I'm writing this from a borrowed desk.

Not mine. A friend's. A writer's desk, though he'd deny that label if you asked him. He'd deflect, change the subject, point to someone else who deserves the title more. But the evidence is everywhere. The shelves lined with books he's consumed (more than 10.000!). The notebooks filled with thoughts he's captured. The quiet discipline of showing up to this desk, day after day, even when the words don't come easily.

I've written here before. Parts of my first book emerged in this space. And now, working on my second book, set to release later this year, I'm back. There's something about this room that invites clarity. Maybe it's the walls of books. Maybe it's knowing someone else has wrestled with blank pages in this exact spot and won.

Today, somewhere between his shelves and my own scattered thoughts, I noticed a quote. Albert Camus:

"Life is not a destination. Life is a journey. As long as you continue the journey, you will always be a success."

I've seen variations of this sentiment before. It's the kind of thing that shows up on motivational posters and LinkedIn feeds. The kind of wisdom that's easy to nod at and harder to actually live by.

But sitting here, surrounded by evidence of completed journeys with his books, my books, the ones still taking shape, the quote landed differently.

Because here's what I've learned: The journey isn't a consolation prize for not reaching the destination. The journey is the thing.

What We're Actually Chasing

Most of us are trained to think in destinations.

Finish the degree. Get the promotion. Write the book. Build the business. Hit the milestone.

And there's nothing wrong with destinations. They give us direction. They help us measure progress. They create the structure we need to move forward.

But here's the trap: We think the destination is where life begins.

We tell ourselves: When I finish this, then I'll feel successful. When I achieve that, then I'll be happy. When I reach the next level, then I'll know I've made it.

Except it doesn't work that way.

I finished my first book. And for about 48 hours, there was satisfaction. Relief. A sense of "I did it."

And then what?

Life kept moving. New questions emerged. The book that once felt like the pinnacle became the starting point for the next thing.

Because destinations don't hold meaning the way we think they will. They're markers. They're proof we moved. But they're not where we live.

We live in the in-between. The process. The journey itself.

The success we miss while looking ahead

Camus said we're successful as long as we continue the journey. Not when we finish it. Not when we arrive. While we're moving.

That changes everything.

It means success isn't something you achieve once and carry around like a trophy. It's something you inhabit daily. Not by getting somewhere, but by continuing to move.

And that's harder than it sounds.

Because continuing requires showing up when you don't feel inspired. When the work feels repetitive. When no one is watching. When the destination still looks impossibly far away.

It requires staying engaged with the process even when the process isn't glamorous.

Most of my second book hasn't been written in moments of divine inspiration. It's been written in stolen hours. On flights. In quiet mornings before the day starts demanding things. At desks like this one, borrowed from people generous enough to share their space.

The journey isn't one triumphant march forward. It's a series of small, repeated decisions to keep going.

And somewhere in those decisions, something shifts.

You stop asking "Am I there yet?" and start noticing what's happening right now.

Waiting for permission

My friend, the one whose desk I’m borrowing,doesn’t call himself a writer.

But he writes. Constantly. With discipline and care. He reads deeply. He thinks critically. He puts words on pages that matter.

That contrast stayed with me.

Not because of anything he says or doesn’t say about himself, but because it highlights something broader. How easily we confuse the work with the label. How often we think something only becomes real once it’s named, recognised, or confirmed from the outside.

Writing isn’t a destination. It’s a practice. A journey.

And the same is true for most things that matter.

I see it everywhere. People waiting for permission to  claim what they are already doing. Waiting for proof that they’ve arrived before they allow themselves to belong.

But Camus is right. Success isn’t in arriving. It’s in continuing.

Showing up. Engaging with the work. Staying in motion.

That’s the thing we miss when we fixate on destinations. We miss the fact that we’re already in it. The journey we think we’re waiting to start has already begun.

What happens when you stop waiting

Here's what I've noticed: The people who seem most alive aren't the ones who've reached the most destinations. They're the ones who've learned to engage fully with the journey they're on.

They're not postponing satisfaction until some future milestone. They're finding it in the work itself. In the learning. In the struggle. In the small wins and necessary failures.

They're not performing success. They're practicing it.

And that practice looks different than we expect.

It's not always forward momentum. Sometimes it's pausing. Reflecting. Letting go of what no longer serves the journey.

It's not always addition. Sometimes it's subtraction. Releasing the destinations that were never really yours in the first place.

It's not always certainty. Sometimes it's trusting the process even when you can't see where it's leading.

The Second Book and the second shelf

My second book will come out later this year. And when it does, I know what will happen.

There will be a moment of arrival. A sense of completion. Relief that it's out in the world.

And then, quickly, the next journey will begin.

Because that's how it works. Destinations don't end the journey. They just mark where you've been.

What matters is whether I keep moving. Whether I stay engaged with whatever comes next. Whether I continue.

Sitting here at this desk, surrounded by books that represent completed journeys and books that are still unfolding, I realize something simple:

I'm not waiting to be successful. I'm already in it. Right here. In the middle of the process. In the continuing.

And so are you.

Whatever journey you're on, whether you claim it fully or still resist the label, you're already in it. The question isn't whether you've arrived. The question is whether you're willing to keep moving.

Because that's where the life is. Not at the destination. But in the journey itself.

As long as you continue, you will always be a success.

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