I keep hearing it lately, almost like a whisper I can’t ignore. Stop performing. Just… stop. And the truth is, I don’t know how. My whole adult life, I’ve been a performer. Performing my way into being liked, seen, valued. If I’m nice enough. If I work hard enough. If I rarely mess up. If I can just be a little more creative, a little more stylish, a little more kind… More, more, more.

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.