If you’re tired of starting over, the only real solution is to stop quitting.

It reads like such an obvious statement, but it’s one I have to constantly remind myself.

When I’m deep into a project and it’s not progressing the way I want it to, it’s so easy to get distracted by something new. Maybe I should launch a new podcast. A new Instagram account. A new blog. I start to romanticize this new idea as the one that will finally get me where I want to be.

Eventually, I convince myself this is the answer. I make the switch. I start over.

There’s momentum in the beginning, excitement, even some traction. That early feedback feels like proof I made the right choice.

Then—sure enough—I hit the same wall I did last time. Frustration. Doubt. And another unfinished project heading toward the graveyard.

Why?

Because the reality is building something takes time. And not just time, but patience. Boredom. Frustration. Repetition.

I remember hearing an interview with an Olympian. When asked what set him apart, he didn’t say talent or passion or grit.

He said boredom.

He could tolerate extreme boredom better than most. He ate the same meals every day. He followed the same routine. Same workouts. Same sleep schedule. For years. That’s how he got to the Olympics.

That stuck with me.

It’s the opposite of what we’re often told. We imagine greatness as passion-fueled, exciting, explosive. But the truth is: greatness is mostly boring.

And quitting is so tempting.

The trick to reaching any goal is staying on the path. Keep showing up. Keep tweaking your approach if needed—but stay on the road.

I’ve now meditated every day for nearly five years. And I can tell you: the first one or two years did nothing for me.

I’d sit for 10-15 minutes a day, and the entire time my mind was racing. I felt anything but calm.

But I stayed with it.

Because I knew the point wasn’t instant magic. The point was to retrain my brain. To learn to sit with my thoughts. To become comfortable with quiet.

Eventually, things shifted.

A minute or two of real peace. Then more. Then a craving for silence. Then a shift in how I moved through the world—less reactive, more present, more grounded.

It took two years of showing up before I felt a benefit.

Two years.

That’s how long it can take. Maybe longer.

We live in a world obsessed with instant results. But real growth takes time. Repetition. Stillness. Boredom.

Those long, quiet hours where no one is watching? That’s where the meaning lives.

That’s where you build something real.

Keep going.

You’ve got this.