I sat down today intending to write a reflective "beginning of fourth year" article.
The semester has barely started. My exams ended a few days ago. Fourth year feels strange to say out loud because it still feels like I was a first-year five minutes ago, trying to figure out where my classroom was and whether I had accidentally chosen the wrong degree.
It felt like the right time to write about goals.
Fresh start. Fresh semester. Fresh optimism.
Instead, I accidentally discovered that I may already be overworked.
The discovery happened because I started making a list.
Not intentionally. I wasn't trying to audit my life. I wasn't conducting a productivity review. I was simply trying to figure out what this year actually looks like.
And every time I thought I was done, I remembered something else.
There's the newsletter.
Calling it "the newsletter" is funny because that makes it sound small.
The first edition was published in April 2025. There are now 102 editions. I have another 49 planned.
At no point during Edition 1 did I think I was signing up for a project that would eventually be measured in triple digits.
Then there's the LinkedIn page.
The 60-day AI challenge.
The 5-day JavaScript challenge, which wasn't even part of the plan until recently and somehow still found its way onto the list.
There's Sum of Cubes.
There's 40 days of full-stack interview preparation.
There's the plan to solve 100 LeetCode questions in 40 days, which sounded completely reasonable when I wrote it down and slightly less reasonable every time I've repeated it out loud since then.
There is also the possibility of an internship.
And beneath all of these self-assigned adventures sits the tiny detail that I am still pursuing a B. Tech degree.
I was also supposed to start going to the gym.
That one didn't quite go according to plan.
Not because I changed my mind.
Because it turns out two months of exam season have consequences.
For the past week I've been randomly sleepy at hours that should not legally qualify as sleeping hours. I kept wondering why.
Then I remembered that my exam preparation strategy was essentially a careful blend of caffeine, stress, and confidence.
Apparently the human body keeps records.
Which feels a little unfair.
Actually, that's not even the weird part.
The weird part is that I don't really want to remove anything from the list.
If someone told me I had to drop a commitment tomorrow, I genuinely don't know which one I'd choose.
The newsletter feels important.
The AI challenge sounds exciting.
The JavaScript challenge sounds useful.
The interview preparation is necessary.
The LeetCode grind is painful but necessary.
The project is exciting.
Even the gym is something I want to do once my body stops behaving like a laptop running on 3% battery.
The problem isn't that I've filled my schedule with things I dislike.
The problem is that I've filled it with things I care about.
And I think that's a very different kind of overwhelm.
When people talk about being overwhelmed, we usually imagine obligations.
Assignments.
Deadlines.
Responsibilities.
Things we have to do.
But sometimes overwhelm comes from abundance.
Too many interests.
Too many ideas.
Too many projects that all seem worth pursuing.
Too many versions of yourself asking for attention at the same time.
The writer wants to write.
The developer wants to build.
The student wants to prepare for placements.
The curious person wants to learn AI.
The person who keeps saying "I should really start going to the gym" wants to become healthier.
Unfortunately, all of these people share the same calendar.
But then again, maybe that's why I'm not completely panicking.
A year ago, a lot of the things I'm doing today would have sounded unrealistic to me.
Back then, there wasn't a newsletter with 102 editions. There was just Edition 1.
There wasn't a portfolio website. There was a blank folder and an idea.
There wasn't a LinkedIn page.
There wasn't a community of people who recognized my name from writing, web development, newsletters, GATE preparation, communication skills, LinkedIn content, or random conversations about tech and life.
There weren't completed projects.
There wasn't a full-stack website built from scratch.
There wasn't another project whose scope became so ridiculous that I ended up partially vibe-coding parts of it just to keep moving.
There wasn't a mini-game.
There wasn't a GATE qualification.
That one still feels a little absurd.
There also wasn't the version of me that exists now.
My GPA is higher than it used to be.
My anxiety is better than it used to be.
I've met people I never would have met otherwise.
I've had opportunities and conversations that weren't even on my radar a year ago.
Looking back, I think the biggest lesson of the past year is that I consistently underestimate what can happen in twelve months.
Which is probably why this list doesn't scare me quite as much as it should.
Do I know if I'll successfully do everything on it?
Absolutely not.
Some things will probably go slower than planned.
Some goals will change.
Some timelines will move around.
Life has a habit of doing that.
But if the last year taught me anything, it's that progress rarely looks impressive when you're standing at the beginning of it.
Edition 1 didn't look like Edition 102.
A blank repository didn't look like a finished website.
One LinkedIn post didn't look like thousands of followers.
A difficult semester didn't look like a GPA recovery.
The beginning never looks like the ending.
Maybe that's why I'm willing to keep saying yes to things.
Not because I'm confident I'll do them perfectly.
But because I've seen what happens when I stick around long enough to find out.
I started writing this article because I wanted to reflect on the beginning of fourth year.
Instead, I ended up taking inventory of a year that has already begun.
It's a slightly terrifying list.
It's also a list I'm oddly proud of.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have a newsletter to write, interview preparation to do, a JavaScript challenge to start, an AI challenge to continue, a project to build, and approximately two months of sleep debt attempting to collect payment.
Fourth year, apparently, has arrived.
P.S. Yes, I am aware that I mention the newsletter a lot.
In my defense, if a random idea from April 2025 grows into 102 editions, I'm going to keep talking about it.
At least for a little while.
