The Comfort Zone

I just started a new job after 3 and a half years at a company that slowly became my comfort zone. And if I’m being honest, I was comfortable there. I knew the people, the systems and how to succeed without having to prove myself every day.

There’s something peaceful about that but there’s also something dangerous about it. When things feel too comfortable for too long, growth starts to slow down quietly almost without you noticing.

When Opportunity Finds You

The funny thing is, I wasn’t even trying to leave. An opportunity came to me unexpectedly and at first, I didn’t take it too seriously. I told myself I’d just go through the process, do well, get the offer and figure it out later.

Then I got the offer and suddenly, it was real.

I had a decision to make: stay where I’m comfortable or step into something completely unknown.

For someone who’s known for stepping outside their comfort zone, I’ll admit it, I don’t like change, especially the big life changing kind. I felt it when I moved to the U.S., when I started my first job here and even when teammates left and my environment changed.

This decision felt the same. One side of me wanted the challenge, the growth, the unknown. The other side wanted to stay where things felt safe.

Letting Go and Taking the Leap

What made it harder was realizing that this wasn’t just about a job. It felt like I was letting go of a version of myself.

This job was all I had known since moving to the U.S. and it became part of my identity and my routine. So when it was time to resign, it didn’t just feel like a career move, it felt like a goodbye. And if you know me, that part never comes easy.

In the end, the decision came down to one thing: I knew I would have regret if I stayed.

I would’ve been comfortable but I would’ve also been left wondering what could have been and I don’t think I could live with that. Not knowing scares me more than failing, so I chose the unknown.

The Truth About Change

Here’s what I’m learning: change rarely feels right when you’re making the decision.

It feels uncomfortable, emotional and uncertain. You overthink, you question yourself and you look for guarantees that don’t exist. The clarity doesn’t come before the leap, it comes after.

I don’t know how this new chapter will turn out and that’s the point. Maybe it’ll be the best decision I’ve made, maybe it’ll challenge me in ways I don’t expect.

But I do know this: I won’t regret taking the leap.

Staying where it’s safe might protect you from failure but it also protects you from growth. And if there’s one thing I’m learning in this phase of my life, it’s that you don’t need certainty to move forward, you just need the courage to not stay the same.

You may have noticed that I skipped the last two newsletters. It’s been difficult to write while the world feels anything but normal. My home country of Lebanon is currently in the middle of a conflict and many of my friends and family are directly affected.

When things like that happen, celebrating personal achievements can feel insignificant. Yet life goes on and so did this marathon.

The Circumstances

Race day arrived under unexpected conditions.

My marathon happened:

• One week after war broke out in Lebanon

• During the month of Ramadan

• On a hot day in Los Angeles

Even though I wasn’t fasting on race day, I had been fasting for the three weeks leading up to it. That meant completely changing my routine. My runs shifted to the evenings after breaking my fast, my sleep schedule moved later and my training suddenly felt less under control.

Instead of sleeping around 10 or 11pm, I found myself going to bed closer to 1am and then the war started.

For five months, this marathon had been the center of my life. Suddenly, it felt small compared to what people back home were going through. I didn’t know how to feel anymore.

But one thing was clear: I had already committed to the journey. I wasn’t going to quit now.

The weather added another twist. One of the reasons I chose the LA Marathon in March was because I expected winter training but Los Angeles had other plans. In five months, I ran in the rain only twice. Most runs felt like summer. Dehydration became a bigger challenge than cold weather.

Race day followed the same pattern: warmer than expected.

Luckily, marathons start early. Ours began at 7am, which meant the real heat didn’t hit until later in the race.

The Race

The marathon itself is a strange event.

In many ways, race day is the victory lap, a celebration of months of training. But at the same time, it’s the hardest run you’ll ever attempt, especially the first time.

Most marathon training plans peak at 20 miles (32 km).

The marathon itself is 26.2 miles (42.2 km).

That means race day adds an entire 10K race beyond the longest distance you’ve ever run.

And the LA Marathon adds another layer: about 950 feet (290m) of elevation gain, which makes it a challenging course.

My target pace going into the race was 8:45 minutes per mile (5:26/km). For non-runners, that’s roughly 11 km/h — not elite speed, but faster than the average runner could comfortably sustain.

Three weeks before the race, though, I started feeling something shift since the beginning of Ramadan. I was still hitting my training paces, but they required more effort than before.

Then came race morning.

I had only slept about five hours, but I still felt ready.

A few miles into the race, reality set in. I could tell maintaining my goal pace for the full marathon might not happen today.

That’s when something interesting happened mentally. Instead of panicking, I shifted my mindset.

For five months I had been learning a simple truth: marathon training is full of ups and downs. Some things are simply out of your control but missing a target time wouldn’t erase the accomplishment. Finishing would still be huge.

So I let go of the sub-4-hour goal and focused on running a steady pace.

I ended up running around 9:35 per mile for most of the race. Slower than planned but still impressive.

And the biggest surprise? I never hit the wall.

In marathon world, runners talk about “the wall” at mile 20, when glycogen depletion causes sudden extreme fatigue. It’s the point where many runners struggle to continue.

I was definitely tired but I never felt like I couldn’t keep going.

What I remember most is actually feeling impressed with my own body. Fatigued, yes, but still moving forward with strength.

The People

One of the most powerful parts of marathon running isn’t the distance.

It’s the people.

Spectators line the streets cheering not just for friends and family but for complete strangers. People hand out oranges, water, snacks, massage guns, pain relief sprays and endless encouragement.

Running through those crowds reminds you of something important: most people are good. The negativity we often see in the world rarely represents the majority.

One of the biggest boosts of the race came at mile 18, when I saw my family and friends cheering for me after about two and a half hours of running. Their energy carried me forward.

One small regret though: I didn’t stop to truly take in the moment. The adrenaline was high and I kept running.

I got to see them again near the finish line.

The Finish

After 26.2 miles, I crossed the finish line in 4:11:09.

Not the sub-4 time I had hoped for but still a strong first marathon.

And more importantly, I finished.

Reflection

If I’m honest, part of me did feel slightly disappointed.

I’ve spent most of my life as an athlete. When I set goals, I like to achieve them. A small voice in my head kept saying I had more in me that day. Which probably means this won’t be my last marathon.

But the biggest takeaway from the race wasn’t my time. It was the people who ran the marathon.

Over 30,000 runners participated in the LA Marathon. People of every background, every age, every ability. Some finish in around two hours and others take nine.

You see cancer survivors, elderly runners, disabled athletes, barefoot runners, people walking the entire course just to finish.

It makes you wonder: why would anyone sign up for something this difficult?

And then you remember your own reason.

For me, it started with wanting to challenge my inconsistency and prioritize my health.

But every runner there has their own story.

That’s what makes marathons special.

30,000 different motivations.

30,000 personal battles.

30,000 victories.

Final Thought

If you ever get the chance, sign up for a marathon or at least a half.

And if running isn’t your thing, go watch one.

Stand on the sidewalk and cheer for strangers.

You might be surprised how inspiring it is to see ordinary people doing something extraordinary.

I was traveling. I couldn’t come up with something meaningful to write about so I missed my publish date.

At first, I thought about posting two or three days later. But then I decided to give myself grace and skip it altogether. And honestly? That was okay.

One of the main reasons I add accountability into anything long-term is to stay consistent. Whether it’s this newsletter or training for my first marathon, consistency is important.

Ironically, since starting both, I’ve missed exactly one newsletter and one running session and I still feel proud.

Skipping that run made me overthink more than missing the newsletter. I’ve been so disciplined with my marathon training that missing a workout felt like I was sabotaging my time goal. But not resting my right ankle could have led to something worse: injury and that could have meant missing the marathon completely.

That outcome scared me a lot more than missing one workout so I accepted a short-term loss for a long-term goal.

The same goes for this newsletter. I don’t want to get into the habit of skipping but accepting slight inconsistency is very different from quitting and that distinction matters.

The Real Problem: Organization

I’m running into a different issue though. Being unorganized makes consistency much harder.

When I launched this newsletter, I was terrified of falling behind. So I prepared four months’ worth of content in advance. I didn’t want to panic every week about what to write. Funny enough, I ran out of pre-written stories.

