Best?

By Anshul Purvia

What do you do when you gave it everything and still failed?

When people say, “It’s okay, do your best next time,” but this was already your best?

And your best still wasn’t enough?

What do you do then?

No one really talks about that part.

The silence after the fall. The heavy pause between trying and realizing it didn’t matter.

You stare at the result, your chest tight, your throat dry, and you think, But I tried.

And somehow that sentence feels so small compared to the weight you carried to get there.

Because you really believed it would be enough this time. You told yourself that if you gave it everything, something good would finally happen.

You skipped sleep. You sacrificed comfort. You ignored the doubts that whispered in your head. You poured your whole being into it, telling yourself this is it, this is everything I have.

But when the outcome comes and it’s still not enough, the disappointment cuts deeper than failure itself. It’s not just losing. It’s losing after giving all of yourself.

And what hurts most is how easily people tell you to just “try again.”

As if there’s an endless supply of strength somewhere that you can refill from.

As if there isn’t a cost each time you rebuild yourself to start over.

They say, “Your best can always get better.”

But what if it can’t? What if, for once, you truly reached your limit?

They say improvement never stops, that growth never ends, that what feels like your best today might look small tomorrow.

And maybe they’re right. Maybe we’re built to keep moving forward, to keep finding better versions of ourselves.

But nobody ever tells you how to live with the ache that comes in between.

The ache of trying your hardest and still being told it wasn’t enough.

The ache of seeing people do less and still be loved more.

The ache of wondering if effort even matters anymore.

So you start to question things.

What does “best” even mean?

Who gets to decide when something is finally good enough?

What are the rules? What invisible standard are we trying to reach?

Because it feels like the world keeps moving the goalpost every time you get close.

You do more, they expect more. You give everything, they act like it’s still not enough.

And after a while, you stop celebrating small wins.

You stop feeling proud.

You start to believe that maybe you’re just not built for greatness, not meant to reach the finish line that everyone else seems to find so easily.

You start to see effort as something exhausting instead of meaningful.

And that’s when the hopelessness creeps in, quiet but steady.

You keep going because you don’t know how to stop, but it no longer feels like chasing a dream. It feels like surviving a loop.

Maybe that’s the hardest part, realizing that no matter how much you give, it might never be enough for the world.

Maybe the only thing left to do is decide who you’re doing it for.

Because if you’re always chasing approval, you’ll always end up empty.

But if you can find a way to make peace with yourself, even when you fall short, maybe that’s what being “enough” actually means.

Maybe “best” isn’t a finish line.

Maybe it’s just a moment — a breath — when you can look at yourself and say,

I gave everything I could.

Even if no one claps.

Even if no one notices.

Even if I fail.

By Anshul Purvia