[STORY] Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishment

I woke up that morning ready to quit—everything.

My job. My plans. My so-called “dreams.”

The only thing I couldn’t quit was my rent.

I sat on the edge of my unmade bed, laptop open, staring at a blinking cursor on a blank Google Doc titled “Resignation Letter.” It was like the universe itself was mocking me.

The Wi-Fi was lagging, the ceiling fan was whining, and my phone kept buzzing with motivational quotes from pages I had ironically followed during my “self-improvement” era.

“Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishment.”

Please. I could barely build a bridge between breakfast and motivation.

Around 11 a.m., my best friend Tayo called.

“Guy, you sound like someone just repossessed your confidence.”

I sighed. “Bro, I’m tired. This personal development thing? It’s not developing me personally.”

He laughed so hard I almost hung up.

“Come outside joor. Let’s fix your life with some cold zobo and perspective.”

We met at this tiny DIY café downtown—a place where people drank overpriced smoothies while painting flower pots they’d never water.

Tayo sat there, sipping his drink like he owned the world. He had that annoying glow people get when they “find purpose.”

“So, tell me,” he said, leaning back. “Why do you want to quit?”

“Because I feel stuck. I’ve been grinding nonstop—taking online courses, journaling affirmations, reading Atomic Habits twice—and I’m still not where I want to be.”

He smirked. “And where’s that exactly?”

I paused. “I don’t even know anymore.”

That silence between us carried more weight than my unread emails.

While we were talking, an old man at the next table turned and said,

“Young man, mind if I say something?”

We looked up. He was sketching something in a notebook—hands wrinkled, eyes calm, voice soft but sure.

“I overheard you talking about quitting,” he said. “I was once like you. Thought success was about speed. But sometimes, the slow path is the only one worth walking.”

I frowned. “You mean patience?”

He chuckled. “No. Purpose. You can’t find your purpose by rushing through life like a software update.”

Tayo and I exchanged glances. It sounded like something off a podcast, but the way he said it… it hit different.

The man closed his notebook and stood up.

“Don’t quit. Redesign. You don’t need a new job—you need a new mindset.”

Then he handed me the notebook.

“For you,” he said. “Open it later.”

Before we could even thank him, he was gone.

That night, I finally opened the notebook.

The first page was blank—except for one line written in perfect handwriting:

“What if everything falling apart is actually everything realigning?”

On the next page was a rough sketch of a staircase made out of broken pieces—bricks, glass, wood, and scraps—all building upward.

It was signed at the bottom:

“Keep Climbing — Jide A., 1999.”

Wait. Jide Adeola? The same Jide Adeola whose Home Redefined startup was all over LinkedIn for turning scrap materials into affordable DIY furniture?

The man who built an empire from literal ruins?

The next morning, something changed. I didn’t suddenly become a motivational speaker or land a dream job. But I started small.

I rearranged my room—built a mini workspace using old crates I’d nearly thrown out. I painted the walls with leftover color samples. I even repurposed my broken standing fan into a lamp.

It was weirdly healing. Like I was rebuilding myself through every screw and nail.

I documented the process and posted it online under the title:

“Turning My Burnout Into a DIY Project.”

The post blew up. People connected—not to perfection, but to the process.

A week later, a small home improvement brand reached out for a collaboration. Then a content platform asked me to write a column about personal development and self-growth through DIY living.

And here’s the twist:

I never sent that resignation letter.

Instead, I became the person I was waiting to be inspired by.

Now, when people ask me about success, I tell them what Jide said:

“Don’t quit. Redesign.”

Because sometimes, the key to personal growth isn’t escaping your life—it’s rebuilding it, one broken piece at a time.