Your Courageous Life

Doing things for someone else so that they’ll be obligated to do something for you on the return trip is a dangerous trap. Worse, people don’t think they’re hanging out in that space, when they are.

When the trap of obligation is exposed, it sucks for everyone.

“I loved you all these years–and now you mean to tell me that you don’t want to continue this relationship?”

“I helped you promote your stuff–and now you won’t help me promote mine? That’s it–I’m never helping you promote another thing.”

“I made time for you–the least you could do is make time for me. It’s not too much to ask, especially give all the time I’ve given you.”

It creates a cycle where people don’t feel they can give an honest and true “no” to someone’s request. After all, they’re obligated, aren’t they? What if they say “no” and then the help or the love or the goodwill simply stop?

I’ve seen it happen, after all. I bet you have, too.

Six Truths about What Obligation Creates

Truth #1: The trap of obligation erodes trust between two people. If people are playing that game, we never know whether or not someone has done something nice because they believe in the person/the work, or if they’re being nice because they want something in return, later. The trap of obligation makes the establishment of new online relationships a tricky one, for me–is this person offering to support my work because they are genuinely behind it? Or are they hoping that supporting my work today means they get my support on theirs, later? And if I don’t have the time, resources, or desire to offer that support, what then?

Truth #2: The trap of obligation creates mediocre work. It becomes more difficult to offer up honest assessments when one is caught in the obligation of “being nice” because someone else has always been nice to you. Someone says, “Here’s my new thing/product/idea/what I’m doing with my life. What do you think?”

It becomes difficult to state what’s honest, because it’s critical: “You’re my friend and I love you–and my truth is that the writing you’ve shown me is flat in paragraph 4. My suggestion would be….” Then the person whose writing is falling flat is going to email/call all of her girlfriends, to bitch about the person who dared to be honest, no matter how kindly the honest person tried to phrase it.

To avoid that hassle, so often people are dishonest and decide to say things like: “You’re my friend and I love you. Of course your writing is great!”

Or, they say nothing at all. The phone doesn’t ring. The email isn’t answered.

Truth #3: The trap of obligation creates resentment. Sally Sue asks Billy Bob for help with something, and she’s helped Billy Bob before. Billy Bob feels obligated to help, even though his truth is that he doesn’t really want to. He feels resentful at the system of obligation to reciprocate. He’s a good person who wants to share, to help, to reciprocate, but just not in this instance–and he doesn’t like the heel at his neck that is the social expectation that you obligatorily reciprocate. If he says yes to Sally Sue, he feels resentful towards her for asking. If he says no, Sally Sue feels resentful that he said no, and calls him “selfish.”

Truth #4: The trap of obligation creates fear. Fear of being left, fear of not being helped, fear of not being loved. People say yes to obligations because they fear being left more than they fear gritting their teeth and doing it anyway.

Truth #5: The trap of obligations creates a life lived for others, rather than for yourself. The obligations pile up. There are work obligations, family obligations, friendship obligations. People feel overwhelmed. Sometimes they shut down entirely, not starting a new friendship or new endeavor simply to not feel obligated.

Truth #6: The trap of obligations creates isolation. Some of us (raising my hand, here) start doing everything on their own, because they don’t want to ask for anything, for fear of being asked for something in return and not having the desire, energy or resources to accommodate it–and then being left, being labeled as “selfish,” being talked about behind one’s back, being unloved. It becomes easier to “just do it yourself” than be trapped in a cycle of obligations.

The Antidote to Obligation

Here’s the thing: you are not obligated.

You do not “have to.”

–And furthermore, no one owes you.

The antidote to obligation is to act from a place of love, every time.

It’s not love to help people in the hopes that you can stock up your “reciprocation savings account.” That’s manipulation.

It’s not love to get pissed if someone else doesn’t help you promote your shizzle after you helped them to promote theirs–that’s manipulation (why this belief persists online is beyond me; I don’t promote Byron Katie or Eckhart Tolle’s work because I expect them to promote me back, after all. So why do people expect this of each other on the internet?).

It’s not love (for yourself) to ask someone for feedback on a project and then get your panties in a twist when they actually offer it (didn’t you get exactly what you asked for?)–that’s manipulation.

