You ever press the 'close' button on an elevator and feel like you're doing something, anything, to speed things up? Like somehow your finger carries authority? I do it all the time. Even though deep down, I know it probably doesn’t work. But still, I press it. I need to press it. Because standing still, waiting, doing nothing... that feels worse than doing something useless. This thought hit me one random afternoon while waiting for the elevator in my building. I was in a hurry, nothing urgent, just running late to meet someone. The moment I stepped in, I pressed the ‘close door’ button. Then I pressed it again. And again. Like that button was listening. There’s no proof it even works, but still, I press it. Every single time. And it’s not just me. I've watched others do it too, like it’s a secret ritual we all silently believe in. Press the button, feel in control. That tiny moment stuck with me longer than it should’ve. Because, honestly, that’s kind of how I’ve been living lately. I just wrapped up my first year of college. If you asked what I learned, I could rattle off concepts, saved videos, half-read PDFs, and tabs I’ve had open for months. I know more than I did a year ago. But somehow, I don’t feel further ahead. I’ve got notes on design theory, bookmarked networking tips, a Notion doc titled “project ideas.” My browser has 37 tabs open. One’s a video on fixing your sleep schedule. One’s a masterclass on storytelling. One’s an article called “How to Stop Overthinking.” I haven’t finished any of them. I press the button. And I wait. It’s like I’ve trained myself to mistake intent for action. That watching a tutorial is the same as applying it. That downloading a book means I’m halfway through reading it. That knowing what a healthy routine looks like is the same as actually living one. But nothing happens. The doors don’t close any faster. The change doesn’t come just because I hoped it would. Somewhere along the way, I became someone who believes knowing how to do something is almost the same as doing it. And that “almost” is the quiet space where most of my potential quietly dies. That’s why I always feel like I’m a few steps behind the version of me I could be. Because I am. I’m full of ideas. Full of “I’ll start tomorrow.” Full of tabs and reminders and plans I haven’t touched. I’m full of potential. But potential doesn’t mean anything unless it’s used. That elevator button? It’s just a placebo. It exists to give you the illusion of control. But movement, real movement, only happens when you decide to step forward. And maybe I don’t want to live like that anymore. Waiting. Hoping. Pressing a button that never worked. it’s time to stop pressing the button. and just start moving.