It’s Not Fair

At some point in life, almost all of us say it.
“It’s not fair.”

We say it when we are tired.
When we feel unseen.
When someone else seems to move ahead while we stay in the same place.

Sometimes we whisper it. Sometimes we shout it inside.
And often, we use it as a full stop — a sentence that ends the conversation.

But here is the truth we rarely want to face:

Life was never fair.
And it never promised to be.

Some people are born into money.
Some are born into safety.
Some are born beautiful, confident, or surrounded by opportunities they did nothing to earn.

Others start with less.
Less support. Less time. Less margin for mistakes.
Some begin life already carrying weight they didn’t choose.

That imbalance can feel cruel. And sometimes it is.

But unfair does not mean broken.
And it does not mean hopeless.

We grow up believing that if we work hard enough, or wait long enough, “fair” will eventually arrive — like a delayed train that is simply running late.

It won’t.

Fair is not on its way.
Fair is not catching up.
Fair is not preparing an apology.

Fair is a story we tell ourselves when we don’t yet know what to do with reality.

And this is the part that’s hardest to admit:
Most people don’t say “it’s not fair” because they want justice.
They say it because they want permission to stop.

To stop trying.
To stop choosing.
To stop carrying responsibility for their own next step.

“It’s not fair” can become a shelter.
A quiet place where we rest without moving.

I understand that place. I’ve stood there myself.

There were moments when I looked at my life and thought:
If circumstances were different…
If timing had been kinder…
If I had been given what others received…

But here’s the line we rarely cross — and the one that changes everything:

The people who move forward don’t wait for fair.
They work with what they have.

Not with what they deserve.
Not with what would be just.
With what is.

Some have talent but no discipline.
Some have discipline but no recognition.
Some have ideas but no support.
Some have strength but no map.

Nobody gets a complete set.

The difference is not in the cards dealt — it’s in the decision to play the hand anyway.

Winners are not the people life favored.
They are the ones who stopped arguing with reality.

They didn’t deny the unfairness.
They just refused to let it be the final word.

There is a quiet moment — rarely talked about — when a person realizes that waiting for fairness is costing them more than the unfairness itself.

Waiting costs time.
Waiting costs courage.
Waiting slowly turns frustration into identity.

And once that happens, the sentence changes from
“It’s not fair”
to
“This is just how my life is.”

That is the real danger.

Because life may be unfair — but it is also responsive.
It responds to movement.
To effort.
To consistency.

Not immediately. Not evenly.
But eventually.

When we stop asking, “Why don’t I have what they have?”
and start asking, “What can I build with what I have?”
something shifts.

Not magically.
Not dramatically.

Quietly.

We become less bitter.
Less stuck.
More grounded.

Fairness is a comforting idea.
But responsibility is a liberating one.

Because responsibility means your story is still being written.

You don’t need life to be fair to move forward.
You need honesty.
Endurance.
And the courage to stop waiting for conditions that may never come.

This is not a motivational message.
It’s a practical one.

Life is not fair.
It never was.

But it is still yours.

GK