Yes, there are all these pieces in here about helping one another and the necessity of working together. I believe in all of that.

I’m just an advocate for doing it from a place that is honest, and true, and not manipulative.

I’m just an advocate for help and support that I can fully trust because I know that it comes from the wellspring of beautiful generosity that someone feels authentically inspired to offer.

I’m an advocate for the kind of love that allows people to say no, change their minds, and really show up as who they are, even if that means that it’s inconvenient for me, because then I know that I’m really getting that person–not a shell of that person who is afraid to say “no” for fear that I will leave.

I’m also an advocate for the kind of love that might have you choosing to create your closest and most reliable relationships from those people who share similar values, who want to share and reciprocate in the same ways that you do, and who are willing to communicate that.

When there’s a shared vision about what reciprocity looks like, no one is getting hurt.

And when there are obligations? Well, revisit #1-6, there.

Declare sovereignty from obligation. It’s a dangerous game, like playing with fire–and eventually, as the cliche goes, obligation will burn.

Digital sabbaticals do not come with automatic, built-in “A-ha!” moments.

I’ll confess that I wanted the “A-ha!” about managing workloads–some kind of blinding insight on how to do things differently that would mean I could juggle everything on my plate, without disappointing anyone (including myself).

I spent the first two weeks of my digital break obsessively thinking about work, and how to “handle” it upon my return. How to handle email and social media checking and responses, how to handle launching products, how to handle other people’s requests for help with promotion, and balance those requests with my desire to support everyone while simultaneously not wanting to turn YCL into the “promote everyone’s stuff” website.

I wrote down plans for 2012, and action steps to support those plans. Then I fretted about how even after two weeks, I didn’t feel rested or rejuvenated when I thought about coming back from the break and starting that work.

Somewhere around the two week mark, something shifted. I’d been meditating and taking vitamins and eating salads again and reading books and praying and connecting with friends and family, and I was feeling pretty good.

And I thought, “It’s more important to me to keep this feeling than it is to build my business.”

Revolutionary!

It’s not that building my practice isn’t important–it’s just that the mental switch flipped where I saw quite clearly that I was more important.

I was declaring sovereignty over my life.

What followed was this: my shoulders dropped, and I was able to spend the final two weeks of my break feeling truly rejuvenated.

Waffling = Suffering

When we spend a lot of time going back and forth, back and forth, wanting to do this, but also wanting to do that, adding in a lot of “But what about…?” phrases into conversations, waffling endlessly…we suffer.

I have no more or less work by declaring sovereignty; I’m just committed clearly to the priority of making sure that I’m okay before I work, whereas before I was trying to make sure that both myself and my business were okay, then not finding enough hours in the day to do that, and choosing my business out of fear, while beating myself up for not choosing myself.

That’s full transparency, yes?

But here’s another cool thing: I remembered the power of simply declaring the next step.

There were other decisions in my life that I’d been waffling on, big ones. “Do I want to do this? Well, yes, but what about….?” — and on and on.

Sometimes life just asks for some step, in some kind of direction. It doesn’t work to try and to sort out all of the feelings about the decisions before taking action.

It’s fine to spend some time in a space of “waffling” as you consider all options. That said, I realized that I had been in a space of waffling for too long over some decisions in my life. I needed to either be all the way in, or all the way out; the process of debating which direction to take had taken up far more energy than it would take to simply follow a particular path.

We can declare sovereignty over our lives when we simply say: Look, I don’t have it all figured out, but with the knowledge and tools and resources that I have right now, this seems like the next right step. I’m taking it.

And what happens after that?

For me, a space opened up where I was suddenly excited about all that was before me with that path, all the opportunities that it would offer me. I was aware of the downsides with that choice, but clear that they would probably not be very important to me in the long term–and willing to risk it.

This is how it can be to declare sovereignty, to decide to look directly and head-on at the places in life where suffering is happening, and simply decide that you’ll accept the inevitability of uncertainty as you step forward–because what else is there?

This is part of what it means to revolutionize your life, from the inside, out–to look at suffering and decide in a very conscious way not to stay there, anymore.

