I was always interested in how you could notice personal growth. Like, is there a moment in your life where you're like "Oh, I've grown, I've grown so much!" — or when people say "I've changed, I am not the same as I was" — I was like, how do you know? What is your turning point? Did you just wake up different, a new person? Clearly you can see I struggle and have no clue what I am talking about, hah.

So instead of trying to define it, let me show you two entries from last year that I almost didn't recognize as my own — because I'm starting to think this is the only way you actually notice you've changed. You can't feel it. You read it back.

Entry #1.

February 1st 2025. I just started working on one of my projects, which demanded a lot of coding and figuring out the layout.

“I started slow with much reluctance and little trust that I’d ever be able to stick to this schedule or studying. I don’t trust myself because of all I was doing (better say not doing) before. I did manage to complete more than half of planned things.”

All of this sounds like desperation — hah. And the funny thing is, I checked my other entries from then, and I don't really talk badly to myself. I use the word proud. I do positive reinforcement. So why does this wording still feel off?

Because there's a pitfall in all of it. I used sentences like "I hope I can do so and so," and "I need to finish this and then I will be proud" — like that sort of crap. Who is this person? I do say I'm proud, but there's no believing in the words. I think I'm pushing myself, but honestly I was just dragging — not to feel like I was behind. Except I was never ahead. And the future was bleak and uncertain.

Now — does the future feel bright and certain at this particular moment I'm writing this? Not quite, hah. Have I got everything figured out? Absolutely not. Far from it.

But why does that old talk feel so alien to me? Because now I actually believe I can make it happen. Like, actually. I haven't seen the results yet — it's too early — but I do believe they're coming, and I'm preparing myself for them. Studying doesn't feel painful anymore. Working on my projects feels like progress, even when it's slow.

Same things. Studying, coding, the language, the blog. The skeleton is the same. But the matter of the thoughts has changed.

Entry #2.

27th of November.

”I had some time to work more on my project but it’s a slow process because I’m getting stuck because I don’t know yet what I want regarding every piece, every layout, every design. It’s kind of painful but I am powering through. I am content that I do what I can. Everything else will be done later.”

This entry shows a different pattern — over-scheduling, over-planning, over-achieving, and then the moment I fell short: instant frustration. Here it sounds like I'm calm. Really I'm being defensive. I need EVERYTHING figured out, BUT I do what I can. It's painful, BUT it can be done later. So are you actually content? You clearly aren't. But you're trying to sound mature about it.

You don't have everything figured out — you needed a different perspective.

I've come to think you don't need to see the full path to take the next step. I thrive now on figuring things out as I go. I've embraced the uncertainty because it's the usual state of a human being, and if you're uncomfortable with being uncomfortable, you won't get far. I actually like not knowing, because some ideas only come to me once I'm already moving — and those are usually the best ones. I wouldn't have had them if I'd waited until I "knew what I wanted regarding every piece."

And here's the line that gives the whole entry away: "I had some time to work more on my project." Read it again. Had some time. To work more. As if the project were a hobby I happened to fit in around real life, not the actual thing.

I don't talk about it that way now. I know what moves the needle for me — coding, sharpening skills, showing up online consistently — and I plan the day around those things. I don't let them slide into whatever time is left over. When the perspective changes, the approach changes with it. And honestly, I want everyone to dig back through their old pages like this, because I don't think you can really feel how much you've changed until you see the receipts in your own handwriting.

Okay — that's enough. It's physically painful to read this stuff, hah. It actually makes my mood drop. But I'm glad I kept the journals, because how else would I have noticed any of this? How would I have captured the growth? How would I have known that I'd changed at all, let alone how I'd changed?

I think that's the thing I'm only starting to understand now. You can't really feel yourself growing in the moment — you can only read it backward, on the page, when you go looking. Sometimes you'll be happy about what you find. Sometimes you'll see that nothing has changed at all, and that's its own kind of useful — a sharp little nudge to start making different choices.

As for me, I'm glad I can close this notebook, put it away, and say goodbye to the person who wrote it. I've got work to do. But mostly — and this is the part that still surprises me to write — the future feels a little clearer now. I know what I'm meant to do. And for the first time in a long while, I trust myself to actually do it.