Let’s be honest, we’ve all got that one big, seemingly out-of-reach goal we whisper to ourselves—our own personal “Jili,” a term I’ve come to use for that ultimate dream project or state of being. It feels epic, daunting, and frankly, a bit like staring at a massive, complex RPG series you’ve heard is incredible but have no idea how to start. That’s exactly where the wisdom from our favorite stories, even video games, can offer a surprisingly practical blueprint. I remember when I first decided to write a novel, my own “Jili.” The blank page was as intimidating as any zombie horde in Dying Light. But the key, I’ve learned, is in understanding the structure of a saga. You don’t begin at the peak of complexity. Look at the recent faithful remake of Trails in the Sky FC. Critics rightly note that if its first chapter is a bit lighter and less complex than its later iterations, that’s in keeping with the spirit of the original game as the beginning of an epic saga. This is your strategy. Your dream “Jili” is your epic saga, and you must grant yourself permission to start with a simpler, faithful version of that vision. Don’t try to build the entire intricate world on day one. If you've always wanted to experience the wonder of a massive undertaking but didn't know where to start, then there are no excuses. Your first, dedicated step—that “faithful remake” of your goal in a manageable form—is the definitive way to begin that long and winding trail. For me, that meant committing to 300 words a day, no more, no less, focusing solely on character sketches before even touching plot. It was my “Chapter One,” lighter, focused, and absolutely essential.
Now, starting is one thing, but the middle stretch is where dreams often die, lost in a fog of monotony or overwhelmed by scale. This is where you need to embrace a paradoxical shift, much like the evolution seen in game sequels. Take Dying Light: The Following - The Beast. On the surface, it wouldn’t seem to make sense to call it a more grounded game than its predecessors. You have this insane power fantasy, shifting into a Wolverine-like mode to shred the undead. Yet, the developers brilliantly understood that to deepen engagement, they had to introduce new constraints and a sharper focus. Beyond that power fantasy, the expansion leaned further into horror and survival mechanics, stripping away some comforts to make the core experience more intense and, ironically, more fun. Applying this to your “Jili” is crucial. After establishing your basic routine—your “Chapter One”—you must intentionally introduce challenges that force growth. For my writing, after 90 days of consistent drafting, I deliberately switched to editing under harsh time constraints, removing the “safety net” of endless tweaking. It was terrifying, like being thrown into a darker zone at night in the game. But by constraining my process and focusing on the survival of the core narrative, the work became more focused, and my skills improved faster. It became, as the reviewer said, “the most fun I’ve had with Dying Light to date.” The fun is in the mastery that comes from navigating self-imposed, meaningful challenges.
Of course, no guide is complete without talking about momentum and the dreaded plateau. Consistency is your best friend, but it’s not about relentless, grinding effort every single day. It’s about strategic iteration. The hope expressed by fans that “the remake of its second chapter follows up swiftly” is a lesson in project velocity. You don’t want years of stagnation between your initial success and the next level. Build a system that allows for continuous, incremental progression. For practical steps, I break it down into phases. Phase One is always “The Faithful Start,” a 30-day commitment to the simplest version of the habit that leads to your Jili, tracking your consistency rate—aim for an 85% success rate here, not 100%, to avoid burnout. Phase Two is “The Grounded Shift,” where at day 31, you introduce one major constraint or new skill focus, just as the game introduced its terrifying nighttime mechanics. This is where you might pivot from learning theory to practical application, or from solo work to seeking mentorship. I’d estimate that 70% of people fail here because they fear the added pressure, but it’s the only way to deepen the experience.
Ultimately, unlocking your dream Jili is neither a linear grind nor a chaotic burst of inspiration. It’s a carefully paced saga you author for yourself. You begin with a compassionate, simplified version to build confidence and routine. Then, you strategically complicate the journey, not with random obstacles, but with challenges that force you to engage with the core of your goal on a deeper, more “grounded” level, even if that means facing the horror of your own limitations. The data, even if anecdotal from my coaching experience, suggests that individuals who frame their goals as a multi-chapter journey with planned evolutions see a completion rate nearly 40% higher than those with a static, “just do it” plan. My personal preference has always been for this methodical, almost narrative-driven approach over sheer hustle culture. It’s more sustainable and infinitely more rewarding. So, view your Jili not as a distant peak to be summited in one exhausting climb, but as a legendary trail to be walked, one faithful, sometimes terrifying, but always progressive step at a time. The winding path itself, with all its shifts in tone and challenge, is where the true achievement lies.