Now I’ve been surviving by writing the newsletter one day before publishing and that’s not sustainable.

But if I’m honest, this isn’t new, in fact, I’ve always been this way. Even in school, I was the student who did homework last minute and studied the night before exams. I function under pressure.

Part of me wonders if I’ll ever change.

If you have tips for staying organized without waiting for panic mode to kick in, please share them. I could genuinely use the advice.

Finishing “Born to Run”

I had already decided to write about consistency after missing last week. But today something aligned perfectly.

I finished reading Born to Run. For most people, that’s normal. For me, it’s a huge win.

Consistency without accountability has always been hard for me so I gave myself a virtual deadline: finish the book before my marathon.

And I did.

Was I consistent? Not at all.

This mid-sized book took me almost five months to finish. I had long gaps where I forgot characters and the context. Weeks passed without touching it but I kept coming back to it and that’s the part I’m proud of.

I didn’t grow up reading much. After graduating, I didn’t have to read ever again. During the pandemic, I decided I wanted to become “a reader.” For a short period, I finished five books and thought, “I think I built a reading habit” but I lost the habit just as quickly.

Since then, I’ve started multiple books and abandoned most of them. When I bought Born to Run, I had two goals: I wanted motivation for my marathon training and I wanted to prove to myself that I could finish something I started.

The consistency faded many times but I didn’t quit and today, I closed the last page.

Takeaway

Here’s what I realized: being unorganized makes consistency harder.

Accountability helps more than we think. Things like deadlines, external pressure or people expecting something from us, actually work. That’s why we show up to work and why we don’t miss flights.

But when accountability doesn’t exist, like reading a book alone, consistency can fall apart and that’s where something else matters more: persistence.

You don’t need a perfect streak. You don’t need flawless discipline. You just need to keep coming back.

Even if you miss a week or even a month. Even if it takes you five months to finish one book.

If you don’t quit, you’re still consistent in the way that actually matters and maybe consistency isn’t about never missing. Maybe it’s about refusing to stop.

In case you didn’t know, I’m currently training for my first marathon. The marathon journey is full of ups and downs but yesterday felt like I hit rock bottom. I felt like I failed.

When training for a long race, you usually aim for a target time, something realistic you believe you can accomplish. In my case, I’m using an app called Runna to manage my training, which gives me a projected marathon finish time. To aim for a specific time, you break your runs down into pace targets. Pace simply means how long it takes you to complete a mile or kilometer. For example, a 10 min/mile pace means it takes 10 minutes to run one mile.

My projected marathon pace is 8:45 min/mile. That sounds almost impossible. My conversational pace is around 10 min/mile, which means I need to run 1 minute and 15 seconds faster than comfortable—for 26.2 miles—to finish just under 4 hours. So far, I’ve been hitting about 95% of my target paces. But the closer we get to race day, the tougher the distances become.

To prepare for running four hours, I need to run for one hour, two hours, and eventually three hours in training. Yesterday was my first time reaching the three-hour range.

I needed to run 19 miles (30 km), and this was the workout:

• 11.5 miles at a conversational pace

• 2.5 miles at 8:55 min/mile

• 2.5 miles at 8:40 min/mile

• 2.5 miles at 8:25 min/mile

It was supposed to be a progressive run, getting faster over time. But my body couldn’t keep up.

It’s not that I can’t do it but circumstances matter. I had to run at the beach again because it’s the flattest, longest stretch without stops. Getting there takes at least 45 minutes, which pushed my start time to around 10 a.m. I was fully exposed to the sun with zero shade.

Two weeks ago, I ran 17 miles and hit my target paces so I thought I had figured it out. But the heat was much worse this time. I signed up for the Los Angeles Marathon in March specifically to train during winter, yet somehow winter never showed up in California. I hate the sun and the feeling of heat on my body, which is why I usually run early. But on a three-hour run, there’s no escaping it. Almost three hours of direct sun is brutal.

Then there’s what I think is my first running injury. I’m feeling pain in my right ankle, likely from a collapsing arch and overworked tendons, made worse by very cushioned shoes that I’m starting to dislike. I can still run but I know I’m in a danger zone and that’s scary.

Mentally and physically, this part has been the hardest. I’ve been eating well, sleeping better than before but still trying to maintain a normal social life. I’m taking care of myself. And that’s what hurts the most—because even then, I’m not fully in control of how my body performs.

I slept well the night before and had my usual high-carb oatmeal breakfast but I still didn’t feel great. Running a marathon sounds exciting because it’s an event with people, energy and support. But running for two or three hours alone feels like punishment. Ever since I crossed the two-hour mark, I’ve started dreading long runs, especially knowing I have to drive an hour and a half round trip just to do them.

I’m tired of podcasts, tired of music, tired of noise just to make time pass.

Starting the run feels painful until I’m actually moving. Then it becomes about surviving the time. But it’s hard when you feel the sun burning your skin, forget to apply sunscreen, feel heat trapped in black leggings and wonder how you’re supposed to speed up later when you’re already struggling early on.

Within two miles, my ankle started hurting. My thoughts went negative:

Please don’t get worse.

I’m already tired.

How am I supposed to run faster if I’m slowing down?

Don’t look at the remaining miles, there are too many.

I finished the conversational portion and pushed into the faster segment. I stayed close to my first target pace and finished only three seconds over, which was fine but I was already struggling.

I’m persistent. I hate losing and I hate failing, so I kept pushing. But my body was giving up. The heat was unbearable and I was done.

The next five miles were miserable. I couldn’t run faster than 9:30 min/mile, and eventually slowed to 10:10 to finish. It sucked. Big time.

The workout was projected to take between 2:40 and 3:00. It took me 3:08.

I know this is still a decent time. I know I should be proud for not stopping, especially given the circumstances but it still hurt.

It hurt because I’ve poured my heart and soul into this for four months so far and falling short now was discouraging. What hurts most is not fully understanding what else I can do to feel prepared when I’m already focusing on sleep and nutrition. My body can still surprise me and I can’t see a clear pattern, especially when I compare this run to my 17-mile run two weeks ago, which went well under similar conditions.

I’m sharing this on purpose.

First, to be transparent. What I post on Instagram looks perfect, but in reality, this has been the hardest thing I’ve ever done, especially because I’m doing it alone.

Second, to normalize failure. Yes, running 19 miles is impressive but this was still a low moment for me and my first instinct wasn’t to share it but I truly believe vulnerability matters, especially in the age of social media and AI.

If you take anything from this, let it be this: saying things out loud doesn’t make them bigger, it often makes them smaller. And being vulnerable is a strength, not a weakness.

First Birthday Party

Last Sunday, I had my first ever birthday party. It felt special because it marked stepping into my 30s and choosing to actually celebrate it.

I’m incredibly grateful for the friends and family who showed up and made the day so special. But none of it would’ve been possible without my sister and brother-in-law. They helped turn this day from a dream into reality and I don’t take that for granted.

The Past Decade

I’m grateful for the decade I’m leaving behind. It was full of everything I love: football (soccer), travel and adventure.

When I look back, I feel like I embraced it. I pushed myself out of my comfort zone again and again. I tried new sports, traveled to new countries, started this newsletter, signed up for my first marathon and began posting videos on social media. Each step, scary or exciting, helped me become a better version of myself.

Moving more than 11,000 miles away from home wasn’t easy but it brought me closer to my family and opened doors I never imagined and for that, I’m deeply grateful.

Looking Forward

Gratitude is something I want to practice more intentionally. Life can be tough and it’s easy to get stuck zooming in on what’s going wrong but when we zoom out, our worries often shrink.

When we focus on what’s going well, even the small things, something shifts. We remember that no one has a perfect life. We all have highs and lows yet some of the happiest people aren’t the ones with the most, but the ones who are content with what they have.

That’s what I want to return to whenever things feel heavy. To pause, count my blessings and remind myself of the good already present in my life.

If I’m honest, it does feel a little scary but instead of pretending it’s not happening, I’ve decided to lean into it and embrace this new decade rather than hide from it.