What’s the biggest cause of suffering, and how might you boldly and courageously look at it directly, without your Story about what it all means, and then allow the next right action to arise?

This is fully alive: the New York Times project called “The Lives They Loved,” a collection of photographs of people who had died in 2011. Readers submitted a photo of the person and a few lines about who they were. Here are the sorts of things that they wrote:

“He left a legacy larger than life itself, and in myriad small ways: his delicious recipes from owning a deli on Columbus Circle, his Hebrew calligraphy and artwork, his love for details and doing things just right. He had great passion for his community, whether in leading services at synagogue or in raising funds for ambulances to give to Israel.”

“ My Dad holding his 1st great-grandson 2 days before he died. It was the one time they met.”

“My mom died earlier this year after a long struggle with Alzheimer’s. Both little girls are so innocent. If they only knew what life held ahead for them.”

“A flashing, broken smile from our crazy, brilliant Friend of Tennessee atop of her favorite place on earth, Gregory Bald in the Smoky Mountains–quoting Shelley and Beowulf, no doubt, the entire time–where her spirit now infinitely soars and laughs.”

Person after person. Loved. Cherished. Fallible and human–and loved and cherished, anyway. People who wrote books, learned languages, traveled the world, raised children, perfected family recipes, had a unique laugh, a toothy grin, drank too much, gave back to their communities, immigrated to new countries, spent most of their short lives in hospitals, danced.

What ends it all? Random acts of violence. Breast cancer. Rare cancers. Car accidents. Suicide. Overdose. The simplicity of going to sleep and not waking up.

I read about it and I think: “Life can turn on a fucking dime. There is no certainty. This is one big human race, and we’re all just so beautifully awkward and fumbling. What in the world are any of us afraid of? Why aren’t we all grabbing our lives by the fistful? What the hell are we all waiting for?”

It makes me weep.

I weep with gratitude for my living, breathing life. For the air in my lungs. For all of the pictures that have been taken of me in which I smiled into a camera, not knowing what would be ahead. Not worrying about it. Not anticipating the pain of life. Weeping for all of my second chances, and third chances, and tenth chances.

Weeping for waking up to the truth–that this is all finite.

It makes me weep in sorrow for too many days spent in front of a computer screen, eating soup from a can in fewer than ten minutes, snapping at the people I love, thinking anything is less important than…

sunsets, speaking Italian, beautiful food, making every day a celebration, the smell of the air as the seasons change, helping someone without expectations, dropping more dollars in the donation baskets, and having sacred orgasms.

When I die, my hope is not that people will say that I curated this website; that I was a prolific writer; that I made X amount of money per year or that I was successful at my business.

My only hope is that you all will say that I savored my life, that I relished in details, that my mind was active and curious, that I loved ferociously, that I was committed to the evolution of my soul. Most importantly, that everyone around me would know that I wanted all of this not just for myself, but for all of you.

Take time to really go through all of these photos. None of it hit me until the 20th or 30th one. All these people. All these lives.

Any one of them could be you, or me.

What would you change about your life right now, if you knew that in 2012, someone who loves you would be submitting your photo?

Do you remember what life was like, before the internet?

I don’t.

I find that realization just a bit astonishing.

Don’t worry–I’m not preparing to swerve in the direction of sensationalism, trying to scare you with statements about how our society is becoming disconnected and technology is to blame.

Startling admission: While I seriously endeavour to practice compassion and non-judgement, someone’s manifesto on how technology is everyone’s downfall, and they’re unplugging, and if you don’t unplug, too, you’re a victim of it–you’re a sheep!–and how they have a line on life that you don’t, and the hipster tone of how they’re so much cooler than you because, you know, they’ve rebelled against it all, they do their own thing, they’re so unique…those sorts of blog posts sort of kind of a little bit annoy the shit out of me.

So, let’s be clear. I don’t want to tell anyone what to do.

I am just very honestly curious about this: What does life feel like, without the internet?

And this: What does life feel like, if I get the kind of break from work that also involves a break from emails?

Confession: I’ve been overwhelmed.

I haven’t been overwhelmed by actual work, though! (Truth be told, coaching clients and writing rarely feels like “work”!).

