my work addiction
why distraction is not sustainable [51]
I have something to confess.
I could not properly rest.
I am not sure when I started developing an obsession with work and doing something constantly. When I lived with a friend in Australia, she would ask me why I was always in a hurry, my American-like obsession with productivity had yet to subside.
I am also a worrier. My compulsion to worry comes about the same way as my need to overwork. They both give me a false sense of control over life outcomes. When I work or worry, I am in the driver’s seat. The need to be in control of every life detail makes problem-solving and action-orientedness my top priorities. A friend came to me with a roommate grievance, I troubleshoot even when all they need were listening ears. When my dog passed away, I did fervent research and educated my family on six stages of grief as if mourning over a loved one is ever linear. Supposedly for fun, I refuse to have my tarot cards read or fortune told if that would not help me take better action. Since the summer, I have been burning myself out every few months because I overcommitted and under-rested.
Like drinking, I only rest when people around me do. I live with a roommate in Austin; we are both in our twenties. I suppose young people don’t rest. My roommate has fewer PTO days than I do and when we are not travelling, we are busy with our little lives doing different things. My roommate occupies herself with decorating the apartment and managing her various design projects. I am on the other hand, busy with reading, writing and figuring out a career that meets my ever evolving standard. At the same time, my high school and college friends are grinding in their fancy jobs in coastal cities across America (and the world): software engineering, investment bank, consulting. Who am I to be at peace resting at 23?
So I keep on running. I work, I grind, I keep myself busy with new projects, goals, and visions. I fill my free time with online courses, networking calls, and strategic relationship building. I edit my resume. I apply for part-time jobs. Free time is a foreign concept. I only play games during my work breaks. I watch Youtube videos on the treadmill. I listen to podcasts on my walk to a vaccination appointment. If I were to do something unproductive, I’d be better off combining the act with a productive activity.
I went home two weeks ago and chuckled at myself for realizing how I always left home well-rested, radiant and slim but got back mentally unstable, jaded and at least 10 pounds heavier than I would have liked.
The difference is in rest.
Life comes to a screeching halt when I live with my parents. My productivity and usual routine get disrupted. I almost didn’t publish my writing last week. But I manage to relax finally. I have eight hour night sleep after months of insomnia. I don’t have to do puzzles at 3 am to calm my anxiety.
No one tells you about the magic of having loved ones within arms’ reach. We have week night dinners with no screens. I slip into my parents’ bedroom to talk when I get nervous at work. We have a dog and he scares me sometimes but living with an animal teaches you to be a human being: take a walk, live in the present, and play more often.
I take pride in living my thrilling, early 20s life where I make chaos of everything from my professional to dating life. I abandon my health and well-being to have some extra hours to work, learn or socialize. I save by not investing in myself outside of core necessities like food and rent. I don’t see the point of putting money into non-essential needs like beauty products or health retreats. But then we all need pampering sometimes, we can’t keep punishing ourselves forever.
My mom often tells me that I can’t rush things because what is meant for me will come at the right time. I can work hard all I want but I also need to kick my feet up every once in a while to wait for my time to come.
I am addicted to work because I worship perfectionism. I am never pleased with my progress. When I am not working, I need to work and when I am indeed working, I need to work harder. What I have yet to see is if I could never be pleased where I am standing, I will likely be dissatisfied a hundred steps forward. What is the point of striving so hard if I will never be content? So I write this for my twenty-three-year-old self, not when I have moved on and looked back but from the middle when I am still trying to make sense of my struggle.
Here is to growth.
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“My mom often tells me that I can’t rush things because what is meant for me will come at the right time” I think lesson took me way to long to internalize. But I never even thought about how busy I was until I finally burnt out, so I think that to see that now is some great self awareness! And I agree, my life also slows down whenever I’m home, and it’s a nice feeling.
"What is the point of striving so hard if I will never be content?"
If you're not having fun on the journey, then it's not worth it. I'm serious!! Please please don't do this to yourself.. I have a friend who's making millions working 3 hours a day, and enjoying every step of the way. It's possible, but you have to want it!!