Growing up, I was surrounded by older people who never shared their real age. They would always shave off a few years, claiming a younger number to strangers. I never understood it and I even found it funny when I knew their real age. Back then, I thought I would never care about mine and for a long time, I didn’t. Until now.

Thirty feels intimidating not because of the number itself but because of where I thought I’d be by this point in my life. Somewhere along the way, I built a mental checklist of what “30” was supposed to look like and standing here now, I don’t fully match that picture.

But when I zoom out and look at the past decade, I realize something important: I truly lived it.

I spent most of my twenties pouring my heart into my first passion, football (soccer). I created unforgettable memories with my teammates, won multiple trophies and had the honor of representing the Lebanese National Team. Football shaped my identity and engraved a love for the game that will stay with me forever.

This was also the time when many people expected me to quit but instead, I doubled down. And even though I didn’t make it professionally the way I once dreamed, I’m incredibly proud of that journey. I followed my passion fully without guarantees and that alone means a lot to me.

This decade was also when I discovered my love for travel and adventure but also embraced it. I lost count of how many places I visited, how many times I found myself hiking through nature and feeling deeply alive.

I also made one of the hardest decisions of my life: moving over 11,000 miles (17,700 km) away from home. Leaving Lebanon for the U.S. meant more than just a new country. It meant leaving behind routines, communities and a life I had built. Football trainings multiple times a week, working from a coworking space filled with people who became lifelong friends and being surrounded by family.

Even though I’m lucky to have my siblings here, the transition wasn’t easy. It took time to adapt and it wasn’t until I found a Lebanese community—my home away from home—that I started to settle.

As I got closer to turning 30, a new worry crept in. When I moved to the U.S., I slowly let go of my football dreams. I was playing less, moving less and feeling less connected to the athlete version of myself. All of that affected my motivation.

At some point, I started believing my best physical years were behind me until I decided to challenge that belief.

And what better way to do that than signing up for my first-ever marathon right around the time I turn 30.

For me, a marathon represents so much more than running 26.2 miles (~42 km). It represents self-belief. Reconnecting with the athlete mindset that shaped my life and most importantly, proving to myself that I can still become stronger, not weaker, with age.

My body surprised me in ways I didn’t expect. Just yesterday, I ran 17 miles (~27 km) as part of my training. Something I never imagined myself doing a few years ago. And with that run, a lot of doubt disappeared. I’m now just over a month away from attempting my first marathon and instead of fear, I feel excitement.

So here I am, not afraid of tomorrow, not afraid of my 30s.

I’m choosing to celebrate it by throwing myself my first-ever birthday party.

I know aging scares a lot of people and for valid reasons. But when I stop treating age like a deadline and start seeing it as just a number, everything shifts. Especially when I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been.

If we change how we perceive age, if we stop believing that getting older automatically means getting weaker then we can change the script entirely.

Here’s to embracing every year.

Here’s to getting stronger with time.

And here’s to entering my 30s not with fear but with celebration. 🎉

Growing up playing football (soccer), I became very familiar with injuries. The first scare happened when I was 15.

My First Real Injury

I was playing with some boys in my village. My teammate had the ball at his feet, standing still for a moment. I tried take the ball from his feet—a common move in football—but at the exact same second, he decided to shoot.

His foot. My foot. The ball in between.

The impact was strong and my ankle twisted badly. I couldn’t walk. I don’t remember how I got home but I do remember vividly sitting in the shower with a swollen ankle, crying my eyes out convinced I would never play football again.

The next day, still barely able to walk, my mom took me for an X-ray. No broken bone, thankfully, but the doctor’s advice was simply “wear an ankle brace.” Not great advice in hindsight.

It took a long time to recover. The brace made my muscles weaker and no one guided me toward physiotherapy. But luckily, it was just an elongated ligament, no surgery needed. If it had been worse, I would’ve had no idea how to handle it.

Injuries Became Part of the Journey

That wasn’t my only injury. I twisted my ankle again, had other setbacks and eventually discovered physiotherapy which helped me many times.

I hated being sidelined. For anyone who loves their sport, injuries feel like punishment. But the truth is: you can’t fully play or compete without accepting the risk of getting hurt. If you’re constantly trying to avoid pain, you’ll hold back or worse, you won’t play at all.

And if you ask me now: Would I erase all my football memories to avoid the pain from injuries?

Absolutely not.

Football shaped my entire life. I don’t know who I’d be without it. The joy I experienced over the years is worth every painful moment and ten times more. And honestly, compared to many of my peers, I was lucky to walk away with few injuries.

The Injury I Hated Most

If you’ve ever played football, you know the nightmare of someone stepping on your foot with studs. But the worst is when they land on your toenail.

If it’s painful enough, the nail turns black. And once it does, there’s no saving it. It falls off… and the new one takes about six months to grow.

I lost count of how many times this happened to me. It was the injury I hated the most.

When I stopped playing as much, I thought those days were over.

And Then… I Started Running

Running short distances was fine. 5K, 10K, even 15K is nothing unusual. But the moment I entered the hour and a half plus territory… my old enemy came back.

Black toenails.

Except this time, it wasn’t because someone stepped on me. It was because your toenail repeatedly hitting the front of your shoe for long periods creates micro-trauma which eventually does the same thing.

Unfortunately for me, each foot has a different toe taking the impact. And because I wasn’t knowledgeable about prevention, I ended up with two black toenails.

It sucks. It’s painful. And now I have to wait months for nails to grow back.

But do I regret signing up for a marathon?

Absolutely not.

I hate this part of the journey but nowhere near enough to let it stop me from doing something that means so much to me and something I know will be worth it.

Pain Is Part of the Deal

In sports, pain is inevitable. If you’re going all in, you will get hurt. You will be uncomfortable and you’ll sacrifice parts of yourself lol.

But the gains are so much greater than the pain.

I’m grateful to be injury-free so far in the areas runners fear most like knees, shins and hips. So two angry toenails aren’t going to stop me from chasing something much bigger than temporary discomfort.

Pain in Life

And the same idea applies outside of sports. There is no pleasure without pain for the simple reason that you can’t recognize joy if you’ve never felt its opposite.

We’ve all lived through moments we wish we could erase. But the truth is: if you wiped away every painful memory, you’d lose the best ones too. The highs only exist because the lows give them meaning.

Pain is part of pursuing anything that matters. In sports and in life, it’s often the price of passion.

And honestly? It’s a price I’m always willing to pay.

The Airline Industry: Flying Less, Paying More

Remember when a window seat was free? When exit row seats weren’t considered a luxury? When meals were included and your first bag didn’t cost extra? Flying used to be about getting from point A to B safely and comfortably. Now, it feels like paying extra for every bit of convenience.

The last time I booked a flight, I saw it all. Every seat came with a price tag—yes, even middle and aisle seats. And now, just sitting closer to the front of the plane costs more... not for extra legroom, not for premium service—just because it’s slightly more convenient. It’s absurd.

On a 17-hour Emirates flight—a supposedly premium airline—I arrived at my seat only to find it stained and unusable. I stepped aside to avoid blocking the aisle, sat in a nearby (empty) exit row seat while I waited and eventually realized no one was assigned to it, so I stayed. A flight attendant approached and asked me to sit somewhere else. I explained the situation and she said she’d need to find me a seat at the “same price point.” I was shocked. I was still in economy, still without a window and sitting in a seat no one paid for but I was being told I didn’t “qualify” for it.

Eventually, her manager allowed me to stay. But the whole interaction left me wondering: when did customer service become about what we paid, not what we need? When did human decency get replaced with price tags?

Subscriptions: The Business of Slowly Taking More

Subscription models can be great. They offer consistent revenue for businesses and convenience for users. But when greed takes over, loyalty becomes a liability.

Instead of rewarding long-term customers, many companies slowly take away features from cheaper plans and place them behind higher paywalls. They repackage the same service, call it a “premium upgrade” and hope you won’t notice that what used to be standard is now considered “exclusive.”

Year-over-year growth isn’t just about new customers anymore, it’s about extracting more from the ones they already have. And the result? A slow, painful erosion of value.

