The false sense of progress crept up on Ramses like an unwelcome visitor in the middle of the night. At first, it was a quiet whisper, barely noticeable. But as the days wore on, it began to grow louder, echoing through his mind, convincing him that he had come so far. Too far to go back now.
Ramses had been working tirelessly on himself—physically, mentally, emotionally—pushing himself harder than he ever had before. The physical routines had become easier, his muscles more toned and his stamina improved. His meditation sessions were more focused, his journaling more insightful. He had read books that had transformed the way he viewed the world, and he had even started drawing, something he never thought he would do. Each day felt like a small victory, and with each victory, Ramses began to think that maybe, just maybe, he had it all figured out.
"I'm not the same person I used to be," he whispered to himself one morning, standing in front of his bathroom mirror, scrutinizing his reflection. There was a subtle change in his appearance, sure—he had lost weight, his posture had improved, and his eyes looked a little less tired. But deeper than that, Ramses felt different. He had convinced himself that he was growing, that he was no longer the anxious, fearful version of himself that he had been before the world froze.
But what Ramses didn't realize was that this newfound sense of progress was built on an illusion. It was an outward transformation—one that could be measured in tangible ways: better physical health, more mental clarity, a sharper focus. But underneath, something was missing. Something that could never be quantified by the number of push-ups he did or the books he read. It was a sense of fulfillment, of deeper change that wasn't so easily seen in the mirror or measured in hours spent working on self-improvement.
At first, he ignored the nagging feeling that something was amiss. He told himself he was doing fine. He had made progress, and there was no need to question it. But then, one evening, after finishing his workout and eating a simple meal, Ramses sat down to meditate, and the realization hit him like a cold wave crashing against a cliff. The stillness—the silence—wasn't the source of his discomfort. It was the emptiness.
The world around him remained frozen, yes, but Ramses had grown used to that. He had accepted it as part of his new reality. What he hadn't anticipated, though, was the emptiness that began to grow inside him, a hollow space that seemed to widen every day. All his progress, all his striving, couldn't fill it. There was no sense of purpose behind his actions anymore. He wasn't working toward anything. He wasn't creating anything. He was simply existing, going through the motions of a life that had no external meaning, no one to share it with.
"Maybe I've been doing it all wrong," Ramses muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes in frustration. "Maybe all this… all this progress doesn't even matter."
For days, Ramses struggled with this new wave of doubt. The workouts, the reading, the meditation—it all felt so hollow now. His focus had been on the wrong things. He had been measuring progress by external markers, by how many books he could read or how many push-ups he could do. But that wasn't enough. It never had been.
He started questioning the validity of his own journey. Was he really changing, or had he just been distracting himself from the emptiness? His physical progress felt empty without a deeper purpose. His mental clarity was like a blade without a handle—sharp, but ultimately useless without something to guide it.
Ramses began to notice the cracks in the facade of his own transformation. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was running in circles, chasing after an ideal that wasn't real. Each small achievement seemed to lose its meaning the moment it was reached. And the worst part was that he didn't know what he was working toward anymore.
The relentless cycle of self-improvement felt like a treadmill—always moving forward but never really getting anywhere. His motivation had been strong, but now, it had turned into a hollow ritual. Workouts became monotonous, and reading felt like a task rather than an escape. The progress he thought he was making felt increasingly disconnected from any real purpose or value.
It wasn't just a feeling of stagnation—it was a deep, gnawing frustration. The more he focused on his individual progress, the more isolated he felt. He had built himself into someone who could be strong and resilient, yes, but he had neglected to ask the important question: Why? Why was he doing all this? What was it all for?
It wasn't enough to just make progress. It wasn't enough to keep building a better version of himself if there was no vision for what that version was supposed to accomplish. No one to share it with. No real sense of meaning behind his actions.
And then, as if to further complicate his feelings, Ramses had a brief but powerful realization: all his self-improvement had been rooted in trying to escape the world's stillness. He had been trying to outrun the emptiness, but it wasn't something he could run from. It wasn't something he could fix with push-ups or books or meditation. The emptiness was a part of the world now, just as much as the frozen stillness that had taken away everyone else.
On one of his most frustrating nights, Ramses sat down in front of his journal, staring at the empty pages. He had been journaling for weeks, trying to work through his thoughts, but tonight, the words wouldn't come. He had no answers. No clarity. Only confusion and doubt.
"Am I even making progress?" he scribbled in the journal, the question lingering on the page, unresolved.
He put down the pen and buried his face in his hands, feeling the weight of his own question settle into his chest. He had been so focused on pushing forward, so determined to make himself better, that he had neglected to stop and consider whether he was actually going in the right direction. The stillness outside, the emptiness inside—both were forces he couldn't escape. He had learned to live with them, but that didn't mean they didn't affect him.
The next morning, Ramses woke up feeling no more certain than the night before. But he knew one thing for sure: he needed to change his approach. He couldn't continue measuring his worth by how much he could do or how much he could improve. There had to be more than that. There had to be something deeper, something that couldn't be quantified by the number of push-ups or the pages of a book.
And so, in the midst of his self-doubt, Ramses made a choice. He would no longer chase progress for the sake of progress. He would no longer define himself by the things he could accomplish. Instead, he would try to find meaning in what he was doing—not just for himself, but for the world that remained frozen. Perhaps, he thought, the true measure of his progress would come not from what he could do, but from how he chose to live with the stillness.
It was time to stop running. Time to face the emptiness head-on. He couldn't outrun it anymore.
The false sense of progress had nearly consumed him, but Ramses wasn't going to let it. He still had a long way to go, but for the first time, he understood something important: progress wasn't always linear. It wasn't always a straight path toward self-improvement. Sometimes, it was about taking a step back and reassessing. It was about finding meaning, not in the actions themselves, but in the intentions behind them.
With that in mind, Ramses stood up, ready to begin again. He didn't know where this new approach would take him, but for the first time in a long while, he felt a sense of hope. It wasn't the hope of fixing everything overnight or achieving perfection. It was the hope that, even in the midst of doubt and frustration, there was still a way forward.