I didn’t start 2025 on Hive with a bang. I joined in November, already late to the party, already telling myself I’d “properly start soon.” I’m over 40. Life doesn’t come in neat blocks of free time anymore. Most of my days are spent driving from one obligation to the next. Long hours on the road give you plenty of time to think… and very little time to execute. Hive was supposed to be a place where I finally write things down. Instead, it became another tab I kept opening and closing.
The habit of almost starting
Since joining Hive, I’ve had no shortage of ideas. I kept telling myself I’d write about:
- Basketball - how the game hits differently when your body is older but your mind is sharper
- Self-help - not guru nonsense, but real-world discipline and accountability
- Home workouts - the kind you squeeze in between responsibilities, not the fantasy routines
All solid topics. All postponed. I didn’t avoid writing because I had nothing to say. I avoided it because thinking about writing felt safer than committing to it. Busy is real, but so are excuses.
Let’s be blunt: Being busy is real. Driving all day is draining. Life doesn’t slow down just because you want to be creative. But excuses are real too. “I’ll do it when things calm down.” “I’ll write when I have more focus.” “I’ll start properly next week.” Same lines. Different days.
2025 dropped the real news
Life threw in a plot twist: I found out I have a baby on the way. That kind of news doesn’t motivate you in the Instagram sense. It recalibrates you. Suddenly, time feels heavier. Choices matter more. The idea of “someday” stops being abstract. And weirdly enough, it makes all those unwritten posts feel louder, not quieter.
This isn’t me claiming consistency or discipline I haven’t earned yet. This post exists because I joined Hive late, kept postponing, and finally decided that showing up imperfectly beats staying silent perfectly. If you’re over 40, busy, full of ideas, and constantly telling yourself you’ll start “soon” -> this is your sign.
2025 isn’t the year I figured everything out. But it might be the year I stopped pretending I have infinite time. And with a child on the way, that truth hits different.