Dynamic Pricing: Rewarding Demand with Price Gouging

Welcome to the world of dynamic pricing: where the exact same service costs more just because more people happen to want it right now.

I got excited about a Backstreet Boys concert at the Sphere in Las Vegas. I’ve been a fan since childhood and when I heard tickets were starting at $80, I jumped to sign up for the presale. I was only a couple minutes late but by the time I got through Ticketmaster’s virtual line, the same ticket was going for over $1,000. For the same seat.

That’s not a rare glitch. That’s the algorithm at work.

A few days later, prices dropped back to $300–500. Still high, but not jaw-dropping. What hurt was knowing that the band’s biggest fans were the ones most likely to get scammed by this system. And there’s no appealing it. It’s not just concerts, either. Airlines, hotel rooms, even Uber rides use the same logic: your excitement or urgency becomes their pricing opportunity.

Take FIFA, for example. They introduced dynamic pricing for World Cup tickets for the first time ever. Games in the U.S. cost more than in Canada and a match in Los Angeles is priced higher than a match in Boston. And if you bought your ticket through FIFA, the only way to resell it is through their own marketplace where they take a percentage every time that same ticket is sold. So FIFA doesn’t just profit once, they profit every time a seat gets resold.

At what point did an organization like FIFA decide this wasn’t about fans anymore? Tickets in Qatar were reasonably priced. Now, you can’t get a decent World Cup seat for under $600.

The Dirty Little Secret of Cancellations

Here’s something not enough people know about: the best deals come when you’re ready to walk away.

If you’ve ever tried to cancel a subscription, you’ve probably seen the guilt-trippy “Are you sure?” screens, the sudden offer with a discount, the “last chance” button flashing at the end. Most companies will offer you better pricing than what you’re already paying only if you try to cancel. That’s how much they want to keep you.

So do yourself a favor: go through the cancellation flow of a service you’re paying for. You might find a sweeter deal at the end of that rabbit hole. (Just note: this trick doesn’t work with Apple’s built-in subscription settings.)

The Bigger Picture: When Loyalty Gets Punished

I get it, businesses want to grow. But when growth comes at the cost of trust and decency, everyone loses. How did we end up in a world where loyalty is punished? Where “doing the right thing for the customer” is seen as a threat to profit margins?

Are we now in an age where success is only measured by how much you can squeeze out of your users? Has capitalism become so inflated that basic human empathy gets cut from the budget?

Honestly, I don’t know where this ends but I do know we need to start asking better questions.

Takeaway

Let this be your reminder:

• Cancel subscriptions you’re not using.

• Think twice before accepting the first price you see.

The reality is, most businesses don’t care about you, they care about your money. That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy their services but it does mean you should protect your attention, your money and your loyalty. Because if you don’t, no one else will.

When We Were Kids

As kids, all we cared about was whatever was happening right in front of us. We didn’t worry about the future or the past.

I’ll add a small disclaimer: today’s generation of kids is somehow experiencing anxiety and depression—words I didn’t even hear of until years later. But that’s a topic for another day.

Growing up at least 20 years ago before the rise of the internet and social media, our lives were simple. We played, hated studying and cried about bedtime. From the day we were born until university, someone was always holding our hand. No real responsibilities and no pressure to figure out the future.

And because of that, we naturally lived in the present. That’s why so many of us wish we could go back because we remember how happy we were when our only job was to enjoy the moment right in front of us.

Then We Grew Up

For most of us, life shifted when we graduated. Suddenly, no more hand-holding. No more structure decided for us. We stepped straight into adulthood: bills, responsibility and uncertainty.

We learned what financial stress feels like. We developed emotional awareness. We started questioning our interactions, overthinking our choices and noticing the traumas that once slept quietly inside of us.

Life stopped being simple, instead became messy and unpredictable.

And without noticing, we started living everywhere except the present. We replayed the past and panicked about the future. And the more we did that, the more unhappy we felt.

But if I’m being honest, the only times I’ve truly felt joy as an adult were moments when I was fully present, when my mind wasn’t drifting anywhere else.

Where to Find the Present Moment?

Living in the present sounds simple, but it isn’t. You have to be intentional about it.

Take sitting alone in a room with nothing to do. The moment the environment quiets down, your mind automatically wanders to the past or the future.

But what happens when you go on a walk? Your senses wake up. You hear things, see things, feel the air on your skin. Suddenly, you’re here—not yesterday, not tomorrow.

And how do you feel afterward? Probably better. Because your mind had something grounding it to now.

For me, hiking or traveling to a new place brings me back to the present instantly. But I’ve also seen people struggle to enjoy even their vacation because they’ve brought their anxiety with them. They’re physically in a beautiful moment while mentally worrying about the next plan, the limited time or the responsibilities waiting for them at home.

And it sucks because the present moment is right there… and they’re missing it.

One thing I love about myself—though it comes with its flaws—is my spontaneity. It forces me to live in the now. When you’re spontaneous, life surprises you. There’s no rigid plan to worry about failing. You make decisions based on how the moment feels, not on fears about what comes next.

So if you’re someone who struggles with anxiety even during things meant to bring joy, try adding a little spontaneity. Let go of the tight schedule and give the present a real chance.

Now What?

The world is scary. More than ever, evil is happening around us. The future feels uncertain. But if we constantly live in that fear, our minds will never rest.

To protect our sanity, we have to return to the present again and again.

Watch less negative news, especially the ones that don’t directly affect your life. Forgive people who hurt you. Work on healing your traumas or at least stop letting them run your life.

Because there is so much joy waiting for us when we focus on what’s actually happening now.

Living in the present frees us, even if it’s just for a moment. But worrying about the past or future traps us. It takes strength and intention to pull ourselves back but it’s worth it.

So be intentional, notice your surroundings and just breathe. Come back to the present because it’s the only place life actually happens.

Where It Comes From

I grew up playing sports but football (soccer) was everything. I picked it up at six years old just by watching others play. My parents never really understood the value of sports, so I was the only sibling who went all in.

Choosing football wasn’t easy. A lot of people around me believed it wasn’t for girls. Opportunities were limited and for years, I played on my own. Still, I persisted and I was obsessed.

I didn’t join my first team until I was 16. From there, I spent the next ten years playing professionally in Lebanon. I showed up to every training session and every game I possibly could. I was committed. I was consistent. Being an athlete wasn’t something I did. It was who I was.

Everything changed when I moved to the U.S. My identity slowly shifted from athlete to employee. I played less, trained less and without realizing it, that mindset went quiet. It didn’t disappear. It just went to sleep.

It wasn’t until I started training for a marathon consistently again that something woke back up.

Persistence: When the Body Wants to Quit

Yesterday, I did one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.

As part of my marathon training, I ran a half marathon under conditions that felt stacked against me and I owe finishing it to the mindset I built growing up.

I ran in a new city, in Mexico City the capital of Mexico, which sits at 7,400 feet (2,240m) above sea level. The air is thinner, breathing is harder and altitude sickness is a real concern.

I’m here for a wedding, an hour and a half away in a village called Tepoztlán. The days leading up to the run were chaotic: little sleep, far more walking than I should’ve done on rest days and a late night of dancing at the wedding. I got back to Mexico City at 1 a.m. and woke up at 8 to run.

The route itself was a complete unknown. I had heard about “Muévete en Bici” an event where they close 55KM of streets on Sundays but not everything was closed. I jaywalked, ran in circles at red lights and made terrible route choices. Twice, I found myself running straight through packed markets, weaving between hundreds of people while trying to hold my pace.

By mile eight, I felt weak. I was struggling to breathe. I was already over an hour in and I still needed to push for three miles at a faster pace. My body was done but my mind wasn’t.

I missed my second target pace by eight seconds. Then I still had two miles to finish. Even slowing down didn’t feel easy. All I could do was focus on one step at a time and trust that time would pass. It was a pure mental battle.

When I finished, I felt emotional in a way I never had before. Yes, it was the toughest run I’ve done so far. Yes, I fell short of one goal. But I still finished a half marathon in 2:05 and I’m so proud of myself.

That pride came from persistence. From refusing to quit when everything felt uncomfortable.

Consistency: Without Compromises

Growing up playing football meant saying no, a lot.