I’ve been overwhelmed by trying to mentally keep things straight–what I’ve agreed to do, when it’s due, where the email is that tells me what I’m responding to, whether or not I just send an email off or if I have to login to a system to upload a file…and so many places for contact! There’s my regular email account. My personal email account. My phone. Text messages. Facebook, and Facebook messages. Then there’s Twitter. Google +. Pinterest.

The madness is that the more systems I set up for managing all of that, the more I see that a few months later, there’s a need for me to…set up more systems.

(Note: Whomever comes up with some kind of way to streamline all existing social media *private messaging* backends into just ONE PLACE and charge, say $9.99 a month for that, is probably going to make millions–I tell you, MILLIONS. Since I have no interest in the effort required for setting up something like that, please feel free to take the idea and run with it).

Instead of distilling, streamlining, and simplifying, I see that the setting up of more systems just creates more room for the animal to grow.

I don’t attach a lot of drama to this “problem.” I know that many business owners can feel overwhelmed, and I think that there are ways that I can step back from the over-work and overwhelm and the seeming obligation of being constantly available.

Trying Something New

So, I’m going to try something out: I’m going to take a digital break. This is the first way that I’m going to step back from everything–I’m stepping back with the aim of getting perspective. (Then I’m going to come back and tell all of you about it.)

From December 15th-January 15th, I’m going to endeavour to back away from email, social media, all of it. I say “endeavour” because I know that since I run a business, it’s possible that some kind of emergency will arise.

The only thing I will be using is my phone. The only time I will use the internet is if I absolutely need to, like if I need to get directions or an address. I’m pre-scheduling social media updates using HootSuite. I’m putting an auto-responder on my email accounts so that people know how to get ahold of me in an absolute emergency.

This presents an interesting and somewhat daunting/precarious question for someone who makes a living, online. The fear is, of course, that there will be no one there thirty days later, or that an important email will be missed.

This is a realistic fear; it could happen.

It’s also one I’m willing to…feel. Then dive in, anyway. Then see what transforms.

It seems to me that as a business owner–or with anyone else that I do in my life–that if I’m living from a place of fear, I’m not really living.

Also, I’m enormously inspired by what designer Stefan Sagmeister shares, here:

What I’ll be Reconnecting With

Reading paper–books!–not computer screens.

Playing piano.

Getting back into studying Italian. (I went to dinner the other night at a local place owned by an Italian man, and couldn’t believe how much I had forgotten!).

Taking long walks.

Yoga.

Meditation.

Coffee with friends.

Cooking–real cooking, rather than heating up soup.

These are all things that I’ve fallen away from putting into my life on a consistent basis. I want to remember what life was like before the internet, and part of that means reconnecting with all the things that have contributed to a sense of feeling whole that came long before computers became a part of daily life.

Strategies

With distance, comes perspective.

When I return here, I’m going to share all that I’ve learned–what was hard, what was surprisingly easy, and what insights I’ve had. Whether or not that turns into a full-fledged downloadable guide or simply a series of blog posts or e-letter updates remains to be seen. I will say that it will be totally free and that my e-letter subscribers will get first dibs.

Want the updates? Sign up for the (free!) e-letter. You’ll get calls to courage delivered to your inbox once a week, plus access to the YCL library (which contains a freebie preview of The Courageous Living Guide).

Sometimes I’m asked how I write–especially how I can generate so much content. I don’t know that I have a cohesive, simple answer to that question, but last week I was inspired by reading an interview between Susannah Conway and Danielle LaPorte–like Susannah, I have a curious fascination with the processes of other writers.

Here are a few things that I know to be true for me.

