Desire is everywhere.
It shows up as motivation.
As ambition.
As hope.
But it also shows up as impatience.
As tension.
As a quiet restlessness that never quite goes away.
Desire is not free.
It costs you peace of mind.
It consumes attention.
And that is not a flaw.
That is exactly how it is supposed to work.
The tension and unrest are not side effects. They are the mechanism. They are what create movement. Without them, nothing would ever change. You would not reach for anything new. You would not leave what is familiar.
Most people want the result without the tension. They want the outcome without the discomfort. They want the arrival without the journey that demands something from them.
Because desire is uncomfortable.
It is essentially unhappiness.
Not despair, but dissatisfaction.
The felt sense that something is missing. The recognition that life, as it is right now, is not enough.
And so people avoid it.
They keep their desire at arm’s length. They water it down. They joke about it. They pretend it is unrealistic or immature. Because taking it seriously would mean admitting something painful.
It would mean admitting that the life they have built does not fully satisfy them. That what they have chosen has not delivered what they hoped it would. That something important has been postponed or compromised.
That truth hurts.
So instead of facing it, they numb it. They distract themselves. They stay busy. They tell themselves stories about gratitude and acceptance while quietly feeling restless underneath it all.
But avoiding the truth is far more costly.
Suppressing desire does not remove it. It only pushes it underground. And desire does not disappear when ignored. It waits. It accumulates pressure. It looks for another way out.
You can only suppress what you want for so long. You can only deny yourself to a certain point. If desire is contained, something else will break.
It might show up as anxiety. As chronic dissatisfaction. As irritation toward people who remind you of what you did not pursue. It might show up as exhaustion without a clear cause. As envy disguised as judgment. As a vague sense that time is slipping through your hands.
All of this leaves people anxious and confused.
Instead of using the pain that desire creates, they wallow in it and waste it.
They want a thousand things without truly craving any of them. They talk about change without ever changing. They collect ideas, plans, identities, and ambitions the way others collect furniture.
They excuse themselves. They compare themselves to others. They become bitter toward people who dared to take their own desire seriously.
All of this because they are unwilling to live in the pain of becoming.
Because becoming demands something from you. It demands uncertainty. It demands effort without guarantees. It demands that you sit inside discomfort instead of escaping it.
And so, instead of acknowledging a desire and using its pain as fuel, they stack one desire on top of another.
A new interest.
A new plan.
A new version of themselves that will begin later.
Until they are left wanting a thousand things at once, without really craving any of them.
Pulled in every direction.
Committed to nothing.
Confused and internally divided.
This is no way to be.
Desire is meant to consume you. It is meant to point you in a direction and demand movement. When you blur it, dilute it, or postpone it indefinitely, it turns against you.
The only way out of desire is through desire.
The solution is inside the problem.
You either pay the price of desire consciously, in focused effort and action, or you pay it unconsciously, through anxiety, distraction, and regret.
Because desire will not leave you alone.
It will either become the force that moves your life forward, or the quiet pressure that makes everything feel wrong.
The choice is yours.
If this letter spoke to you, the private ones go deeper.
Every Wednesday I write for people who refuse to stay stuck. People who want clarity, discipline, and the quiet realizations that actually shift a life.
You can join The Inner Circle for $15 per month. You’ll get my weekly private letters, full archive access, and private Q&As.
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Sincerely,
Milo Morrison