Finding Joy in the Journey, Not Just the Finish Line

I’ve recently noticed a pattern in my approach to personal projects: I tend to rush through them—even the ones I genuinely enjoy, like building with Legos or painting. My focus on “finishing” overshadows the actual process. Large-scale projects that must be done in pieces over time can feel overwhelming. Instead of appreciating the incremental progress, I get hung up on the fact that I'm not done yet.

One clear example is my experience writing a book. I have my chapter outlines and main ideas sketched out, and I’ve started writing and editing. Yet every time I write, I want to complete entire sections in one go. When I don’t, I walk away feeling off, wishing I could have finished it already. My urge to see results quickly often makes me think I won’t have enough time left for other things. The same restlessness appears when I read books: I’ll tear through three or four chapters, lose interest, and start a new book. So I end up rotating through five or ten books at once, hardly ever finishing one before bouncing to the next. It’s not that I don’t like these books—it’s just that once I grasp the main idea, I convince myself I know how the rest will go.

That’s why blogging has been such a great outlet for me. Each post allows a short, self-contained burst of creativity. In just a few paragraphs, I can capture a single idea or emotion and feel complete in that moment. It’s the ideal length for my attention span and how I process thoughts. Sometimes, though, I worry this pattern means I lack the determination to finish bigger, more ambitious projects. Will I ever be more than a short-story writer or blogger? Will I ever produce something truly substantial?

But I’ve found a silver lining. Because I’m so motivated to blog, I’m building a habit of writing consistently—much more than I would if I forced myself to work exclusively on a lengthy book. Each blog post might be small, but it still contributes to a greater body of work. That’s real progress. Sometimes, tiny steps add up to something big in the long run.

Another realization has emerged for me: we don’t always need 150 pages to convey a single idea. Poems, for instance, often capture profound truths in just a few lines. We set arbitrary rules about how “long” a project should be or how we “should” approach it. But if you’re doing something you love—writing, painting, building—it should first bring joy to you. If you’re forcing yourself to fit inside someone else’s box, your work will come across as forced or insincere.

So here’s my advice for you (and a reminder to myself): let your energy flow naturally. If it takes you a few minutes to express what’s on your heart, that’s enough. If it takes a few years, that’s enough, too. Don’t confine yourself to rigid expectations. Focus on doing work that genuinely makes you happy, and trust that the authenticity will shine through. Over time, consistent effort—no matter how small—can lead to something meaningful. And sometimes, the journey itself can be far more important than simply crossing the finish line.