasn’t spiraling. Before I knew it, I was standing in front of the gym, ready to face the day.