The Ambitious Side of Me
This ambitious side of me
has a twisted version of reality—
it measures every sunrise
by how much farther I should have gone.
It whispers, “Not enough,”
when my hands are already trembling,
calls exhaustion a weakness,
and turns every little failure
into evidence against my worth.
I climb,
and the mountain moves higher.
I reach,
and the finish line disappears.
I win,
and somehow
I am already losing the next race.
No matter how hard I try,
all I hear is just a sigh—
not from the world,
but from somewhere inside me,
where satisfaction
was never taught how to live.
Perhaps my ambition isn't cruel.
Perhaps it is frightened—
terrified that if I ever stop running,
I will finally have to ask:
Who am I
when I am not achieving?
So tonight,
I will sit beside this ambitious version of me
without fighting her.
And tell her:
You don't have to earn your existence.
You don't have to outrun your past.
You don't have to become extraordinary
to deserve an ordinary breath.
Maybe growth
is not always climbing.
Maybe sometimes
it is standing still—
and realizing
the person who made it this far
was already enough.
PSYCHOLOGIST ASH
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