Writing is a Relationship

• I have a relationship with my writing. I suppose you could invoke the idea of courting The Muse. Ten years ago, the relationship was one of control. I would say, “I have X number of words to write today, because it’s what I must do to call myself a worthy human being who has a regular writing practice.” And my writing would bitch and moan back at me, and it was a very white-knuckling, dysfunctional relationship.
• I exerted that control because I wanted to be hot-shit–I had this thing about wanting to be a young prodigy in the writing world. Somewhere around the age of thirty, when I realized that was not to be, I just surrendered. I stopped trying to write something every day. Instead, I came to the page/keyboard when I was inspired. My Muse calls the shots these days, which is fine, because she knows more than I do. Sometimes my Muse says, “Nope, today is not the day for you to try to work on that piece,” and other days my Muse says, “Get your ass into a chair and sit down to write.”
• If I ignore the urge to write when I really want to write, I am a fussy, temperamental mess.
• There is seriously nothing else in my life that I get that way about–no artistic endeavour, no person I have to see on a regular basis…not even sex.
• I could have fifty cents in my bank account and be happy if I’m writing and it’s really flowing. When it’s not flowing–always because I’m forcing it–I’m on edge.
• I know that I’m in the flow when I’ve been writing for hours and my stomach is groaning because I’m so hungry–and yet I’d rather write than eat.

Tools & Technique

• For years, I wanted to have a desktop computer for work, and a laptop that was only for writing. I resisted, because there was all of this, “living in the first world with all this excess, when other people don’t even have food” guilt. Finally, I bought the laptop. No regrets.
• There is no software on my writing laptop, aside from word-processing software and whatever basic install software came pre-loaded. Zero distractions.
• I need to write in different locations. I really like to spread out. I have a massive coffee table in my office that is usually covered with whatever book I’m reading in the moment, my laptop, and writing notes.
• I make a lot of notes, on yellow post-its and in black, hardcover Moleskine notebooks.
• I generally have at least three inspirational books with me when I write–I like to open pages at random and see what calls to me. Pema Chodron, Joseph Campbell, Byron Katie, and Eckhart Tolle are all favorites.
• Sometimes I’ll read a page from one of these books, and just one line will hook me, and so I’ll start writing a response to that one line.

When Editing, Risk Ruthlessness to Cut to Truth

• I don’t sweat cutting anything that doesn’t work–I’m ruthless. Sometimes I’ll copy and paste the cut paragraph into a new document and keep it around; maybe it will end up being something I open up later and turn into a full-fledged piece.
• Because I’ve learned the hard way–I save early, save often.
• Often, when I start a piece, I don’t reign myself in–I just GO. Maybe I’ll start talking about compassion and then re-read the piece an hour later and realize that I’ve touched on three different angles. When I realize that I’m talking about three different spins within one subject, I check word-count and if the piece is long, I’ll see what I can do to craft that one piece into three different pieces.
• I try to keep word count under 1,000, which I find a challenge. I love to read, so I resist the fact that most consumers/people want pieces to be short and snappy.
• When I edit, I edit first for ideas and focus, then for word count and sentence-level issues. I try to rephrase as many sentence as possible from a first-person to a second-person focus, i.e., from “I” to “you/we.” The writing is more connected to the reader, that way.
• I have the hardest time with deadlines for other websites. I try to start working on those early, weeks in advance of the deadline. I’ll riff on something a bit and then leave it alone until a week before the deadline, and then check it out again. I pad my time a lot because I know that I need that time to go back and forth.

You Can’t Control Everything

• I love writing in libraries, because there’s a rule that everyone has to be quiet. I get irritated when I’m writing and something pulls me out of that flow. When my neighbor isn’t home, his dog will bark every ten minutes at any sound it hears, for hours. He knows that his dog does this, but he doesn’t do anything about it. It is really hard for me not to hate my neighbor, sometimes.
• I confess that I once yelled out my window at that dog–in a very non-compassionate, not-my-life-vision, not nice, not patient way– “Shut the fuck up!”
• The dog was quiet for ten minutes, and then resumed its barking.
• My ideal writing day would be getting up around 7am, stretching and meditating, having breakfast, showering, grabbing a latte from Peet’s, and then sitting down to write around 9am while taking sips of the latte as I go.
• My favorite days are those when I have zero appointments. I like disappearing into the vortex where there’s no reason whatsoever to even look at the clock and track time.
• While this is my ideal, I also know how to rock getting in an hour or two of writing. I don’t want to make anything “too precious” around writing. That’s not healthy. I want to have kids in a few years, and I definitely know that things will change then.

