I always thought momentum worked one way. You push hard at the start, get something moving, and then it rolls forward on its own. That was the picture I had. A rock teetering on a ledge, one good shove, and gravity takes over. But I was wrong about the direction of the slope.
What I’ve really realized is I’m pushing a giant boulder uphill. I’m getting it uphill. I’m making progress. But the second I let up, it’s going to roll back downhill very quickly.
That changes everything. It means the work isn’t front loaded with a payoff of coasting later. It means the effort is constant. It means stopping isn’t neutral. Stopping is losing ground.
I used to think momentum was my ally once I earned it. Now I see it cuts both ways. When you’re moving uphill, momentum doesn’t carry you forward. It punishes you for pausing. The same force that could help you later works against you now. You don’t get to rest and hold your position. You rest and you slide.
This isn’t discouraging once you accept it. It’s clarifying. It tells you what kind of effort the work actually requires. Not a sprint with a long glide. A sustained push. You don’t get to celebrate too early. You don’t get to assume the hard part is over. You show up again tomorrow and you push again.
The boulder doesn’t care about your intentions. It doesn’t care that you pushed yesterday. It only responds to what you’re doing right now. So the question becomes simple. Are you pushing today or not?
“The same force that could help you later works against you now.”
I still believe the boulder will crest the hill eventually. I still believe there’s a point where the slope changes and the work shifts. But I’m not there yet. And pretending I am doesn’t make it true. What makes it true is keeping my hands on the stone and my feet driving forward. One day at a time. One push at a time. No letting up.
So that’s what I’m doing. I’m pushing today. And tomorrow I’ll push again.
