It promises a clean slate. An open road. A cleared throat. We chase it in productivity apps, in therapy sessions, in the ruthless act of deleting old photos or cutting off a draining friend. We believe that on the other side of unblocked lies freedom.

But I’ve started to suspect that absolute unblocked-ness is a myth. Worse: it might be a lie that keeps us from actually moving.

“I’ll start when I feel ready.” “I’ll write when I have the perfect idea.” “I’ll love again when I’m fully healed.”

But have you ever actually driven that road for more than an hour? It becomes hypnotic. Then boring. Then terrifying. Without resistance, without the small friction of a curve or a slowdown, the mind wanders into dangerous blankness. You stop paying attention. You stop feeling the wheel.