Criticism & Unspeakable Love

• I know that it’s not the right time for a piece to be published if, as I’m writing, I’m worrying about offending someone. Then I know that I don’t energetically stand behind the piece. I have to stand behind it before anyone else can.
• I do get critical responses to what I write. Not often, but sometimes. While I’m open to the feedback and pause to consider it, it’s usually clear that the person is being reactionary rather than honestly seeing that the piece I wrote was just–a piece. They take things personally or make up a Story about who I am, rather than seeing that single written work as one little star that expresses a pocket of who I am in a moment, not the entire constellation of who I am on a continuum. I figure I can’t really “convince” someone to “like” me if they’re choosing such a narrow point of view.
• I confess it amuses me when the email is seething with hostility and criticism and then ends with, “I wish you the best in your work” or something like that. It’s such a bullshit line–they know it, I know it–delivered so that they can feel better about themselves after dumping on someone else. Humans are funny that way.
• How do I respond to those emails? I hit the delete key. Life’s too short.
• Well, okay–full transparency–sometimes I feel a bit sad before hitting the delete key, not because I believe the words in the email, but because someone thought that they should take time out of their life to be unkind.
• Emails where someone shares that what I’ve written has them thinking in a different way, opened up an inch of freedom in their life, or helped them in some way–I save them in a special folder. I genuinely appreciate them.
• Confession: I often feel awkward knowing what to write back, and wish there were some way where I could magically transfer my high-vibration gratitude that I feel at the time of reading their email, over to them, so that instead of my awkward email responses, they would feel how I feel about their gesture. There are times when words are far too limiting to express anything, and thanking a reader for appreciating what I’ve written is one of those times.

It happens quickly, like this–one moment, you’re on top of things and the workflow systems that you’ve designed meet the needs of what is being asked. You’re good with batching tasks; you know where you can cut corners and where impeccability cannot be negotiated; you know the importance of setting deadlines and padding time; you are able and willing to burn the midnight oil if it means getting something important done; you know that you’re here to live this life with passion, so you enthusiastically say “yes!” to that which calls to you.

Parents, entrepreneurs, and people who have a tendency to take on fifteen different creative projects at once understand how to do all of this.

Then, almost imperceptibly, the willingness to say “yes” becomes something else entirely. We cross a threshold, saying “yes” to something different. What is it? What happened? Why did that passion for a new project, or something as simple as “making a nice family dinner” suddenly turn into the monster that overwhelmed you and had others resenting how you were treating them?

What We’re Really Saying “Yes” To

When that threshold is crossed we’re not saying “yes” to life, anymore.

We’re saying yes to something else. Pains me to name it.

We’re saying yes to Ego. Ugh. Like many of you, I want to be all, um, past the point of having an Ego that runs the show. (This desire is, of course, just more Ego).

We’re saying yes to our Story that (repeatedly) sacrificing our health, our stress levels, whatever–is “worth it.”

We’re saying yes to the Story that what we DO is more important than who we ARE. We’re validating the Story that there is something we can DO that will make ourselves or our lives important.

Of course, we’ll all have those nights where we really need to push through in order to finish something that is important to us. Sometimes a passionately lived life means moving at a whirlwind’s pace and being in the joyous, ecstatic flow of all of it. New parents have months of those nights. Important work projects come along that have deadlines.

The point is that those nights end at some point, and one returns to their regularly scheduled program. By contrast, I’m talking about the kind of relentless “saying yes” and taking on ever-more projects, adding in just one more thing, making what could be simple into a grand event,  that many entrepreneurs and workaholics engage in.

For instance, I recently realized that I had not been cooking for myself on a regular basis since 2009, when I shifted my part-time “hobby business” into a full-time up-scaled mission. It’s been about that long since I last picked up a camera and shot pictures just for the hell of it. Nights spent working to “get ahead” on a project have become a norm. Working right up until bedtime keeps my head going and then I’m in bed thinking about what I was working on or where I’ll pick up, tomorrow–a recipe for insomnia.

It’s ridiculous. It’s unhealthy. And what’s it for? Ego. Ego says, “Gotta have the website updated,” and then reminds me (over and over). Ego makes a small project into a mammoth event. Ego doesn’t want to wait until a few months later to start something new–the time is now!

What happened?

