Drift Doesn’t Ask Permission
This morning I posted about drift. And then, a couple hours later, I ran into it in real life.
I woke up warm and comfortable and heavy. Not dramatic heavy, just that quiet weight where everything feels one notch harder than it should. No fire. No motivation. I did the little math in my head and tried to negotiate my way out of it. Skip today. Start tomorrow. Tomorrow will be better.
I told myself I wasn’t going to the gym.
Then I put on gym clothes anyway.
That wasn’t discipline. It wasn’t some heroic moment. It was more like muscle memory. I’ve learned that if I wait until I feel like it, I will lose entire weeks of my life to “not today.” So I did the smallest thing that still counts. Clothes on. Shoes on. Keys in hand.
I drove the kids to school. Still didn’t feel it.
I drove past the gym. Still didn’t feel it.
I thought about coffee instead. That little left turn into comfort is always available. It’s never hard to choose it. It’s right there, lights on, door open, no friction.
But I parked the car, and I walked inside the gym anyway.
I started my Apple watch workout. John, our coach started the music. The clock started ticking. I still didn’t feel ready, which is funny because I was literally standing in the place where readiness is manufactured.
Here’s the truth I keep relearning. Drift doesn’t ask permission. It just shows up when you’re tired and offers you a story that sounds reasonable. You deserve rest. You’ve had a lot going on. One day won’t matter. You’ll do it tomorrow.
And the thing about that story is it’s not always wrong. Rest is real. Life is real. Some seasons are heavy. But drift isn’t rest. Drift is what happens when comfort starts making your decisions.
Fifty-five minutes later I was done. Sweat drying, espresso in hand, chatted with my buddies, walking back to the car with that familiar calm. Not the loud kind of confidence. Just the quiet kind that comes from keeping a promise to yourself.
Momentum doesn’t require motivation. It requires motion.
That sentence is true in the gym, but it’s even more true everywhere else.
Careers don’t get stuck overnight. They slide. Quietly. Slowly. One skipped conversation. One avoided email. One week where you don’t raise your hand. One more month where you stay invisible because you’re waiting to “feel ready.”
Relationships don’t break in one argument. They drift in the gaps. The small unspoken things. The moments you choose scrolling over connection. The nights you let exhaustion win without even trying to bridge the distance.
Health doesn’t collapse in a week. It drifts in the extra softness of routine. A little less movement. A little more sugar. A little more sleep that isn’t recovery, it’s escape.
This is why I’m trying to get better at catching drift early. Not with guilt. Not with self-talk that turns into a beatdown. Just with awareness. Label it. Call it what it is. Drift. Then do one small thing that changes the direction.
Base camp, not summit.
Sometimes that’s putting on gym clothes even when you don’t want to go.
Sometimes it’s opening the laptop and writing one sentence.
Sometimes it’s sending the hard message you’ve been avoiding.
Sometimes it’s walking outside for ten minutes and letting your nervous system settle.
The first rep is rarely fun. The first sentence is rarely good. The first conversation is rarely smooth. But they count because they start the flywheel.
