Planning a funeral

Choosing between who I am and who I am meant to become

Apr 20, 2025

The end of me

That evening, time seemed to slow down. It felt like everything had ground to a halt. I was broke. I was struggling with addictions that made me hate myself. I was a shadow of who I used to be. I had just completed the final season of Star Trek: Picard. And as I lay on the only mattress in the room, I stumbled upon one of my old notepads. One I wrote a few years before. The moment I opened it and began to read, I was shocked to my wits. The words on the page were mine, but written in a bolder time, by a brighter version of me. The words were who I could have become. Was it the audacity of the goals, or how daring the dreams were? I couldn’t believe I had written them. Soon, I was weeping uncontrollably. Because I remembered. And I hated who I had become in comparison. I understood that the cost of distraction was who I could have become if I had stayed on course. That night broke me. Not because I didn’t know what was wrong, but because I did. I was the one holding me back. I was the one keeping me small. And the most painful part? I had known for a long time. Don’t we all?

The truth was that for the longest time, there had always been this quiet, persistent voice that figuratively taps my shoulder while I binge-watched TV shows, while I scrolled endlessly on Instagram, while I snoozed the alarm, while I justified my mediocrity to myself, while I spiralled into addictions I had left behind. That voice was always there. It was a quiet voice. In Christianity, we call it 'conscience.' It’s so gentle that it never raises its voice. And so, it can be silenced or snuffed out entirely. And really, it doesn’t have to raise its voice, because we all know the point when we stopped being true to our goals. We can all remember the day when we stopped becoming who we said we wanted to be, that moment when we began trading our future for temporary pleasures in the present.

I didn’t need a therapist or a self-help guru to diagnose that I was stagnant. What I needed was the courage to admit that if I kept living like this, my future would disown me. So, that evening, for the first time in a long time, I listened to that voice. Truly listened. It wasn’t dramatic, but it was devastating because I saw it all, clearly: the trajectory. The compound cost of every one of my compromises in the preceding months. The quiet death of dreams that were once loud. The slow erosion of a self I used to admire. So, I did the only thing that made sense: I walked out of my present and took a long, hard look back from the future. What I saw? It was horrifying. It wrecked me. I had not lacked talent or opportunity. I had just willingly let myself be chained to distraction. Silently. Daily. Willingly. I could have been so much more. But the addictions, distractions, nonchalance and the allure of the easy life kept me grounded. What I didn’t know was that they were robbing my future in slow motion. The version of me that I said I wanted to become was slowly being choked out by the wrong choices I kept justifying. I soon realised that I was the end of me.

Nothing works until you work

And I’m guessing, if you’re still reading this, you know what that feels like too. We like to pretend there’s still time. That we’ll get serious later. That the future is patient. That life will wait. We live in a made-up world where everything stays the same, even when we refuse to grow or change. We talk about distraction like it’s harmless. But time never waits for the lazy. It doesn’t negotiate with those who waste it. It doesn’t pause for those who refuse to grow. Here’s the brutal truth you probably don’t want to hear, but I will say it anyway: You don’t get to waste your days on meaningless distractions and expect your destiny to bloom. You don’t get to cling to toxic habits and then cry when progress leaves you behind. You don’t get to scroll your ambition into the ground and then ask why no one sees your brilliance.

Nothing works until you work. Nothing moves until you move. Career. Marriage. Purpose. Finances. Faith. Destiny. None of it will rise until you do. You are either building your future or quietly dismantling it, one decision at a time. There is no third option. Not anymore. As Kaysha puts it in her latest post: “The nonchalant era is over. Be great or be forgotten.” And she’s right. You either rise or you become a punctuation mark in the story of someone else's life.

I know, I probably sound like an unkind prophet, here to drag you out of your comfort and call time on your romance with distraction. Maybe you’re tempted to stop reading. Maybe you think this is too harsh. But if you’ve read my work, you know this much: I tell the truth even when it stings. So, this isn’t about perfection. It’s about seriousness. About choosing your future over your habits. About wanting your life to mean something more than survival. It’s about finally becoming who you were built to be. So, come with me; let’s unpack this!

You knew the whole time

So let’s start here, with the lie you’ve been living. You say you’re waiting for clarity. That you’re still figuring it out. That you’re in a season of rest. But that’s not the truth. And you know it. You’re not waiting. You’re avoiding. Avoiding the work. Avoiding the mirror. Avoiding the version of yourself you were always meant to become. Because deep down, you already know what needs to go.

You know the habits that hollow you out. You know what would happen if you actually stopped playing small and started showing up for real. But you’ve made peace with your distractions. You’ve dressed up your delay as “process.” You’ve gotten so good at surviving that you’ve forgotten how to build something worthy of your name. People talk about potential like it’s an asset. It’s not. Not until it’s converted. Until then, it’s just dead weight. And carrying it is exhausting.

Greatness is never accidental. And it is never convenient. It is inconvenient by design because it is meant to strip away the versions of you that were never built to last. Which means the future doesn’t belong to the gifted. It belongs to the ruthless.