In those moments when Ego is running the show, when the work is not about a sense of internal pride but about a nose to the grindstone and white-knuckling to get things done, what happens is this:

I’m filling a hole. You’re filling a hole. We’re all filling holes, somewhere, until we find out what behaviors are driving us.

For workaholics like me? We take on more, and more, and more, to fill and fill and fill. It certainly starts from a good place–I genuinely enjoy creation and being of service. In Tipping Point-speak, I’m a maven, who loves to learn stuff and then share it.  Or the art studio overflowing with unfinished projects came out of a real love of life and living, and being inspired by the world around us–or the family dinner that turned into this entire “event” originally started from a desire to connect the family.

Then there’s an insatiable need to take on one more thing that keeps us up late at night, or taking on yet another art project that requires buying more supplies, or the dinner that takes hours of time and effort to cook for only 45 minutes of sitting down together, plus now there’s an entire kitchen of dirty dishes to scour and clean. Is it really worth it? Ego will certainly say so. The truth is, however, that it’s a happier life when people get sleep, aren’t living with clutter and unfinished projects, and can eat a meal without having to scour dishes for hours afterwards.

Worthiness, baby. It’s all worthiness.

In my daily life, I generally feel worthy, loved and appreciated. And yet, I also find myself taking on too much, agreeing to too much, and generally doing too much.

There’s some line that is crossed, like the alcoholic who just wants to have fun and relax but then takes one drink too many. I take one drink/one project too many. Other people do the same thing, just not necessarily with work.

Then the precarious position–do I go back on my commitment to the person I agreed to collaborate with? Or do I go back on my commitments to myself to not eat canned lentil soup every day for dinner and actually make more time to meditate?

Guess which one a workaholic will choose? I bet you’ll get it right on the first try.

How Does One Course-Correct?

I’m not new to any of this; we all have our challenges and this has been mine for a few years. I work with it. I like to course correct by taking a break–a break where I quit everything. Stopping everything is like Workaholic Rehab.

Everything?

Yes. Everything. I call it, “Work hard, play hard.” I work really, really hard, and then I take a trip or leave the computer turned off. The cell phone is on silent. I turn an auto-responder on for email.

And then what happens?

Generally, there’s an initial silence that feels uncomfortable. It’s hard to be with, at first. Usually, my Ego pops up to tell me what a stupid idea it was to quit everything, and how I didn’t really need to do it. (P.S. This is what the Ego will say to just about anything new or scary).

Then, sometime around day four, I relax into the new rhythm. The quiet is staggering in its beauty. I’m reading more Pema Chodron. I start to drift.

“Well, I can’t do that.”

Of course you can. I don’t know how, I only know that somehow, some way, there’s a way.

I’ve done it on a teacher’s salary of less than $30,000 a year (which is really saying something if you live in the Bay Area, where my monthly rent has always been close to $1,000). When I’ve done it on my teacher’s salary, I’ve saved up money for an entire year with the express purpose of knowing that I wanted to give myself a long break with no agenda. I’ve couch-surfed; I’ve written hotel reviews at four-star hotels in Italy in exchange for a free night’s lodging; I’ve put $50 a month away until that added up to cover the salary I would miss while I was gone.

I know mothers who have done it–taken two weeks away from their kids and stayed at zen centers or in ashrams where they could get food and lodging in exchange for working in the gardens or cleaning a temple.

I know extraordinarily busy people–people who have even more responsibilities than me–who have taken off to travel. They simply make the choice: let go.

Silence is Golden

The reason why I advocate taking a break is this: you learn something more about what was pushing you to get so busy in the first place. You learn more about the addiction of over-work, and about the wounded places that are still in need of healing, and why those wounds tell you that if you just take on one more project, they’ll be okay. I learn more about the fallacy of that thinking.

In the silence of a break, suddenly we can hear the voice within, and hear it clearly.

It has so much wisdom. We don’t even really need anything else to happen, but to listen to what’s happening within.

There will always be a hundred reasons not to take a break, and none of them will ever add up to more than the one very important reason why over-committers like myself need to do it: because we reconnect with ourselves in stillness.

Even if it’s just one day–one day of not having an agenda–it’s worth it, to feel our shoulders unbuckle. To reconnect. To remember what is true.