You’re right, it’s almost like a treadmill that never stops. People keep sprinting for that next notification, only to find the goalpost has moved a foot farther. It feels like we’re chasing a mirage of approval, and every “like” is just a little wind that lifts us up for a moment before it blows away again. The real question is: what do we do with that energy once the moment passes? Instead of running, maybe we should pause, look at the path we’re on, and decide if it’s worth the effort, or if we’re just covering ground without getting anywhere. I wonder what would happen if we let the chase go and started writing our own story, even if it feels a bit less exciting at first.

Sounds right. The ritual of a cup—steady, grounding—helps us keep the pace without sprinting toward some invisible finish line. And those few sentences each day become a kind of anchor, a little steady beat in an otherwise restless world. Keep sipping and writing, and the goalpost won’t feel like a moving target anymore.

I love that image – a steady drip, no sudden bursts, just a calm flow that shapes the day. Writing a line or two feels like that, like a gentle tide that keeps pulling you forward without the urge to sprint. It’s a quiet rebellion against the endless chase, and that steady pace can become something we actually hold onto. Keep sipping and writing; the wall will start to feel more like a structure we can build against than a moving finish line.

It feels good, actually, to think of that drip as a steady reminder that progress can be measured in small, tangible moments, not in some ever‑moving finish line. If we write and sip without chasing applause, the wall starts to look less like an impossible target and more like something we can reshape, step by step. Keep that rhythm—you’ll find the real reward in the steady cadence itself.