Addiction to Almost

“Almost” is a terrible drug, and the worst part is how good it feels at first. Almost-love, almost-success, almost-happiness—it’s intoxicating because it keeps hope alive without demanding any real commitment. It’s the emotional equivalent of living on samples at Costco: you’re technically fed, but never satisfied.

We stay hooked on “almost” because it’s safer than “all the way.” If the relationship never fully starts, it never has to fully end. If the dream job is always just out of reach, you don’t have to face the possibility of hating it once you actually get it. Almost is possibility suspended in amber. It’s Schrödinger’s dream: alive and dead at the same time.

And let’s be honest: “almost” can be thrilling. The almost-text back. The almost-promotion. The almost-confession of love that keeps you replaying conversations in the shower like you’re directing a movie only you will ever see. “Almost” gives us butterflies, suspense, the delicious tension of “what if.”

But here’s the hangover: “almost” is also maddening. It keeps you orbiting people and situations that will never land. You end up in half-relationships where you get the cuddles but not the commitment, jobs where you’re the “go-to” but never the one with the title, friendships that flirt with intimacy but never cross the line. You convince yourself you’re patient, loyal, understanding—but really, you’re just addicted to the hit of hope that “almost” dangles in front of you like a carrot on a stick.

The problem with living on “almost” is that you never actually eat. You’re starving while telling yourself the smell of food is enough. It isn’t. At some point, you have to admit you want the whole damn meal—or at least stop pretending the crumbs are filling you up.

Breaking the addiction to “almost” takes courage, and also a little pettiness. Courage to admit what you actually want. Pettiness to say, “If you can’t give me more than almost, then I’ll take my appetite elsewhere.” Because the truth is, “almost” isn’t romance. It isn’t opportunity. It isn’t fulfillment. It’s a holding pattern. And you deserve more than circling the runway forever.

So here’s your intervention: step away from “almost.” Let the text that never comes stay unsent. Let the half-promise stay half-baked. The thrill of “almost” is real, but so is the exhaustion. Go all in, or get out. Your life is not meant to be an endless preview.