Why Achieving What I Want Feels Terrible — And The Rollercoaster Of Confidence & Risk

Some of my desires have become reality. Yet I still feel down, and new worries arise — often because of this contentedness. Will the cycle ever end?

Mission Accomplished

It’s been a long and arduous journey in these past years of life. Perhaps it’s a transitional period everyone experiences at my age — but man, it has been a living hell.

My self-esteem was in the dirt, beaten down by notions of elitism. I’d borderline gone insane and no longer desired to live. There seemed like no future.

I’m moving past this depression in the big picture. The lies I was told growing up. I’ve realized my experiences cannot and should not be coerced nor dictated by external influences.

By addressing my problems and refusing the cookie-cutter assumptions— I’ve made progress.

My confidence has grown, and my hesitation all but disappeared. I’ve done stuff I never thought I could before. There’s still a long way to go, but I can appreciate the present too.

Yet I don’t feel at peace either. What I thought would bring me contentment only opened other inclement feelings. And so the goalposts shift again.

This cycle of chasing satisfaction never ends.

Push And Pull

I’ve felt discomfort while writing recently. Maybe it’s the deathly hay fever, I don’t know. I’ve written about endeavors I’ve partaken in, emotions I’ve had, and also taken a stronger tone recently.

The same unease from when I started has returned. I think I’m a hack, a showboater, or a typical character of insincerity on social media. Something I want to avoid, but may be falling into anyway.

I don’t consider these reservations unconfident though. That’s the confusing discrepancy.

My writing has become intuitive. I don’t hesitate to convey my thoughts anymore, and I’ve become acclimated to the discomfort where it no longer “feels discomforting.”

It’s hard to describe. Like a superposition of content and discontent.

It’s as if I’ve become so “confident” that it’s started to loop back to doubt. I begin to question — why do I not feel any reservations? Am I getting too in over my head?

I sought to stop denigrating myself after a lifetime of broken and dysfunctional feelings. I thought once I achieved this, I’d have peace within. But now that I trust myself more, I still don’t feel in that utopia.

Confidence is quite scary. It’s a relentless cycle. Low self-esteem kept me from doing what I wanted — refusing to step out of line. I was stuck in place as a result.

I pushed my boundaries as those reservations receded. I became more assertive, stopped hesitating, and acted automatically with my thoughts.

Sounds like a familiar description.

However, that lack of reservation eventually led to some grave mistakes, with effects ranging from mildly embarrassing to genuinely harmful. It turns out that overconfidence is a key factor in many screw-ups.

That dissonance kicked me back to the starting line, where I questioned everything. I felt demonic and hopeless. How could I ever have thought what I was doing was right?

I resign myself to hide away — to do nothing once more. To avoid the risk of repeating my fall — to mess up or be wrong again.

And so, I’m back at square one.

If I take action to do something, I take on the terrifying risks of failure. With safety, I don’t need to fear making mistakes, but what I want remains out of reach.

It feels like I’m at that “plowing forward” stage in the cycle. As if my emotions are not in tune with my actions. I’m “confident” because I don’t take ages to take the next step in what I want to do.

But I still feel great discomfort. It just gets bypassed.

This state feels almost… manic. It’s as if I’m knowingly running toward an undesirable outcome. I wonder if I’ve become unaware, my tone is too bold, or my ideas are egregious.

And if not yet, I question if it’s only a matter of time before I cross that boundary, and fall back into self-deprecating hopelessness again.

I’ve now expressed experiences and ideas I felt afraid to release. That fear was sometimes with reason in the past. Other times, my reservations meant nothing.

Gauging these emotions is so utterly confusing.

A Possessive Void

Nothing feels good for long. I fall back to the same baseline state regardless of what I gain.

The evolution of devices I owned is a great example. When I was a kid, I had an old Dell laptop. It was glacially slow compared to now, but computers were a marvel to me regardless.

I then got into video editing and games, which are more computationally intensive. 30 frames-per-second was a dream, and often the programs froze up and lagged.

The delay was highly frustrating, but I was acclimated to it. I got an upgrade to an Acer Aspire in high school, with a touch screen and more processing power.

It was much faster but struggled with large programs. So after college, I got a computer I never imagined having as a kid — a Raider GE76.

It’s got rainbow RGB lights, for Pete’s sake.

Lag does not exist for the most part. Everything runs at 60+ frames, and I never have to deal with freezes or delays unless I max out my machine’s memory.

I’ve gotten this powerful device and reached the peak of this progression. I won’t need another upgrade. I can do anything I want now. But ironically, I hardly play video games anymore.

This is what I always wanted, but it feels… blank. 

It’s kinda like… now what?

The same progression of upgrades has passed for my other belongings too. I went from a slow Motorola phone to a Moto G6, and finally to my Pixel 6 I was gifted.

I owned a gray Canon camera in elementary school that only took photos. Then a black Lumix FZ-35 that took up to 720p60 video. Next, a 1080p60 Panasonic, followed by a 4K30 HC-VX1.

And I can use frame interpolation for 4K60 with recent advances in software. I now can record crystal clear, life-like videos of the moments in life I find interesting, and have accumulated years' worth of documentation.

I never thought these possessions would bring me everything, though the younger me was obsessed with wanting these things. But again, now that I’ve got what I desired…

Now what?

Graduating elementary school was a high achievement when I was 10, as was middle school at 13. The stress of high school and college soon dwarfed that pride.

I was depressed and hopeless a year ago. My degree felt pointless. It felt amazing when I could contribute meaningfully to a cause while learning along the way.

Nothing was out of reach as I discovered methods and tools. I am far better off than I was a year ago. I’ve gained over a year of experience working on and starting new projects.

Yet here I stand again, with this hollowness permeating me. It’s as if none of that meant anything. I’ve encountered this phenomenon countless times— the goalposts keep shifting.

No outcome may be good enough. When I’ve finally gained the ability to make my ideas a reality — is my excitement fated to recede into dissatisfaction again?

I wish I could achieve mindfulness — to be happy with my progress and what I have. But the discomfort nudges me toward new situations, to explore — so I’d likely feel complacent without it.

I don’t want to long, but I don’t want to stagnate either.
I don’t know what the hell I want.

It’s indicative of the limits of materialism and achievements in my happiness. I feel less fulfilled with accomplishments I once dreamed of than when they were a pipe dream as a child.

Only a mundane, disillusioned reality remains in my present.

My only choice is to keep inching forward. Despite the discomfort, despite the emptiness. There’s a saying — “You regret what you didn’t do more than you did.” It’s becoming true for me.

It’s scary to proceed with the unease and the fears of failure, but that will never surpass the detriments of obsessing over what could’ve been. I can take one step closer to what was previously inaccessible ad infinitum.

The end goal may be pointless. Nothing may make me truly content. The warm glow will recede, leaving a void in its place. But an opportunity will arise for the cycle to begin anew.

A new source for improvement, the next endeavor. A fun new hobby, or a realization of oneself. Where one point ends, another may begin in this process.

The individual moments may be temporary, but my experiences in this journey are eternal. By pushing through the unknown, I’ll discover my next destination.

If it doesn’t work out, it’s not my last stop. But getting there might prove the risks were worth it.