You can only understand this blog properly if you've read the last one, stop and read this one first to get the context of that last one. Blah blah blah. #uck it, just start reading. You don't care about my life anyway.
I don’t know why I’m writing this.
That’s probably the most honest opening I could give you..
There is no achievement.
No announcement.
No billion-dollar idea.
No dramatic transformation.
I just felt like writing.
So I opened the laptop.
And here we are.
Last week, I decided I was going to work for 18 hours a day.
Yes.
Eighteen.
Very ambitious.
Very stupid.
Very me.
I didn’t work 18 hours.
I didn’t work 15.
I didn’t even consistently work 10.
Some days were 9.
Some were 10.
Some were…
let’s not discuss those.
The schedule eventually became:
And somehow I had managed to turn an 18-hour workday into a mathematical expression for absolutely nothing.
The interesting part?
I knew it was going to happen.
That’s what makes it worse.
There was no surprise.
No external force.
No villain.
No conspiracy.
Just me.
And my spectacular ability to postpone things while simultaneously making extremely ambitious plans about them.
I’ve spent enough time looking at my own life to understand the pattern.
Didn’t score brilliantly in school?
Discipline.
Not where I want to be in life?
Discipline.
Health not where I want it?
Also discipline.
It’s almost annoyingly consistent.
The funny thing is, I’m not depressed about it.
I’m actually interested.
Because once you know what the problem is, you can finally stop pretending it’s something else.
And I’m improving.
Not dramatically.
Not Instagram-reel dramatically.
Just slowly.
Which, apparently, is how actual improvement works.
Then I came across something that got me thinking.
I was reading about Swami Vivekananda and veer Savarkar.
Two completely different men.
But there was one thing I noticed.
They were physically strong.
Not because they were trying to win some imaginary beauty contest.
They had things to do.
Work to do.
Places to go.
Problems to solve.
Their bodies weren’t the product.
Their bodies were the infrastructure.
And that idea stuck with me.
Because if I actually want to spend my life building things…
then my body can’t become the weakest part of the operation.
I don’t want to spend my life trying to look productive.
I want to actually be capable of being productive.
There is a difference.
A very expensive difference.
And then tonight, Bhavesh happened.
An old friend.
We reconnected.
Started talking.
One topic became another.
Then another.
And eventually we were having one of those conversations where nobody remembers what the original topic was.
At some point I said:
“Let’s just wait and watch.”
And Bhavesh corrected me.
“Wait and work.”
That’s it.
Four words.
But somehow better than half the motivational content I’ve consumed in my life.
Because “wait and watch” is comfortable.
You watch.
You analyse.
You wait for the right opportunity.
You wait for the right time.
You wait for the right circumstances.
And then you wonder why nothing happened.
“Wait and work” is different.
You work.
Then you wait.
Then you work again.
Then you wait some more.
And while you’re waiting, everyone else is still talking.
You’re still working.
Maybe nothing happens.
So you work again.
Maybe something happens.
So you work harder.
It’s not particularly glamorous.
There is no cinematic background music.
No one announces that you’re entering your next chapter.
Most of the time, nobody even knows you’re working.
And maybe that’s the point.
I’m still the same guy who planned an 18-hour workday and somehow lost half the day to himself.
I’m still figuring out discipline.
I’m still fixing things.
I’m still building.
But at least now I have a sentence for the process.
Wait and work.
Not wait and watch.
Not dream and wait.
Not talk and wait.
Wait.
And work.
I think that’s enough for this week.
For tonight, anyway.