I’m almost always working on something to make life easier.
That sounds healthy. It often is. But over time, it quietly turned into something else.
I have a long list of ideas. Over eighty at last count. Books I want to write. Products to build. English class plans. Podcasts. Reflections. Improvements layered on improvements. Each one is reasonable on its own. Together, overwhelming.
Somewhere along the way, I picked up the belief that I must always be improving. Getting better. Refining. Optimizing. If I wasn’t actively working toward something, I was falling behind.
That pressure has been heavy lately. Emotionally and mentally draining in a way that’s harder to explain than simple “overwork.”
I’ve written before about a big mistake I made, one that forced me to look more honestly at my ego and greed. I’m still living with the consequences of that decision. In some ways, it clarified who I am and what actually matters to me. In other ways, it pushed me into a more fragile place than I’d like to admit.
The truth is, I’m carrying more of this alone than I let on.
I share pieces with my wife. I talk through some of it with close friends. But the full story, the embarrassment, the financial uncertainty, the quiet fear, that stays mostly with me.
A lot of the struggle comes down to money. I went from feeling financially secure, at least mentally, to being very aware of how fragile things can be. The situation is survivable. Temporary, even. If I continue living simply, it’s a few hard years in the grand scheme of a lifetime.
But knowing something is temporary doesn’t make it light.
What I miss most is financial freedom. Not excess. Freedom. The mental spaciousness that comes from not constantly calculating risk.
Here’s where efficiency quietly worked against me.
It’s easy to create “make work” in the name of getting better. More ideas. More preparation. More thinking. More consuming. Less committing.
I’m very clear on my why, what, and how. I know how I want to live. I generally make good choices aligned with that. What I struggle with is accepting that, while things are difficult right now, I am still okay. I’m still loved. I’m still supported.
Because progress feels slow, I try to compensate by doing more. And more isn’t always effective.
That’s been the real shift for me: realizing that constant improvement without personal meaning attached becomes noise. It looks productive. It feels responsible. But it doesn’t always move the needle that matters most.
What’s changed isn’t some grand system overhaul. It’s smaller and more physical than that.
I’ve noticed how distractions still creep in, especially the comfortable ones. Reading endlessly. Learning endlessly. Preparing endlessly. All useful things, until they become ways to avoid starting.
Once I’m going, I’m usually fine. Getting started is the hard part.
So I’ve started designing for “now” instead of later.
I don’t wait to feel ready. I remove excuses before they show up. Whatever clothes I’m wearing are my gym clothes. A towel and water bottle live in my scooter seat, so a walk doesn’t require preparation. Writing tools stay open. Notes stay visible. I try to make the first step frictionless, even when the larger goal feels heavy.
This is what effectiveness looks like for me now.
Not doing everything. Not improving everything. But creating conditions where the right thing is easier to start than to avoid.
If you’re capable, thoughtful, and exhausted, I want to say this clearly:
It’s okay to feel the way you do about your situation. You don’t need to minimize it because someone else has it worse. Carrying everything alone is heavy, even when you’re strong.
I hope you have the courage to share some of that burden with someone you trust. I hope you get clear on your real priorities, not the aspirational ones. And I hope you find your own version of always wearing your running shoes, being ready to start now rather than waiting for the perfect conditions.
Efficiency can make us busy.
Effectiveness helps us move.
Right now, I’m choosing the second, one small step at a time.
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