Lately, I've been grappling with a lot, trying to understand the reason behind my hesitation in taking new steps. It all started when I began contemplating the idea of pursuing a PhD. It’s a big decision, one that requires several years of commitment, and I wanted to be sure before jumping into it. Although the pursuit of a PhD is noble, just thinking about it sent me into a spiral of doubt and introspection. What confused me was why I was so hesitant, despite my genuine interest in it.
In the past, whenever I’ve set out to achieve something, I've always entered what I call "mission mode." In this state, I give my all, focusing intensely on the goal at hand. This approach has brought me significant success over the years, but it’s also exhausting. These mission phases consume me entirely, demanding full attention and draining most of my energy. During these times, everything else becomes secondary—whether it’s enjoying life, nurturing relationships, or even exploring new opportunities. While the results have often been amazing, the cost has been steep: lost time, missed moments, and neglected relationships.
Now that I’m in a phase of my life where I’m more relaxed and not in "mission mode," I’ve realized that this inaction is taking a toll on me. Whether it’s starting a business, freelancing, moving to a distant island, or pursuing a PhD or career switch, everything feels like a big question mark. The lack of progress in any of these areas frustrates and angers me even more. I know that this inactivity is not good for my well-being, but I can't seem to break free from it.
There’s another layer to this inaction. No matter how deeply I immerse myself in these mission modes or how much I achieve, I always emerge feeling like a failure. For example, after my 12th grade, I applied for several computer science engineering programs, with only one application to an electronics and telecommunication engineering (EnTC) program. Guess which one I got into? The EnTC program. I took it positively and made it my mission to excel, which I did, graduating with distinction. My goal during those years was to use my degree to transition into music technology—a field I was passionate about. Despite being accepted into one of the best universities in the world, the University of Edinburgh, I ended up pursuing data science instead, following intense discussions with my parents.
Still, I stayed optimistic, thinking data science was a field worth diving into. I approached it with the same mission mindset and graduated with distinction. I dreamed of completing my degree, landing an excellent job in the UK, and building a life there. However, the recession and personal financial matters shattered those dreams, forcing me to return to India and settle for a small job with a modest salary.
And then there’s the personal toll—missed relationships and moments that I’ll never get back. Despite all my efforts, I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve failed and that none of my dreams came to fruition. My passion for music was sidelined, and my alternative path seems to have placed me in a worse spot than before.
With this background, you can understand where my hesitation and inaction come from. Every new challenge or mission feels like a potential failure waiting to happen, with yet another cost attached to it. It’s not the effort or the work that scares me—it’s the fear that, even if I succeed, the outcome might come at the cost of losing more precious time, relationships, or other aspects of life. Over time, this has transformed me from an optimist into a pessimist.
Add to that pessimism the anxiety, lack of social life, and absence of meaningful relationships, and you have the perfect recipe for chronic stress and depression. Although I haven’t been formally diagnosed, I believe I’m struggling with these issues.
These are my raw thoughts, reflecting where I stand today—caught between the desire to achieve and the fear of losing even more.