You have to be ready to be bored.

That’s the reality of working toward a long-term goal. It’s thrilling at the beginning — you declare the dream, rally support from friends, maybe even your online community. You feel lit up by motivation. You know this is your path.

And then… you start the work.

At first, it’s easy. You’re riding high on dopamine. You feel unstoppable. Maybe your goal is to write a book. The first few days, you’re waking up early, sitting down to write, thinking, I’ve got this. This will be done in no time.

Then a week goes by.

Now it’s Monday again. You’re tired. Waking up early every day is catching up to you. Your brain says, It’s just one day off. No big deal. So you sleep in.

Tuesday rolls around. That extra rest felt good. You think, Maybe I’ll just take one more day. You start to rationalize — This book idea is a lot, and honestly, it’s starting to feel like a slog anyway.

By Wednesday, the novelty has worn off.

All that’s left is the reality of the goal.

The daily grind. The early mornings. The quiet. The cold. The parts of the project that aren’t shiny or inspiring. The research. The repetition.

And then your brain does what it’s wired to do:

It tries to protect you.

It whispers:

So you stop.

You sleep in.

You hit pause on your dream.

And your life stays the same.

If this feels familiar, you’re not alone.

It’s my story too.

And it’s the story of a lot of us.

Our brains are wired for comfort and entertainment, not long-term payoff. They want the cookie now, not two cookies later. That’s why so many of us struggle with consistency. We crave immediate rewards, not slow, silent, invisible progress.

So how do you keep going when motivation fades?

How do you convince your brain to stop resisting?

You don’t chase the goal.

You fall in love with the process.

But then I ask myself: why would I fall in love with work that’s hard, long, or uncertain?

I started looking for moments in my life when I actually had loved the process.

College came to mind immediately.

I loved being a student. I loved the structure, the new found freedom, the rhythm of it. Go to class, study, feed yourself, stay up late learning. It clicked with me. So much so that I went back for my MBA — and I loved that experience even more.

I was genuinely excited to learn. I studied late, formed study groups, even tutored others (because teaching helped me master the material). I didn’t obsess over the degree. I just loved learning.

I loved the process — and the outcome took care of itself.

Other times I’ve felt this:

Every time, the outcome is real — but it only came because I fell in love with the process.

Whatever your goal is — publishing a book, building a business, becoming a speaker — the actual work will likely look the same on Day 1 as it does on Day 1000. You’re still writing, still recording, still practicing, still learning. Fame or success may change the scale, but the process remains familiar.

Think about baseball:

A high school pitcher is still throwing roughly the same pitches as a Major Leaguer.

The velocity will be different. The crowd is definitely different. But at the core? It’s the same game.

So when you set a big goal, don’t just chase the outcome. Ask yourself:

Can I fall in love with what it takes to get there?

Because the truth is, this is how change happens.

This is how you write a book. Or run a marathon. Or build something meaningful.

You don’t set out to achieve a big goal.

You set out to take one small step.

Then another. And another. Even when it’s boring. Even when it’s hard.

Eventually, you look up — and you’ve written the book.

That’s power.

That’s change.

That’s what you’re capable of.

You don’t need to do everything today.

You just need to take one step.

If this hit home, forward it to a friend who’s been feeling stuck.

Or reply and tell me: