The Shark That Turned To A Frog

 What happened to me?

I’ve missed a few deadlines in a row. My outputs no longer shine the way they used to. Lately, my grind has been about nothing but rushing—chasing catch-ups, trying to close gaps that once seemed small but ever widening before my eyes.

There came a point when it all started to feel unending. So I thought—why bother at all?

But that surrender didn’t come from clarity. It didn’t help me recover from feeling left behind. It came from fatigue. From overwhelm. And all it did was numb me to the potential consequences.

I wasn’t always this way. Back then, I knew my strengths, and my limitations. Yet I went beyond both - beyond what duty called for, beyond what was expected, beyond what was typical for someone in my shoes. And I enjoyed it. I brought joy and strength to those around me. I was an example - someone people looked up to when they were stalled or stuck.

Fast forward to now – something had shifted. The energy and enthusiasm that once radiated from me began to dim. What was once effortless now felt tense. Challenges I once relished became burdens—torment I silently wished away.

Yet all was not lost. The credit from past accomplishments lingered. Echoes of earlier accolades still carried weight, still moved things in my favor. Momentum endured—outwardly, at least.

But in a quiet moment, I felt it—not just dissatisfaction with what was happening, but discomfort with who I had become. A change no one seemed to notice. Or if they did, they never cared to tell me.

I realized I had been floating through life like the frog in warm kettle water—partly unaware, partly willfully ignorant of what was happening to me. Of what would happen if I didn’t jump out immediately and reflected—on the choices I had made, and those I refused to make.

Thankfully, I still had some strength left. I knew it. I am not this frog.

I am a shark—one that used to rule!

It’s time to claim my throne back.

And for that, I must face some real, tough questions, and answer them honestly. I must step into the battlefield I’ve been turning away from for far too long.

And that, I did.

At first I thought I was feeling underappreciated. Under-rewarded. But I had been producing results even before I knew what the rewards were. In avenues my surroundings did not even understand—so there was no space for appreciation anyway. What was my driving force then?

That’s when it struck me: I had stopped seeing rewards and appreciation as acknowledgement. I had begun to treat them as necessities. I had become addicted to them.

So much that, the mere possibility of having less, or none, would paralyze me from even beginning tasks I once loved doing. I had begun to expect applause as a pre-condition, when in truth, it is only a result.

I was no longer the warrior who enjoyed the grind. I had become a circus clown—performing great feats, sometimes falling hilariously, not to express joy but just to earn a cheer!

So first things first: discard the mask, and pick up the shield.

Next, I was seeing people who produced far less, yet they were greatly being rewarded. This, in a twisted way, made me feel undervalued. Made me question whether I was overexerting—whether my efforts were going down the drain.

Then I realized: each person’s journey is different, and sometimes recognition comes from unexpected places at unexpected times. One should focus more on what one is growing into than on short-term, relative outcomes.

Thirdly came the elephant in the room - the fear of failure. Yes, there have been triumphs. But there were also failures before. Some of them so devastating that I took the longer route merely to avoid meeting them again. As silly as they may sound now, with the comfort of distance and the clarity of hindsight, they felt very real and scary at that time. But thinking about them now, I realize the world doesn’t even remember those missteps, let alone judge me for them! All the stalling and avoidance was in response to my own imaginary scenarios.

The solution? Stop seeing events through the binary of success and failure. See them as experiences, natural part of the varied terrain of life.

Well, those were some complicated mental gymnastics. But surprisingly, the biggest problem was the simplest one: I wasn’t resting enough! And I don’t mean distractions or cheap pleasures.

I’ve been chasing accomplishments, craving recognition, comparing paths, and stalling in fear, for so long that I forgot to notice the simpler pleasures life was offering.

So take that break. Take that vacation. Not as escape, but as restoration. It was that simple!

What I feared would be a gory inner battle, turned out to be a quiet conversation between two 'me's. This me - the driven self, and that me - the tired self. Now, we work in sync. We walk the path with clarity—without dragging each other towards distractions that served neither of us.

Has the shark returned?

That’s yet to be seen.

But the frog, surely, is gone.

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