Settling for crap no more
NOTE: The ongoing tragedy in Maui following wildfires that ravaged the island is, in a word, devastating. I’m heartbroken for the amazing people who call the island home, many of whom I was privileged to meet during a visit in 2019. If you’re able, consider a donation to the Maui Food Bank to directly help with disaster relief efforts.
I dug deep to find an old journal entry about my visit to Maui for this week’s edition of The Blind Copy. This entry is from Monday, October 14, 2019.
Exhausted yet unable to sleep, I found myself caught in a loop. I'd hit the gym, but wellness was a pipedream. Shutting my eyes didn't shut off my mind—it raced on.
Hustle culture had its hooks in me, leaving a mark. Premature graying hair, soaring blood pressure, and an ever-expanding waistline—physical signs of a worn-out soul. Mentally drained, I was on the brink.
Time for a breather. Prior to this month, an actual week-long break had eluded me for nearly a decade. Not those "laptop-on-the-beach" pseudo-vacations. I'm talking about a genuine disconnect.
Ask me when I last fully disengaged from work; I'd have drawn a blank. The memory was lost. Countless times, I'd stash my work essentials or linger in the parking lot, replying to emails while others settled in. My out-of-office reply? Oh, that was an afterthought.
For twelve years, I'd “paid my dues,” earning my place. Dawn to dusk, I busted a gut to forge ahead. Doing what others wouldn't now so that I could do what others couldn't later.
Gary Vaynerchuk's "eating sh*t" concept? Yeah, that was my reality. Figuratively and literally. Grabbing quick, unappetizing meals from dollar menus was my rhythm—a hasty five-minute lunch, a dash to the next meeting.
Perhaps there's a healthier way to subscribe to GaryVee's philosophy. But the reality for me? It was all hustle, all day, every day.
It worked. Until it didn't.
I rocketed through higher positions. Every 18-24 months after I graduated, I scaled the ladder. Director level by 24, running a company at 26, published and speaking at 27. Substantial salary, executive roles—check, check. All the fruits of hustle, right? Success, woven into every moment.
Why, then, was I in my worst physical shape at 28? Divorced at 31? Living in a camper by the river? Selling my dream home in the mountains and moving back in with my parents?
It worked. Until it didn't.
(Note: work was clearly not the only issue in my life that I needed to take responsibility for.)
Of course, life is not divided into neat compartments. Personal struggles and work habits collide. My life's events and challenges are interconnected. But the truth struck me: I was rushing to work as an escape from everything else.
Bad day at home? Extend work hours. Rough day at work? Home life gets tense. See the problem?
My six-year-old (he’s 10 now) didn't sign up to eat the proverbial poo alongside me. He wants LEGO time with Dad. My daughter deserves an audience for her acrobatics. My partner (now wife) craves conversations beyond office woes.
Time for a reset. So, I did just that.
Hawaii beckoned. Invited to a destination wedding at Wailea Beach Resort, my girlfriend's (now my wife) sister pulled us in. Maui, the destination of memories. My expectations were modest. A week away from the office was my prime goal.
I packed my laptop and phone but set limits. Laptop for camera pics, phone for my kids. Five time zones away—the struggle to work was real. Out-of-office message on, desk phone to voicemail. Peace, inner peace, as though a dam had burst.
Sleeping to the rhythm of crashing waves, rising with the sun. No alarms, just nature's wake-up call. No schedules apart from the wedding. Rest like I hadn't known in years, maybe ever. A nap by the water's edge, books by the pool. No watch, except for the wedding (I felt naked dressed up without it).
The return to work was an eye-opener. No catastrophe. A few voicemails, mostly trivial. A slew of emails, but the majority were FYIs. Maybe three were crucial. No disasters. No major deadlines missed. The office wasn't in ruins. My arrival sparked no inferno. A simple welcome, not a crisis.
I wasn't as indispensable as I thought.
A mentor once said to me, "Your job doesn't define you, unless you let it. That's a lonely place." Hustle culture thrives on business card identities. Yet, on their deathbeds, no one wishes they'd eaten more crap.
I'm done with that. Ego-centric crap is passé. It works. Until it doesn't. And it doesn't work for me anymore.
Sunsets and surfing beckon. Oh, and I'll wear a watch less.
Aloha.
