Many people live in constant almost.
Almost beginning.
Almost leaving.
Almost committing.
Almost ready.
The almost phase can last years and sometimes a lifetime.
It’s procrastination dressed up with prettier words.
Almost rarely looks like doing nothing.
It looks like thinking about it.
Preparing for it.
Waiting for the right moment.
Getting a little more certain before making the decision.
There is always something left to figure out.
Something that needs to happen first.
A conversation to have.
A little more money to save.
A little more confidence to find.
So the person rarely thinks of themself as standing still.
They are getting there.
Soon.
Just not yet.
And that distinction can keep a life suspended for a remarkably long time, while not moving you any closer to the destination you say you want.
So what is it that people gain from almost?
On the surface it seems like a very frustrating and undesirable place to find yourself.
But don’t underestimate it.
People don’t stay in places they don’t want to be.
Almost protects you.
It gives you an excuse.
An explanation.
And sometimes that’s exactly what you want.
Because as long as you are almost doing something, you never have to discover what happens when you actually do it.
The person who is almost starting a business can still imagine themself as someone who could build one.
The person who is almost leaving can still imagine the better life waiting on the other side.
The person who is almost writing the book can still imagine that the book would be good.
Nothing has been tested.
Nothing has been exposed.
Possibility remains intact.
This is one of the great comforts of almost.
Reality has consequences.
Possibility does not.
Once you begin, you might discover that you are not as talented as you thought.
Once you leave, you might discover that the other side is not what you imagined.
Once you commit, you realize it isn’t as easy as you initially thought.
You can no longer explain your life by pointing toward the thing you are going to do.
You have to live with what you are actually doing.
And this is why people can remain strangely attached to the very uncertainty they claim to hate.
Uncertainty keeps every version of the future alive.
A decision kills most of them.
To choose one life is to give up the others.
To begin is to give up the fantasy of beginning perfectly.
To commit is to give up the comfort of saying you still could.
There is a cost to becoming concrete.
So people prepare.
They think.
They research.
They wait for conviction.
They tell themselves they need a little more money, a little more confidence, a little more clarity.
And perhaps sometimes they do.
But there is always another condition available.
Another reason why now is not quite the moment.
Another way to remain almost there.
Eventually the question is no longer whether you know what to do.
It is whether you are willing to lose what almost gives you.
The innocence of never having tried.
The fantasy of unlimited possibility.
The explanation for why your life does not yet look the way you say you want it to.
Because the moment you act, those things begin to disappear.
You get an answer.
And answers are much harder to hide behind compared to possibilities.
This is why almost can feel so safe.
You get to experience the hope of another life without paying the price of entering it.
You get to tell yourself the story without finding out whether it is true.
People are loss averse.
It takes a lot of conviction to willingly give something up before you know what you will receive in return.
That is what most meaningful decisions ask of you.
You end the relationship before you know whether you will meet someone else.
You begin the project before you know whether anyone will care.
You commit before you know whether the commitment will be worth it.
The loss is immediate.
The reward is hypothetical.
And people are remarkably good at giving more weight to what they can lose than to what they might gain.
You can want a different career while also wanting the salary, status, familiarity, and safety of the one you have.
You can want to leave a relationship while also wanting to avoid loneliness.
You can want to build something while also wanting your evenings, your comfort, and the ability to tell yourself that you could have succeeded if you had really tried.
These desires do not disappear simply because you have identified a new one.
They compete.
And almost is when that competition is at a draw.
You move close enough to the new life to continue believing in it.
But not far enough that you have to sacrifice the old one.
People often say they want change when what they really want is the life on the other side without experiencing the loss in between.
But life rarely offers that trade.
You do not get to keep every benefit of the old life while receiving every benefit of the new one.
Something has to be surrendered.
And until the desire to change becomes significantly stronger than the desire to protect what you already have, almost can remain surprisingly comfortable.
This is why some people change suddenly after years of indecision.
From the outside it can look like they finally found the courage.
Often something simpler happened.
The balance changed.
What they were protecting became less valuable.
Or what they wanted became more valuable.
The cost of staying began to exceed the cost of leaving.
And the decision that had seemed impossible for years suddenly became obvious.
Maybe that is the question beneath every almost.
Not whether you want the other life.
But whether you want it enough to lose this one.
I work privately with a small number of individuals who are serious about change.
Read more here
Sincerely,
Milo Morrison