On Time, Distance, and the Quiet Kind of Progress

On Time, Distance, and the Quiet Kind of Progress

Lately, time feels different. Everything around me moves faster, yet I seem to move slower. The more I move forward, the more distant things feel. People are still there, conversations still happen, life keeps going — but there’s a quiet space between me and everything else. Sometimes I realize that all this effort, all this motion, was never really about keeping up with others. It’s always been about keeping up with myself.

It’s strange how plans that once felt so certain can start to feel foreign. The same goals I once worked toward now seem like they belong to someone else. On the surface, everything looks fine — but something still feels missing. Maybe it’s what happens when life starts moving too quickly for you to really hold on to any moment.

Some nights, when everything is still and the light from the screen is the only thing in the room, I catch myself thinking: the more I grow, the smaller I feel. The further I go, the more distant I become from who I was. Yet I keep going. Somehow even this quiet kind of loneliness feels like progress. Maybe losing some things means making room for others, even if I don’t yet know what they are.

Over the past year, I’ve managed to do most of what I set out to do — sometimes even more. Still, I don’t feel like I’m quite where I should be. I’ve made mistakes, especially when it comes to my university plans. I wish I had been more thoughtful from the start. Maybe I’d be somewhere else now, surrounded by different people. But that’s something I’ll find out in time. Whatever comes next, I’ll face it honestly, and keep moving — slowly, but forward.