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It’s interesting that when you become obsessed—truly dedicated to achieving a specific dream—everything unrelated to that dream becomes uninteresting, not worthwhile, even feeling like a waste of time. I have grand dreams, but I won’t reveal all of them here; they belong to my internal vault of utmost importance. However, I will share a few: I aim to reach native-level proficiency in Chinese (both simplified and traditional), Arabic, and Spanish. I also want to master the piano and create a life for myself, my family, and my associates where financial constraints are never an issue.

Attaining native-level proficiency in four major world languages isn’t as simple as preparing a meal and being done with it. The time required spans years of active, daily dedication, consuming almost every waking moment. Learning the piano, similarly, demands consistency. I commit to 45 minutes of daily practice with my digital teacher—an app connected to my keyboard that guides me through lessons.

I stick to my regimen, even when it gets boring. Repetition can be monotonous, but what choice do I have? No—I choose to do it. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be serious about my goals. My identity is tied to my dreams; to abandon them would be akin to mental suicide. Without my dreams, I wouldn’t exist. I vividly recall past moments when I tethered my life to my ambitions. I either achieve them or I don’t live at all. How, then, could I not do what’s necessary? I would break mountains in half to get there.

Boredom doesn’t matter. I realized that instead of playing an online shooting game—even with my hands reversed (left hand for the mouse and right for the keyboard) to train my brain—playing the game wasn’t aligned with reaching Arabic proficiency. To my surprise, I found myself learning and practicing more Arabic even after finishing my daily tasks. Why? Out of boredom and pleasure? Yes—that’s how deeply I want to achieve my goals. I’d rather practice words and sentences from a piece of paper than play a game I enjoy, even if the game triggers my accomplishment and dopamine buttons.

Routine—ah, routine—it wears on me more than I admit. But, like with boredom, I choose to keep going. What fuels me is the future I envision. I’m making a gamble, sacrificing present pleasures for future rewards. And I’m fine with that.

Speaking of wasted time, I once was a part of a group gathering with Chinese friends and learners. One day we spent two hours talking about nothing of importance—just mundane conversations. That was my last time attending. Time and energy are more valuable than gold; how can I sit there when I could be getting closer to my dreams? My goals press on me constantly, knocking at my door every moment until I am capable of opening them—fulfilling them.

So, do I go out? Only if it serves a purpose. I attend language exchange meetings twice a week to practice Spanish. Even then, I use my travel time to listen to Spanish videos and shadow the speaker’s words. It’s one of the most effective ways for me to learn on the go. Occasionally, I attend casual meetups (there’s an app for finding them) to socialize, but even that is purposeful—to relax my mind so it can keep pushing toward my goals.

Sometimes, I hit a crisis when the routine becomes overwhelming. When that happens, I increase my social activities—not parties, which drain energy and money, but regular meetups. Parties are, in my view, hollow experiences—fireworks with no substance. I have countless memories of such superficial, bombastic club experiences—all the same, all empty, and nothing truly lasting came from them.

After increasing social interactions, my mind resets, and I can return to my routine. Once you accomplish a significant goal, like becoming fluent in Chinese from scratch, lesser achievements start to feel meaningless. Learning a single recipe isn’t enough; I need to perfect it, repeat it, learn dozens more. Watching a movie or finishing a game just isn’t satisfying anymore. Perhaps only a truly challenging game might be worth my time—one that significantly tests my emotional control and frustration tolerance. Such an achievement would teach me skills in emotional and frustration management, as the brain’s response to frustration in games is similar to how it reacts to frustrating situations in everyday life. But even then, I would play only as a last resort, during a routine crisis or similar situation—anything to reset my brain and keep going. Ordinary, low-level accomplishments? I’ve become numb to them.

Here it is—my reflection for this week, put to paper. Consider these words an internal monologue spilled onto a digital screen—a snapshot of my inner world.

To sum up, every day is the same; shallow conversations feel like a waste unless I’m deliberately relaxing my mind. Games, movies, even relationships take a backseat to my dreams. Is it worth it? I wouldn’t be doing this if I thought otherwise. Those who have achieved the impossible—and I have several seemingly impossible dreams—say it’s all worth it. I feel the same. Better to strive for greatness than to drift aimlessly when there’s an entirely different and amazing way of living to pursue.