I’ve been sitting in a fog lately, the kind that settles in after a season of motion, of overcommitment, of striving, of burnout! Coming home from a week in Italy, surrounded by beauty and history, I should feel inspired. But truthfully? I feel disconnected. Sure, maybe it’s jetlag. But I’ve felt this before. Maybe it’s the realization that the world keeps moving without me, that my contribution isn’t as big as I thought. That stings a little more than I’d like to admit

You know, one of the first signs of burnout I totally ignored? When the easy things, like really easy things, suddenly felt impossibly hard.

I don’t run for fitness. I don’t run for fun. But give me a deadline or a mission I believe in? I’m sprinting, and spoiler alert, that sprinting has sent me straight to burnout. I don’t know why I’m wired this way. Why I equate success with hustle. Why I feel most alive when I’m contributing, moving, fixing, and leading. I have a hard time sitting still. I like results. I like action. And yes, I’ve been called a control freak more times than I can count.