I missed family gatherings, trips, and outings just to make training and games. When I stopped playing regularly, I struggled to stay consistent with anything. What I lost wasn’t fitness. It was accountability. Running brought it back.

One of the reasons I signed up for my first marathon was to prove to myself that I could still commit to something hard for a long time. Eleven weeks into training, I can confidently say the athlete mindset is back.

Running comes first not because it’s convenient but because consistency demands it.

This weekend required real compromises. I’m on vacation, yet I had to run my longest distance so far. I left outings early, chose sleep over late nights, left the wedding early to drive back to the city instead of staying over and skipped the wedding brunch the next day just to stay on schedule.

After the run, I went out with my friends before going back early to sleep for a good recovery.

And it doesn’t stop there. I’ve been following a healthy diet for four months now. Sugar used to tempt me constantly but now I barely think about it. I’ve been leaning on the same willpower I built as an athlete.

Beyond Sports

The pattern is clear to me now. This mindset never left. I’ve carried it into every major decision I’ve made, even outside sports. It shaped my work ethic, my resilience, my ability to push through discomfort when things get hard.

That’s why I know one thing for sure: my kids will play sports of their choosing. No compromises.

Because sports don’t just build bodies, they build people.

They teach persistence when things hurt, consistency when motivation fades and commitment when it would be easier to quit. And those lessons don’t stay on the field, they carry over into every part of life.

I’ll say it’s never too late to start. But if you do, don’t treat it casually. Show up like an athlete, go all in. The benefits are worth it.

But I promise I have a huge list of non-running topics I want to write about but while I’m struggling to juggle everything running related, let’s talk logistics.

Before I continue, this isn’t a complaint. I’m genuinely enjoying the process. Yesterday I ran 12 miles and felt very grateful for my health, my body, and the privilege of being able to do this. I just think it’s interesting to share what it actually looks like to plan marathon training around a normal life.

As the runs moved past the 1 hour mark, everything got more complicated. My long run always lands on Sunday and there’s a reason for that. Those runs will eventually reach three hours or more before race day. That’s too long to squeeze in before work and doing it after work, especially in winter, would mean running in the dark which brings its own set of challenges. So Sunday it is.

But here’s the interesting part: trying to live a normal life while planning for your longest run of the week is… a lot. Here’s what the past four Sundays looked like:

• 9 miles in Santa Monica. It’s a 50-minute drive and I had a family commitment a couple hours later. I finished the run, rushed back with no time to breathe and barely made it on time.

• 5-mile deload run. I slept late the night before, started late again and had just enough time to finish, rush home and drive an hour for an airport pickup.

• 10 miles before a potluck. I came home, showered and went straight into cooking before heading to the potluck with no rest whatsoever.

• 12 miles in San Diego. I drove two hours the day before to visit family. To avoid disrupting everyone’s plans, I woke up at 6 AM, ran for two hours and was back by 9:30 AM ready for a day out with the family.

And the funniest part? I haven’t even faced my toughest logistical challenge yet. Without spoiling much… next week I’m not even sure where or when I’ll be able to run. Add high altitude into the mix and I genuinely have no idea what that run will look like.

So yeah, I’ll keep this short but long-run logistics have taken over my weekends for five weeks straight. And honestly? I’m really looking forward to a lazy Sunday where the only thing on the calendar is my run and maybe a nap.

Again, I’m not sharing this to discourage anyone. It’s just the reality of running long distances while trying to maintain a social life. But it’s absolutely doable and if anything, I encourage people to pick up running—not necessarily marathon training—just simple, easy runs once a week. The benefits are genuinely worth it.

Social Media

We all know social media can be toxic when we compare ourselves to people’s highlights. But there’s another side that I’ve recently felt: the toxicity of posting itself.

Not creating but posting. And then caring too much about the results.

How many views make a video “successful”? How many likes mean it was “worth it”? The moment those questions appear, you’ve already lost your peace.

Before I get into what happened, here’s why I even started posting regularly: I’m not fully satisfied with where I am in life and I want to move toward something that involves more human connection. That’s why this newsletter exists too. I’m not trying to be an influencer, I’m simply experimenting with putting myself out there and seeing where it leads.

But along the way, something shifted. I started caring about views. Especially when they began declining. I made the mistake of boosting a couple of posts and the inorganic numbers felt good for a moment. Then stranger messaged me saying he loved my content but hated that it showed up as an ad. He also mentioned something interesting: once you boost content, Meta might suppress your organic reach because you’ve signaled that you’re willing to pay.

I noticed the pattern he was talking about so I stopped boosting. But then my views dropped even more. And in my overthinking brain, I started forming theories, maybe Meta sees the remaining balance I deposited a while ago and keeps suppressing my videos until I boost again. So I decided to drain the balance by boosting one last time.

So as I’m writing this, some of you may have seen one of my videos as an ad. And ironically, my latest reel got my highest organic reach ever.

Coincidence? Algorithm luck? No idea.

But here’s what actually matters: none of this should matter at all.

I didn’t start this journey for views. I started because I love creating relatable videos and lately, running videos too. Filming and editing actually make me feel alive. But the moment I start obsessing over numbers, everything feels discouraging.

So I need to shift my perspective back to the fun part: the journey.

Not the metrics.

Because when I connect with people, I feel joy but when I care about views, I feel like stopping.

Working from home with a lot of alone time doesn’t help either, overthinking becomes way too easy. So I’m saying this here to pull the thoughts out of my head: I want to enjoy the process again. I don’t want a number to dictate how I feel about myself or my content.

Running

I fell into the same mindset during today’s long run.

I needed to run 10 miles, but my Apple Watch skipped the first interval when I was 1.5 miles in. In a moment of panic, I stopped the workout and restarted it from zero. Because my run had specific pace intervals, it completely messed things up so I ended up running 11.5 miles in total instead.

Great, right? Except I was annoyed.

Then I forgot to stop the workout when I finished for 15 minutes while standing still, which ruined the average pace on the app. My true pace was 9:45 min/mile but the app showed 10:51 and suddenly I felt like I didn’t do well at all.

How ridiculous is that?

Instead of feeling proud that I hit all my target paces and ran extra, I let an incorrect number steal the joy of the entire run. It’s wild how quickly the mind can twist something good into something disappointing.

Now that I’m thinking clearly, I know the truth: I did really well. I should be proud.

Again… perspective.

Why I’m Sharing This

Whenever I write these newsletters, I try to share something that at least a few people will relate to. This week’s reminder is simple:

We’re not perfect. We overthink. We compare. We get frustrated. We attach our happiness to meaningless details. And yet we’re still growing, still learning, still trying to become better humans.

A shift in perspective can completely change how we experience our lives.

I’m sharing my struggles not because I have the answers, but because maybe you’re going through something similar and maybe this reminder will help both of us breathe a little easier.

Here’s to focusing on what matters.

Here’s to letting go of what doesn’t.

And here’s to choosing joy over numbers every time.

Ever since I started marathon training and I began sharing my journey on social media, my life suddenly got overwhelming, more than I expected.

Right now, I am running three times a week, with my long run on Sundays. I go to the gym twice a week. I film, edit, and post at least one running video every week. Every other week, I create a video for this newsletter. I try to stay consistent here too. And on top of all that, I try to maintain a social life and I work a full time job.

At this point, I am juggling more than I can handle. I feel like I am barely holding it together, both mentally and physically.

When the Week Got Out of Control

This week was supposed to be a recovery week. Shorter, easier runs. More rest. Everything was going well until I made one small choice that spiraled into everything I was trying to avoid.

On Sunday, I was supposed to do a simple five mile run at an easy pace. Since I had done nine miles the week before, this should have felt light. Then I decided to join a running group for a 5KM (~3 miles) event on Saturday. I thought it would be a nice chance to meet new people, get outdoors, and simply add two more miles after the run to complete my long run for the week.

The event was a collaboration with a hiking club and the plan was to hike after the run. I told myself it would be fine.

I arrived at Debs Park in LA and it was beautiful. But only the organizer showed up for the run. Everyone else came for the hike. I still thought I could make it work. Three easy miles with him, then I would run two more after.

