The day’s end, another moment to reflect.
Dear Journal,
I keep asking myself a question I can’t shake: Is this it?
I’m trying. I really am. There are these little flashes of happiness, moments where I feel grounded and grateful. But lately, they feel like small islands in a sea of something heavier. It’s not sadness exactly—more like a low hum of boredom. A quiet wondering if this is all there is.
I know I’m good at what I do. Great, some might even say. I have confidence in my skills and the way I show up in my work. People and leadership often highlight the “why,” the importance of what we do, and I understand it. Believe me, I do. I could recite back why my role is needed and maybe even instrumental to the business. But here’s the thing: the why for the business makes sense—the why for me wavers.
I’ve taken extended breaks before—full vacations where I step away from it all, hoping time away might rekindle some excitement about coming back. But it never really does. I return rested, maybe grateful for the time off, but I don’t feel that spark when I step back into my day-to-day. And I can’t help but wonder: will there ever be a role, a path, where I feel both thankful for the breaks and genuinely excited to return? Or is that just a myth I’ve been holding onto?
I could keep moving along the expected career trajectories. Climb the ladder, hit the milestones, “make it.” And yes, I’ll be proud of what I accomplished if I get there—especially considering where I started. But part of me wonders if that will ever feel fulfilling.
I picture the future sometimes: an office with my name on the door, a title that carries weight, a salary that reflects the years of work behind it. And then I picture myself coming home at the end of the day, sitting in the same silence I sit in now, asking the same questions. Is this it? Was this worth it?
Maybe it’s easier for others to mask these thoughts behind ambition and busyness. Or maybe, for many, it’s the personal life that fills in the gaps—family, relationships, the moments outside of work that give the day meaning. Careers, in that sense, become a means to an end rather than the end itself. And I can understand that. There’s real gratification in that balance, in having something to come home to that gives the workday purpose.
But I keep coming back to how much of our lives are spent working—the hours at the desk, the commute time, the mental energy even after the day ends. It has to have more meaning, at least for me. I want to believe that the work itself can hold purpose, not just act as a vehicle for the rest of life. Because if I’m dedicating so many of my waking hours to it, I need to feel something deeper than obligation.
And perhaps the busyness of the past few weeks factors into these thoughts. The constant pace, the pressure, and now the subtle change of rhythm—it’s given space for the philosophical questions to surface. It’s a strange thing, how the quiet after the rush can feel louder than the rush itself. When you’re in motion, you don’t always notice the weight you’re carrying. But once you stop, even briefly, the weight settles on you in a way that’s hard to ignore.
Psychologists like Michael Steger (2009) talk about the difference between happiness and meaning. Happiness is tied to pleasure and comfort; meaning comes from connection and purpose. Maybe that’s what’s missing. The routines that once gave me stability now feel hollow without a bigger “why” behind them. And hedonic adaptation doesn’t help—the idea that we quickly acclimate to positive changes, leaving us craving more (Lyubomirsky, 2011). It makes sense, but it’s also exhausting.
And yet, I know the value of what I do. I can see the ripple effects of my work. I can appreciate the opportunities it’s given me. But appreciating something isn’t the same as feeling fulfilled by it. There’s a subtle ache in that difference, one that’s hard to explain. I can deliver results, exceed expectations, and still feel a void when the workday is over.
Billie Eilish’s Everything I Wanted has been looping in my mind today. The way she sings about chasing dreams only to realize they don’t feel the way you thought they would—it resonates deeply. Because I’ve had those moments, reaching milestones or achievements and still feeling the question echo in the back of my mind: Is this it? Even when I’m thriving by most standards, the emptiness can still creep in.
I don’t have the answer yet. But maybe this is the first step: recognizing that this tug, this longing, is worth listening to. Because life is short, and I don’t want to look back and realize I spent it chasing accomplishments that never truly filled me.
Yours in letters, always,
Pandora
P.S. If you’ve ever felt this way too, know that you’re not alone. Wanting more doesn’t make you ungrateful. It makes you human.
References:
Steger, M. F. (2009). Meaning in life. In S. J. Lopez (Ed.), The Encyclopedia of Positive Psychology (pp. 605–610). Wiley-Blackwell.
Lyubomirsky, S. (2011). Hedonic adaptation to positive and negative experiences. In S. Folkman (Ed.), The Oxford handbook of stress, health, and coping (pp. 200–224). Oxford University Press.
Title inspired by the song “Everything I Wanted” by Billie Eilish.
All rights to the music and lyrics belong to the original creators.