The Journey from Lazy to Nobody | Autobiography Part 1

At first, I had a taste of "Lazy." Not the kind of lazy where you refuse to move, but the kind born from a lack of discipline. I was only five or six years old, and it felt comfy, like sinking into a worn-out couch that you know you shouldn’t love, but you do anyway. It wasn’t forced upon me; it was a choice. A strange choice for a child, I’ll admit, but one I made because, at that age, it felt like the world owed me something.

But kids grow, and even lazy ones need to evolve. I realized I needed an upgrade. I didn’t hit the brakes on my lack of discipline; I simply rebranded it. By the time I was 12 or 13, I wasn’t just lazy anymore—I had evolved into "Complacent." I’d discovered that if you’re just good enough at a few things, people will leave you alone. I wasn’t a prodigy, but I was decent at Math, English, and Basketball.

That was my trifecta. My holy trinity.

I capitalized on those skills like a small-town hustler with three tricks up his sleeve. Being good at things earned me respect. Not the “he’s a genius” respect, but the kind where people give you a nod, a little more space, a little less criticism. Practice makes perfect, they say, but let’s be real: decent practice makes you look good enough, and that’s all I cared about back then.

But then came high school.

At 15, I wanted to specialize in Math Sciences. I thought that was my ticket to…well, something. But I wasn’t allowed. Not because of my Math grades—those were solid. No, it was Physics that tripped me up. My Physics grades were abysmal, and the irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, a self-proclaimed Math guy, failing to grasp the very subject that’s supposed to make Math come alive.

That was my first real slap in the face.

I realized then that I was still "Lazy," just in a new disguise. My Physics failures weren’t due to some systemic flaw or bad luck—they were my fault. My ignorance. My refusal to put in the work.

So, I had to pivot. I was given two choices: Physics or Biology. I already had beef with Physics, so Biology it was. That’s how, years later, I found myself studying General Medicine in Mother Russia, of all places.

Let me tell you—Russia was a trip.

I wasn’t in Morocco anymore. Everything was different: the weather, the food, the language. It was fascinating, overwhelming, and exhausting all at once. I learned to love it. I wasn’t just a student; I was an explorer, a young Moroccan man dropped into a world that felt like an alternate reality.

For a while, it felt like the best decision I’d ever made.

I wasn’t exactly passionate about Medicine, but it was a path, a ladder I could climb. Compared to my peers back home, I felt privileged. Most of them were stuck, spinning their wheels in the same dusty corners of Morocco where we’d grown up. Meanwhile, I was in Russia, doing something different, something big.

But life has a funny way of humbling you.

Medicine wasn’t my calling. I tried convincing myself it was, but deep down, I knew I didn’t belong. I gave up on it, and not for any noble reason. It was my arrogance, my fault.

When I walked away from Medicine, I walked away from the last shred of societal approval I had. Suddenly, I was a “Nobody.” At least, that’s how the world saw me. No degree. No status. Just a young Moroccan guy who had traded one dream for another and ended up empty-handed.

And yet, for the first time, I didn’t feel like a nobody to myself.

Walking away from Medicine wasn’t just a failure; it was a choice. A deliberate, conscious choice to stop pursuing something that wasn’t me. It wasn’t Physics this time—it wasn’t even laziness. It was clarity.

Looking back, I see how each step—each failure, each pivot—led me here.

I had to taste "Lazy" to know I didn’t want to stay there. I had to embrace "Complacency" to see its limits. I had to fail at Physics to realize how much of life is about doing the hard things, the unglamorous things, to build a foundation. And I had to walk away from Medicine to learn that being a "Nobody" in the eyes of others doesn’t mean being a nobody to yourself.

Today, I carry these lessons with me. I’m not a doctor, not a mathematician, not a physicist. But I’m something better: I’m a work in progress.

And the rest? Well, I'm alive & well and the rest is history.