Change has a way of knocking on the door long before we feel ready to answer it. It creeps up in moments when life feels predictable, almost comfortable, and then suddenly whispers, “Is this really where you want to stay?” And that whisper is inconvenient—because on one hand, the familiar feels safe, but on the other, the familiar can feel like being stuck in a room that’s slowly shrinking.
It’s a strange, heavy place to stand, knowing you’re scared of what comes next but also afraid of what happens if nothing comes next. You can feel both at once—uncertain about moving and uneasy about staying—and somehow it still makes sense. Because deep down, you know something is shifting. You know you’ve outgrown certain versions of yourself, even if you haven’t quite stepped into the new one yet.
We don’t talk enough about that in-between space—the quiet tension between who we’ve been and who we’re becoming. It’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s not even obvious from the outside. But inside, it’s a tug-of-war: comfort versus potential, ease versus growth, the life you know versus the life you could have. And it’s exhausting to pretend you don’t feel it.
But here’s the thing about that tension: it means you’re paying attention. It means you’re not sleepwalking through your own story. It means you’re noticing the places where you’ve stopped expanding, where something inside you is asking for more.
Change doesn’t demand that you suddenly become fearless. It doesn’t need you to leap off cliffs or reinvent your world overnight. Most of the time, it starts in tiny ways—a thought you can’t shake, a feeling that nudges you forward, a quiet knowing that your current chapter has done what it was meant to do. Courage isn’t always loud or dramatic. Sometimes it’s just choosing not to ignore yourself anymore.
Maybe you don’t have the whole map yet. Maybe you’re only holding the first step. That’s okay. Most worthwhile journeys start exactly like that—one small, shaky step at a time, taken by someone who wasn’t fully ready but knew they couldn’t stay where they were.
Being scared of change doesn’t make you weak. Being afraid of staying the same doesn’t make you restless. It makes you human. It means you care about the person you’re becoming. And even if you move slowly—hesitant, unsure, a little scared—that movement still counts.
Because somewhere inside you, courage is already quietly beginning.
Kenrick Vaz 