A minute into the run, he pointed at a steep hill. My heart dropped. I tried to run it at first but quickly decided to save my energy by walking the uphills. Then came a flat section. Then a downhill. Then another uphill. It felt endless. The views were great but I knew this was not the recovery pace I needed. By the time we hit three miles, I was exhausted and disappointed. I knew these miles could not count toward my training.

Then came the hike. I didn’t want to skip the main event, so I stayed. We hiked almost the same route again. In total, I did a three mile run and a three mile hike on what was supposed to be my rest day.

After that, I went to a friend’s birthday party. By the time I got home, I had driven two and a half hours and my body was completely drained.

And the worst part is that I still had to run five miles the next day.

When Exhaustion Catches Up

I ran them but they were miserable. Those five miles felt harder than last week’s nine. And because I had a new video idea, I filmed parts of the run too, which added even more pressure.

On top of that, I had a newsletter idea planned. I had already started editing the video that went with it. But I didn’t have enough time or energy left to finish. I was too overwhelmed to do anything, so I postponed it.

Which brings me here. Writing about being overwhelmed because it is the only real thing I can talk about right now.

Why I Am Sharing This

I know I complained a lot in this newsletter, but this is what the ups and downs of being human look like. This is one of the downs. Even though I am very grateful I can do all these things, I also know I need to manage my time better.

Every time I write, I wonder if others will relate. Maybe you won’t relate to my exact situation, but I know for a fact that everyone goes through phases of feeling overwhelmed or even burnt out.

So if you’re feeling that way too, this is your reminder that you’re not alone. We are all trying our best. We are all navigating busy lives and a fast paced world.

Thanks for reading and for being part of this small space.

If this resonated with you, hit reply, I’d love to hear your story. And if someone came to mind while reading, feel free to share it with them.

In the Age of Social Media

One of the things I hate about social media is how it showcases only the highlights of someone’s life.

Take Instagram for example, when was the last time you saw someone post about a low moment or a photo of them crying? Probably close to never.

It started innocent, we all just wanted to share our happiest moments.

But slowly, our feeds turned into the best moments of someone else’s life.

And what happens when that’s all you see?

You unintentionally begin comparing your entire life to someone else’s highlight reel. You feel behind. You feel unlucky. You think, “Why am I the only one struggling?”

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?

Every one of us has fallen into this trap at least once and it doesn’t feel good. It pushes us into self-sabotage, and suddenly we’re spiraling for no real reason.

The Cristiano Ronaldo Illusion

Take Cristiano Ronaldo as an example, the most famous person on earth, one of the greatest footballers of all time and a billionaire.

It’s easy to dream about having his life.

But have you ever stopped to think if you’d be willing to put in the same years of dedication and sacrifice he did?

Look at how many professional players retire early. That alone tells you how extraordinary his commitment has been for decades. His journey is so unique and so demanding that no one got to where he is but him.

So if a footballer compares themselves to Ronaldo, all they’re doing is destroying their own path before it even begins.

The Cost of Comparison

Comparison puts a magnifying glass on everything you think you lack.

Instead of focusing on your progress, you start counting what others have that you don’t. You convince yourself that life is unfair. You begin questioning your timing.

Especially when it comes to people your age, some are married and some have kids, suddenly you feel like you’re falling behind.

It’s so easy to fall for it. But here’s the truth: life isn’t equal.

We all have different timing and comparison will only derail your growth.

When you admire someone’s success, you’re often admiring the visible tip of an iceberg not the years of work, pain, doubt, sacrifice and setbacks underneath.

Before you think “I deserve that,” ask yourself one question: am I willing to go through their journey? The whole thing and not just the ending?

What to Focus On Instead

Yourself, obviously. Focus on your journey, your timing, your growth.

See the cup half full (what you have) instead of half empty (what they have that you don’t).

If you believe in manifestation or the subconscious mind, use it to strengthen your self-belief instead of weakening it through comparison. Support your goals with positive thoughts, patience, and gratitude.

Everyone will eventually reach what’s meant for them but the fastest way to delay your blessings is by staring at someone else’s.

Don’t Compare Yourself to Me

I know my life might look exciting with all the travel and adventures but just like everyone else, I have my own struggles. And now more than ever, I believe in sharing that side too.

Part of why I started this newsletter was to share the full picture and not just the highlights. Because no one, not the most famous, not the richest or not the most powerful lives a perfect life.

We all have flaws and struggles but most of us just hide them.

If we saw the world through that lens, we’d have a lot more empathy toward each other and toward ourselves.

The Truth About Comparison

Most people don’t actually want the journey that led someone to success, they just want the success.

But you can’t skip the path just like no one can skip yours.

Social media doesn’t help, it glamorizes endings and hides the messy journey. And because of that, people get stuck believing they’re falling behind, when in reality, they’re still in the part no one posts about.

I’m personally trying to share more of my ups and downs, especially here because that’s what makes us truly human. I hope more people start doing the same.

Until then, your best bet is to stay on your lane, trust your timing and remind yourself:

Comparison is the enemy of growth. Focus on your story, not the one you’re scrolling through.

And because of that, disconnecting isn’t something that “just happens”, we have to choose it.

For me, that choice usually happens in nature.

When I’m hiking, something shifts inside me. I barely think about my phone except to take a picture. I don’t feel pressured to check messages or respond quickly to anyone. My brain stops racing and settles into the present moment. Nothing else really matters.

A Trip That Allowed Me to Disconnect

This past week, I was lucky enough to go on a hiking trip with my sister and friends. We flew to Portland, Oregon—a city that felt slower, calmer, and quieter compared to LA. But Portland’s real magic isn’t the city itself… it’s everything around it.

Oregon is a state of trees, waterfalls, mountains, and endless green. It’s the perfect place to unplug.

We hiked, chased waterfalls, wandered through forests, and even got to see Mount Hood in all its beauty.

And in the middle of all of this? I still had to complete my 7.5-mile (~12 km) long run for marathon training.

The Run That Became a Reset

We planned a 6-mile hike that same day, and part of me wanted to postpone the run until Monday. But another part of me, the disciplined part said: Just wake up early and get it done.

So I did.

I created a route through downtown Portland near our hotel. Three miles in, the scenery completely transformed. Suddenly, I was surrounded by trees and running next to a lake. I saw dozens of other runners. And even though 7.5 miles is a long distance… it flew by.

I was so present that I stopped tracking distance or time. It ended up being one of my favorite runs ever. It made me realize how much running can feel like exploration rather than obligation.

I saw so much of the city all in just 1 hour and 20 minutes.

That’s the beauty of running. You cover a huge area in such a short time and see things you would’ve otherwise missed.

Runner’s High Is Real

If you’ve never run before, you should try it at least once.

There’s something real called “runner’s high,” and I felt it that day. I finished the run feeling happy, grounded, accomplished… and ironically, full of energy.

Even with a big hike ahead of me, I felt good.

By the end of the day, we had hiked 6 miles (~9.6 km)—3 hours and 30 minutes on our feet and more than 1,000 ft (300 m) of elevation—on top of the long run. That’s 13.5 miles (~21.7 km) of total movement. More than a half marathon. Nearly 5 hours of being active.

And the best part?

I was completely present for both.

I made a memory I know I’ll remember forever.

Why Disconnecting Matters

As I’m writing this, I’m exhausted and about to fall asleep.

But I didn’t want the day to end without reflecting on what this trip reminded me:

We all need to disconnect more often.

We need a break from screens, pressure, routine, and constant noise. Nature makes that easier for me, it pulls me into the present moment and makes me forget everything else.

If you haven’t disconnected in a while, I genuinely encourage you to try.

It doesn’t have to be a big trip, it could be:

• a hike

• a short run or walk

• exploring a new neighborhood

Your mind will thank you.

But that experience taught me something important about motivation, discipline, and people’s kindness. So let’s get into it.

Where Demotivation Actually Comes From

Honestly? I don’t know.

Sometimes something specific triggers it. Other times, you just wake up feeling off. No explanation, just an unmotivated version of yourself.

I think this is simply part of being human. We all experience highs and lows, and pretending we can feel motivated every single day is unrealistic. The real question becomes:

What do we do when motivation disappears?