Let’s be clear: Discipline is not a hack. It’s not a mood. It’s not a productivity side quest for people with too much time. Discipline is how you pay your dues to the future you say you want. And right now, you’re either paying in full or stealing from it. You don’t get to:

Complain about being overlooked when you’re not outworking anyone.
Whine about missed opportunities when you keep skipping the reps.
Talk about legacy when you can’t even manage your mornings.

It’s not that greatness is unavailable. It’s just incompatible with your current routine. You want the result, but resent the requirement. You want the crown, but not the crucifixion. You want to win, but quietly, conveniently, without giving up the vices you’re still romanticising. It doesn’t work like that. At some point, you have to choose: Your dreams or your distractions. Your future or your fix. Because here’s the cold truth: You will either be remembered or you will be replaced.

The cost of distraction

You already know that delaying growth is bad. What you may not know yet is that delay doesn’t just kill dreams, it rewrites identity. The cost of accommodating distractions is who you could have become. Every delayed decision is shaping a future self you may not want to meet. When you avoid the work, you don’t just lose time. You lose yourself. You lose an opportunity to become. Bit by bit, distraction will chisel away at your dreams until all that’s left is someone you can’t recognise; you become a stranger to your own potential. It doesn’t happen overnight; it happens in quiet, numbing increments. Trust me, I have been there. You scroll a little more means you try a little less. You play a little more and literally walk away from the version of you you were designed to become. Soon, you’d realise that somewhere along the line, you stopped becoming.

You’re not waiting. You’re withering. Not because you aren’t capable. But because you’ve taught yourself to be okay with slow decay, as long as it doesn’t hurt too much. But make no mistake, it’s costing you everything. Every delayed decision is permission for distraction to colonise your life. Every tolerated habit becomes part of your character. Every excuse hardens into identity. Until one day, the version of you that was meant to shake the world is just a memory that never had a chance.

It won’t be a shocker, but you will realise that you were never stuck. You were just sedated by noise, by pleasure, by people who clap for your mediocrity. And you let it happen because staying numb is easier than getting honest. But here’s the part no one tells you: Greatness will never beg for your attention. It’s not loud. It’s not urgent. It doesn’t chase. It waits, like a throne collecting dust, until someone serious enough shows up to claim it. So the question was never, “Can you be great?” It’s: “When will you stop pretending you don’t know how?”

The rise is quiet; begin anyway.

There is no applause at the start of a comeback. No standing ovation for deciding you’ve had enough. No crowd cheering when you delete Netflix, clean the room, cancel the distraction, and start over with nothing but a spine and a schedule. But that’s where it begins. Not with noise but with nerve. The courage to say no to what’s been slowly killing you. The courage to return to the part of you that still believes you were built for more than just getting by.

No claps. No cameras. Just you, a schedule, and the sound of old excuses losing their power. This is the real miracle: repetition.

The rise is quiet. It happens the moment you stop chasing moods and start building systems. When you stop flirting with potential and start honouring it. When your actions start catching up to the promises your words have been making for years. You don’t need a reset button. You need consistency. You need today. Then tomorrow. Then again, after that. Not dramatically. Not perfectly. Just relentlessly.

You start by keeping one small promise. Then another. And over time, you build a life made of discipline instead of desire. And one day, quietly, steadily, you wake up inside the life you used to envy. Not because you got lucky. But because you finally got serious

Let the old version of you die.

This isn’t about hustle culture. It’s not about being busy, impressive, or loud. It’s about building a life you can respect, one decision at a time. Because the truth is painfully simple: If you don’t rise, you will disappear. Not all at once. But slowly. Buried beneath the weight of excuses you once thought were harmless.

This world won’t remember your potential. It won’t honour your intentions. It responds to results, the kind born from clarity, consistency, and a refusal to betray yourself another day. So here’s your choice: Keep drifting toward irrelevance, sedated by the false comfort of someday. Or plan that funeral and bury the old version of you forever. Step forward with your head clear, your heart steady, and your hands to the work.

You won’t feel like it, do it anyway. You won’t be applauded, show up anyway. You won’t be sure it’s working, keep going anyway. Here's your simple 5-step guide to taking charge.

Stop Romanticising Readiness: There is no perfect moment. No lightning strike of clarity. Readiness isn’t something you wait for; it’s something you earn. Stop waiting for motivation. Start building momentum.
Make One Serious Decision Today: Forget the five-year plan. Start with one bold, uncomfortable, clear decision. Clean the space. End the habit. Delete the app. Start the thing. You won’t feel ready. Do it anyway.
Choose Discipline Over Drama: You don’t need more inspiration. You need execution. Every time you choose consistency over comfort, you sharpen your edge. You are either showing up or slowly giving up.
Build Identity Through Repetition: Every rep counts. The more you move, the more momentum you build. And the more momentum you build, the more your identity shifts. And identity is what makes change stick. What are you waiting for?
Rise Now Because There Is No Later: You are not too late. But you are out of time to waste. So, let the old version die. Let the future breathe. Get serious. Get sharp. Get back in the fight because greatness doesn’t wait. And if you don’t become serious and unforgettable, you will definitely be replaced.

You don’t need to do it all today, but you do need to start. Because the future doesn’t wait for the perfect version of you, it waits for the honest one. The one willing to get back up. The one willing to go again. This isn’t about becoming superhuman. It’s about becoming serious. Not someday. Now.

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