There was a time I was burned out. Not just tired, not just overwhelmed—burned out. Last year, it hit like a wall. An exhaustion that seeps into your bones and makes everything feel heavier than it should. I knew what it was. I did what I needed to recover. I rested. I stepped back. I recalibrated.
This is not that.
Now, I’m not burned out—I’m blank.
It’s not that I’m overwhelmed. It’s that I don’t want to do anything. And the truth is, even the projects that light me up don’t feel like they lead anywhere right now. They nourish me, yes. They remind me of who I am. But they don’t seem profitable. They don’t feel strategic.
And I still need to make a living.
This is the tension I’ve been sitting with lately. I’m not lost, but I’m not exactly found either. There’s a strange in-between that opens up when you realize the things that once excited you no longer do, and the things that do excite you don’t make practical sense.
That gap creates guilt.
I’ve worked so hard to get here.
To build what I’ve built.
To earn the momentum I have.
And I can feel it slipping, not all at once, but subtly. My old patterns of effort, ambition, and structure don’t hold the same weight anymore. I’m not chasing the same things. I’m not lit up by the same outcomes.
But I don’t yet know what replaces them.
This isn’t a crisis. It’s not even sadness. It’s something more measured, like standing at a crossroads, knowing the path forward will reveal itself, but still wishing it would hurry up.
Because I need to pay bills.
Because I want to feel purposeful again.
Because I’m afraid of losing what I’ve built while I wait for a new compass to arrive.
And yet, beneath that fear, there’s a knowing:
That forcing it won’t bring it back.
That trying to squeeze meaning out of the things that no longer feel aligned will only lead to resentment.
That something in me is shifting and my job isn’t to control it, but to stay open.
So I’m staying open.
Some days, that looks like writing.
Other days, it looks like walking away from the desk.
This season is not about optimization. It’s about trust.
And if you’re in it too—in this awkward, uncertain middle—I just want to say: you’re not lazy. You’re not broken. You’re just becoming something new.
The motivation will return. But not on command.
Not in the old language.
It’s learning how to speak to you in a new one.
I keep learning thar as I take a step or two, even if it is not quite the right direction, I start gaining motivation. I wish you gentle peace in this in between time
Hang in there. The path will open up. Substack is amazing - someone reposted your note, i saw it, and came here to read your work. Those periods of change can be so difficult, but you have to ride the waves. Sounds like you are doing just that.