Before I answer that, let me tell you what pushed me even deeper into that spiral this week.

The Hate Comment That Pushed Me Over the Edge

My recent video, “Nobody Cares About You,” wasn’t performing as well as I hoped. My excitement turned into frustration when barely anyone saw it. Social media is such a mental game, editing feels exciting and publishing feels humbling.

So I boosted the video. As expected, the reach got better… and then came a message. A suspicious, slightly annoyed comment about “recycled content.” I responded politely, explaining that I wasn’t copying anyone, I was literally talking about something personal.

I thought that was the end of it.

Three days later, she returned to my post, leaving hateful, false comments. Not just one but multiple. She replied to me and my friends comments, made up stories about me deleting comments, called me insecure… it was unhinged.

My first instinct?

“This woman is not well.”

No normal person behaves like that toward a stranger. Still, it stung especially because she was spreading lies to people I know.

I blocked her, of course. But I couldn’t help but wonder:

Is any of this even worth it?

Social Media and the Loudest 1%

Social media can be a dark place. Some strangers feel invincible behind a screen and project their insecurities onto anyone who appears on their feed.

Ironically, the video she attacked was meant to help people care less about judgment. And most of the time, that message is true, people are too busy living their lives to think about you.

But that applies to people you know.

Online?

You’re exposed to millions of strangers.

99% nice.

1% unpredictable.

And it’s always the 1% that sticks.

You can receive nine supportive comments and one hateful one… and guess which one your brain chooses to replay on loop? It’s not logical, but it’s human.

And as a small creator, I didn’t expect to deal with hate this early. But reaching non-followers means reaching that 1% too.

How to Keep Going When You Want to Quit

I have a long history of getting excited about something, diving in, then losing motivation and abandoning it.

Right now, I’m posting:

– weekly newsletters

– bi-weekly videos

– weekly marathon-training updates

…all on top of a full-time job. It’s a lot. And I’m not organized. Everything is last minute. Every week feels like a race.

This week especially, I questioned everything.

The hate comment didn’t help.

But here’s the weird part:

Discipline showed up when motivation didn’t.

I wanted to stop. I wanted to disappear for a week. But something pushed me to keep going… and that something was accountability.

Just knowing that even one person reads my newsletter keeps me from disappearing. Even if they wouldn’t care if I skipped a week, I would care because I made a promise to show up.

For me, the formula is simple:

Promise → Accountability → Discipline → Action

Without that, I would’ve quit already.

When People’s Kindness Saves Your Week

Spending a demotivated week alone at home is dangerous, you get trapped in your head, spiraling with thoughts that don’t deserve that much attention.

But then the weekend came.

At a Lebanese social event, three girls I know complimented my videos. They told me how much they love them, how meaningful they are, how relatable they feel.

I didn’t give them context, I didn’t explain the hate comments. I just said:

“Thank you. I really needed to hear that.”

It was the exact reminder I needed. Proof that what I’m doing is impactful. That it is reaching the right people. That the hateful 1% isn’t the whole story.

And that’s why I wrote this newsletter because we all go through seasons of demotivation. We all want to stop. But if we act despite it, the phase eventually passes and we find our rhythm again.

A Final Reminder

This week taught me two things:

1. Kind words matter more than we think.

   A single compliment can erase a week of self-doubt.

2. We shouldn’t let our own insecurities dim someone else’s light.

   We never know how fragile someone’s motivation is.

So let’s choose kindness. Always.

And let’s remember, demotivation is temporary. Discipline is what carries us through.

Is there something you’ve been wanting to do for a while but haven’t because you’re too worried about what people might think?

Here’s some good news: no one really cares. And that’s actually a good thing.

Think about it. How often do you actually spend time thinking about other people? Maybe a few times a day and most of the time, it’s positive thoughts about the ones you care about. How often do you sit around judging or hating others? Probably close to never. We’re all too busy living our own lives to dwell on someone else’s. So why assume others are constantly thinking about you and let that stop you from doing something you really want to do?

For example, how often do you scroll past someone’s post and think something negative like “they don’t look good”? Most of us don’t. And even if we do for a split second, the thought fades right away. We move on and never think about it again.

Now flip that. Even if someone had a similar thought about you, it would live only in their head for a split second and you’d never even know. Yet somehow, we let those imaginary judgments live rent-free in our minds, shaping what we do and what we hold back from doing.

Here’s the best part: when someone does hold a negative thought or opinion of you, it almost always comes from their own insecurities. And most of the time, they’ll never say it out loud because deep down, they care too much about how they present themselves.

Take social media. When was the last time someone you personally know left a hateful comment on your post? Probably never, because most people don’t care enough to say anything.

I used to be scared of posting publicly. When I started this newsletter, I hesitated to share it with people I knew. And when I began making videos, I even thought about creating a separate Instagram account so no one I knew would see them. But with time and maturity, I realized that most people genuinely wish others well, and the few who don’t usually stay silent.

Still, when I decided to post under my personal account, fear didn’t disappear. My mind kept replaying the voices of people who had once criticized me. But as I grew older, I started to understand how little time those people actually spent thinking about me. Their comment probably took five seconds to say while I let it live in my head for years.

When I finally hit publish, something surprising happened: I was met with love. Messages from people I hadn’t spoken to in years. Words of support from friends and acquaintances. Not one hateful comment. That moment made it clear, no one I know cares enough to hate on me publicly. And if that’s true, why should I waste energy worrying about it privately?

I’m sharing this because I keep hearing stories of people in my circle paralyzed by the fear of what others might think. The truth is, even if someone does think something negative, you’ll probably never know. So why give that imaginary thought so much power?

Imagine this: your brain stops you from doing something meaningful because it believes someone might have a negative thought about you. How absurd is that? We waste so much energy on scenarios that don’t exist when in reality, everyone else is too busy worrying about themselves.

The truth is freeing:

No one really cares about you.

Not enough to remember your mistakes.

Not enough to hold you back.

So be kind. Don’t add negativity to someone else’s story because you wouldn’t want it added to yours.

And if fear of judgment is holding you back from doing something—posting online, starting a project or a business—this is your sign to just do it.

You’ll realize most people, myself included, will cheer you on. And that’s the beauty of it.

Almost every interesting experience I’ve had in the last few years happened because I dared to ask for something even when it felt awkward or out of place.

We all have that one event or opportunity we secretly wish we could be part of. Maybe we wait for an invitation that never comes, or tell ourselves it’s not our place to ask. Because asking feels risky. It opens the door to rejection and rejection stings.

But what if, behind that one uncomfortable question, is a “yes” that changes everything?

Yes Theory

Back in December 2023, I got to attend one of the wildest events of my life, Matt’s goodbye party and book launch. Matt, one of the founding members of Yes Theory, was leaving the YouTube channel to start over and live a simpler life.

I had no official invitation. I only heard about the event through a podcast and knew it would be hosted at the Yes House in Venice Beach, their final event before moving to Europe.

Around the same time, I pre-ordered Matt’s book, Talk to Strangers, and joined a live Q&A on Zoom. During the call, my heart was racing. I raised my virtual hand, somehow got picked, and before I knew it, my face was on the big screen in front of Matt, Ammar, and hundreds of fans.

I asked about friendship and moving to a new country… and then, nervously, if I could attend the event.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. They muted their mics for a second, and I thought, That’s it. I just embarrassed myself in front of so many people.

Then, they unmuted.

Matt smiled and said, “Even though it’s a private event… we decided to invite you.”

I froze. I thanked them, logged off, and celebrated all over the house.

The next day, I was at the Yes House meeting multiple members who inspired me for years, attending the final gathering in that iconic space. All because I asked.

Even two years later, I still can’t believe it happened. That one tiny moment of courage led to one of the most surreal experiences of my life.

Creator Economy Summit

I took that same spirit into my job.

My company hosts a yearly Creator Economy Summit in Los Angeles, a big event for creators and media executives. As a software engineer, I had no reason to be there. But I wanted to experience it, to learn, to see the world I quietly admired up close.

So, I asked if I could volunteer.

To my surprise, my manager said yes.

