From the outside, it’s easy to misunderstand how I relate to my goals. People hear me talk about what I’m building. They hear me talk about long-term vision. They hear me say things like, “This is my life’s work.”
And what they often assume is that I’m always thinking about it, that there is a sense of urgency behind everything I do, or that my identity is wrapped up in whether or not I achieve those goals.
That’s actually not how it feels on the inside for me. I am deeply committed to my work. I care a lot about it. And at the same time, my sense of who I am is not dependent on whether something happens on a specific timeline or unfolds exactly the way I imagined.
That distinction has changed a lot for me over the past year, especially because for a really long time, I didn’t believe this was possible.
I Used to Think I Only Had Two Speeds
I used to think I only had two speeds: all in or completely off. If I slowed down, I was afraid I would stop. Like if I wasn’t pushing at 100%, I’d lose momentum, lose motivation, or lose my edge altogether.
And I know I’m not alone in feeling that way. People are secretly afraid that if they set boundaries around when they work or stop applying pressure, they’ll collapse. That the drive they have will disappear. That they won’t get anything done without urgency forcing them forward.
That fear made sense for me at the time because I didn’t have healthy boundaries or perspective yet. Pressure was doing the job. Boundaries weren’t.
I remember before I left corporate accounting to run my business full time, I had this very real belief that if I didn’t have external pressure (a boss, deadlines other people were waiting on, or someone hovering) that I wouldn’t be ambitious. I genuinely thought this pressure is what makes me perform.
So in my head, slowing down, of course, felt dangerous. Like pulling the pin out of a grenade.
But what I eventually realized through actually living the alternative was that the opposite was true. And I can thank my summer sabbaticals for giving me this gift of perspective.
Once I had boundaries, once I had that perspective, once I wasn’t using pressure as my main motivator, I didn’t stop. I actually stabilized.
My ambition didn’t disappear. It actually became steadier, more sustainable, and a lot less reactive. What changed wasn’t my work ethic. It was my relationship to urgency.
Commitment vs Urgency
What’s changed isn’t that I want less or that I’ve lowered my standards. Actually, the opposite is true. My goals are bigger and more ambitious today than five years ago.
It’s that I’m much clearer about the difference between commitment and urgency.
For me, commitment now means that I’m clear about direction, but not that I’m constantly pushing. It means I’m willing to stay with something over time without turning every delay or pause into a personal problem.
I’m committed to making sure it happens, but I’m not naturally committed to when it happens. And because of that, I just don’t indict myself when the timeline shifts. I don’t spiral. I simply adjust and keep going.
People will sometimes say to me: I don’t know how you get so much done. You run circles around people.
And yes, sometimes I do move quickly and I seem very productive. But the reason that’s possible isn’t because I’m working obsessively. It’s because I actually stop working.
It’s because I have boundaries.
I have dinner with my family every night. I spend time outside with my neighbors three to four times per week, usually around 4 or 5 p.m. I go to my kids’ games. When I’m not working, I’m not mentally dragging work with me everywhere I go.
When someone DMs me on Facebook or Instagram, I’m probably not responding. I don’t answer every comment I’m tagged in with a question. I don’t see a notification and feel an urgent pull to respond.
And just as important internally, I’m not beating myself up.
Earlier in my life, a lot of my drive came from force, from grit that carried a lot of pressure with it, from the belief that if I wasn’t pushing, something was wrong. There’s still grit now, but it’s simply softer. I think I have more trust in it. I allow for seasons.
I don’t need to be on all the time in order to see myself as committed to my goals.
Passion Needs Guardrails
One thing I believe very strongly now is that passion actually needs guardrails and creativity needs discipline.
Without guardrails, passion runs the show. Everything feels urgent. Rest feels irresponsible. And slowing down feels like risk.
For me, my guardrails now exist in two places.
One is practical. I decide when work starts and when it stops. My schedule is my choice.
The other is internal. I’m intentional about how I talk to myself about progress. I don’t turn slower seasons into character flaws. I don’t confuse pressure with discipline anymore.
You can have a perfectly structured schedule and still live with constant internal urgency. I know because I did that for a long time. That’s not how I live now.
When I say this is my life’s work, I don’t mean it’s my whole life. My family is my top priority. My mental and emotional health matter. Those things don’t compete with my ambition. They support it.
I decide when I push. My goals don’t decide for me.
One Question to Leave You With
Here’s the question I want to leave you with. Where in your own life have you been afraid that if you slowed down, you’d just stop altogether?
And what might change if you tested a different structure, one with more clear boundaries, more perspective, and less urgency, instead of assuming that pressure is required for your success?
You don’t need to be less ambitious to live this way. You don’t need to care less or want less for yourself.
You get to choose how you relate to your goals. And you can relate to your goals differently than hustle, urgency, pressure, and grit while still being committed to your goals.
You can be driven and content. You can be committed and patient. Both can exist.