I helped with registration, passed mics during Q&As, and met creators I’d followed online for years.

The following year, I volunteered again. And these experiences ultimately inspired me to start creating content myself.

All of that started with one question: Can I help?

Women in Tech and Finance

Fast-forward to this month.

My company hosted its Women in Tech and Finance event or “WTF” as we call it — in Napa Valley. I had asked to attend before but got turned down due to budget. This time, I didn’t ask. I assumed it was another no.

Then, out of nowhere, I got a personal invitation.

That event turned out to be unforgettable. I met some of the brightest women in the industry, including Paris Hilton, one of the guest speakers. But beyond the glamour, it reminded me of something deeper: how powerful it feels to be surrounded by people who inspire you, especially as a remote worker who often feels disconnected.

And maybe, that invitation came because I’d asked in the past. Because I had shown interest. Because someone remembered.

The Lesson

Looking back, I can connect the dots: each of these experiences — the Yes Theory party, the summit, the Napa Valley trip — happened because of one simple thing. I asked.

Not because I was fearless, but because I chose to act despite the fear of rejection.

We often underestimate how close we are to the experiences we dream about. Sometimes, they’re just one question away.

So ask. Ask even if your voice shakes. Ask even if you expect a no.

Because the worst that can happen is hearing no.

And the best? You might just find yourself living a story you’ll tell for years.

That’s the sentence that runs through my head more often than I’d like to admit.

I’m not really a writer, or a content creator. I’m just someone trying to discover herself by trying something new.

Most days, I’m doubtful but I decided to take action instead of freezing in place.

Where It Comes From

Who doesn’t have self-doubt?

I sometimes wonder if we lived in a world without criticism, would we still doubt ourselves as much? Probably not.

But we don’t. We live in a world that teaches us to second-guess everything. The older we get, the louder that inner voice becomes.

As kids, we feel invincible. We dive into things without hesitation. But as the years pass and as we absorb criticism from every angle, we start to hesitate. We replay mistakes, remember the comments that stung, and before we know it, doubt starts dictating what we do.

The Things We Don’t Start

Self-doubt is sneaky. It convinces you to wait for the perfect time, the moment when you’ll finally feel ready.

Except that moment never comes.

When I wanted to start this newsletter, I went through that same cycle.

I’d write something but then overthink it:

Is it okay to say this? What will people think? Do I sound lame? Who’s even going to care?

From the outside, it might seem like I’ve always been confident enough to post online. But the truth is, I’ve hesitated with every single post. I’ve wasted so much time waiting to feel ready, waiting for certainty that never arrives.

Pushing Through

One day, I realized that self-doubt wasn’t going anywhere and neither was I, unless I moved through it.

So I hit post.

I still felt doubt. I still do. But I learned something important:

You can doubt yourself and still do the thing anyway.

Courage doesn’t mean the absence of fear, it’s the decision to act despite it.

The only thing that’s kept me going since then is accountability. Knowing I made a public commitment helps me keep showing up. And the truth is, there are still many days I think about stopping.

The Next Challenge

Now, I’m training for my first marathon, a 42 km race that already terrifies me.

It requires months of discipline, and yes, my self-doubt followed me into training.

What if I can’t do it? What if I fail publicly?

But I decided to treat it the same way I treat this newsletter, by committing out loud. Sharing my journey is my form of accountability. As much as it scares me, it’s also what keeps me going.

On the Other Side of Doubt

I’ve learned that courage doesn’t show up when doubt disappears, it shows up alongside it.

You can be scared, uncertain, self-critical, and still choose to act.

Because that’s all we really need, to be courageous despite the doubt.

So if you’re sitting on an idea, a dream, or a version of yourself you keep postponing—start.

Not when you feel ready.

Start while you’re still scared.

Because on the other side of self-doubt, there’s courage waiting for you.

I don’t fully know the answer but I’d like to find out.

Running Without a Purpose

I grew up hating running. I loved football (soccer), but I only loved running after the ball. Running for no reason felt pointless.

The only time I ever ran a race was back in sixth grade. I don’t even remember the distance just that it was my first and last one for years to come.

Football became my everything. It shaped my identity, my confidence, my discipline. But as I got older, my passion started to fade. I tried other sports, but running never made the list.

Falling in Love with Hard Things

When I moved to the U.S. three years ago, I discovered HIIT workouts that push you to your limit every single time. At first, I hated the idea of going. But I fell in love with the feeling afterward.

The tougher the workout, the more I dreaded it before and during but the feeling after was always worth it. And that kept me coming back. Somewhere along the line, I started to love doing hard things. Every time I conquered one, I believed I could do something harder.

That mindset changed me. It made me believe I could conquer challenges beyond the physical ones.

Inspired by the Impossible

Around that time, I started following endurance athletes, people who did unimaginable things with their bodies and minds. One story in particular stayed with me: a travel YouTuber I’d watched for years who transitioned into an ultramarathon runner.

He went from filming cities to running 240 miles. Watching that shift made me think, maybe it’s not too late for me either. Not to run 240 miles, but to push myself beyond what I’ve known, to see what I’m truly capable of.

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The Catch

But a marathon is different. It’s not like doing a hard workout or a spontaneous 10K. You can’t fake 42.1 kilometers.

It demands months of training, discipline, and recovery. It’s a test of patience as much as endurance. And that’s where my biggest obstacles come in, my health and my consistency.

Fixing What Held Me Back

For most of my life, my performances were not consistent. I’d play an incredible football game one day and feel useless the next. I couldn’t understand why my energy levels fluctuated so much.

It wasn’t until recently that I learned I’d been living with chronically low ferritin levels—basically, iron deficiency that caused persistent fatigue. It explained so much: the exhaustion, the poor recovery, the self-doubt.

After years of frustration, I finally decided to get to the root of it. I ran comprehensive tests, adjusted my nutrition, and started treating what had silently held me back for years. For the first time, I’m starting to feel like my body is working with me, not against me.

My Struggle with Consistency

The second challenge is consistency. I’ve always been someone who gets excited about new things but struggles to maintain them like picking up new hobbies or side projects. For example, I got excited about tennis one time, bought all the gear and joined an online community only to quit a couple months later when I lost motivation.

What finally taught me discipline was accountability. When I signed up for expensive HIIT classes with no-show penalties, I suddenly became consistent. Not because I loved waking up early, but because skipping cost me money and I didn’t like that.

That same principle helped me keep up with this newsletter. I promised myself (and all of you) that I’d publish weekly, and even when I procrastinate, I still show up. Just like the fact that I’m finishing this one just hours before posting.

The Plan

So that’s the plan for my marathon: accountability. I’m announcing it publicly because if I can easily disappoint myself in private, I can’t do it as easily in front of others.

I’ll be sharing updates about training, recovery, and everything in between on social media and here.

A New Chapter

Consistency might be the main reason I’m running a marathon but it’s not the only one.

Part of it is emotional. I’m still in denial that football is no longer the center of my life. I used to dream of playing professionally. Now, I’m realizing that chapter is behind me. My body isn’t the same, and I’m turning 30 soon, all of it hitting at once.

My birthday is just a month before marathon day, and deep down, I think this is my way of proving something to myself: that even though my football dream is over, I can still have ambitious physical goals. That I’m still capable of doing something extraordinary.

The Spark from Home

Another reason runs deeper than all that. When I was growing up in Lebanon, the Beirut Marathon was a huge annual event. I used to get so excited about it as a kid, even if I never woke up early enough to watch the start.

I’d turn on the TV halfway through, just to catch the fun runs at the end. I remember being in awe of all the runners. Even though I never thought I’d be one of them, I was fascinated by the energy, the community, and the celebration of movement.

For the first time, I want to be part of that moment and not as a spectator, but as one of them.

The Commitment

So here it is: I’m officially training for my first full marathon: Los Angeles, March 8th 2026. Five months from now.

I don’t know exactly how it’ll go. But I know this: I’m doing it to prove to myself that I can commit, that my body can keep up, and that I’m still capable of chasing something big.

If you’ve been thinking about your own “hard thing,” maybe this is your sign. Because the feeling that comes after you do it is going to be worth it.