It was Tiara who called it a quarter-life crisis. Funny, huh?

I have spent a lot of time being sure of myself.

I was sure of myself when I started Virtual Magpie, way back when. I was sure that I could design brilliant materials, build really great websites, and provide enough value to the people I worked with that they’d be happy to pay me for my efforts.

I was sure I could run a business that paid my bills. I was sure I could move to Austin and let go of my last available safety net (that is, living in proximity to family—who have to take you in whether they like it or not).

I was sure that Marty could break amazing ground with his artwork, that it made no sense for him to work all day at a job he hated just to pay bills. I was so sure, I constructed a mad plan to allow him to quit that job... and do what he loved. I was sure I could make that difference in his life, and make it work.

I was right about all those things.

This last year, I decided that I wasn’t going to do anything I hated anymore. No more taking jobs just for the money, no more subjugating my master plan for a temporary fix. I was really vehement about it, too. I stopped doing business the “traditional” way and started treating my clients like friends—and only dealing with clients I felt truly friendly about. Pretending I was someone else simply wasn’t worth it. The world would have to accept me as I was.

The world did. Everything got better from there. Projects started to go more smoothly (and arrive more frequently). Clients were happier. I was happier. The money was better. My life became perceptively more positive and even more reliable. I started feeling really good at making my own living.

But then something kind of funny happened: I stopped really understanding what it is I do.

I got so caught up in listening to the tiny voice telling me what to do, what was best for myself, that I got halfway down the path and realized I didn’t know the destination. I didn’t know what I was striving for. I was following instructions—really good instructions!—but I didn’t understand what the instructions were leading me to. Without an explanation, I had no context. I was still going, but I was lost.

As of right now, I still am.

I know that I care a lot about the world and the people in it. I know that it evokes a powerful emotional reaction from me to see people laying about and wasting their potential when there is such need in the world for clever, skillful doers. I know that it makes me incredibly angry to see children being taught ineffective systems, to see people slogging through work they despise because they were taught that adults hold down jobs and pay bills, and that’s the end of it. I can’t stand it.

I can’t stand it.

But try as I might, right now I don’t understand what my purpose is. The little voice tells me what to do (sometimes) but doesn’t tell me why. That’s not useful, little voice. I take orders from myself great, but I need to know what’s going on here. It’s important, man. You’re decreasing my productivity. I need the explanation. The explanation is my will to live. It’s the thing that gives my life meaning.

And if someone asks, I’m not even sure what I’ll tell them.

Me?? I have that problem?

Dude.

Everything you know is wrong. You know?

I know that there are probably lots of reasons for this little hiccup. I’ve been working unbelievably hard, and not really taking time off until very recently. I’ve been making impossible things happen as a matter of course. I’ve been the insane scientist focusing on the unlikely goals at hand, intent on getting what she wants even if no one else believes it’s possible. And that focus—that obsession—is causing me to lose sight of the whole situation. I can’t see the forest, because the trees keep coming at me with machetes. Those are some serious trees, yo.

So what’s the solution?

I think it’s what I’ve been avoiding all along: Step back. Be still. Wait.

That’s when solutions come to me. When I wait.

Oh, man. I can do this.

Right?

It’s hard for me to grasp the concept of time off.

I don’t exactly know why. When the best damn creative productivity coach this side of the galaxy told me to think of a reward I could give myself for being on the ball, I couldn’t think of a thing. All I could think of was “stop working”, and I don’t think I even really meant it. I didn’t really want time off.

I just wanted to keep going.

A part of me is simply desperate to keep going.

I’ve convinced myself that I have to do this—that my life has to be this way until I have what I want. This is partly true, and partly not: You can bet your ass I’m going to keep plowing forward until I have things the way I want them, but that does not mean running myself into the ground. There are dozens of reasons, but the one I’ve pinned to my forehead is that it’s the least efficient, least effective way to get things done.

I won’t get what I want by destroying myself.

This is not the only reason I need to be reminded of, however. And in point of fact, hanging onto efficiency and effectiveness so hard might be worsening the problem. What about happiness? What about enjoying the journey? What about being proud of the process?

As Angel says (just take a look at the header), stop and smell the freaking flowers.

It’s shocking just how difficult it is for me to digest that. I will apply it to everyone but myself if you give me half a chance. I’ll tell you to give yourself a break, and I’ll go find something else that has to be done now.

I did take a break yesterday, by the way. A real one. My brain was completely shut off for hours. It was grand. When I came home and started talking about work, the impact of the stress coming back to me was absolutely horrifying. I’ve been living in that for how long? Weeks? Months? And I don’t remember the last time I noticed the difference, so it must be a very long time.

If I thought I was getting real downtime, I was wrong.

What do you think happens if I start taking real time off?

I bet I can tell you. I know because it’s the advice I give other people all the time. If you give yourself a rest, you rejuice. You function better. You get stronger. Your brain has time to process your experiences, reactions, confusions, organize them and give you back better solutions. Your response time improves. You feel lighter, happier, more on the ball. You heal better. You think more clearly. You make sharper, faster decisions. You laugh more.

Sounds kinda nice, doesn’t it?

Dude, I agree.

The last few days I haven’t been feeling all that well—just the usual monthly whathaveyou. So I determined that I would snuggle up in a warm blanket in my comfy armchair with my computer, and good food, and lots of water, and do whatever seemed to make sense at the time.

I wouldn’t force myself to work—I wouldn’t even think about doing work.

But once I really cleared my head and got relaxed (and took some painkillers)... there were all these fantastically interesting things going on. And suddenly there was so much to be engaged in and excited about, so much to make. And I was the one who could do it, so of course I did it—thing after thing after thing. For Marty, for the Usual Error, for the Triiibe. And before I knew it, the few days that were supposed to be my break so that I could rest, my respite from mandatory tasklists… had turned into the most exhilarating, most productive, most bizarrely enjoyable few days I’ve had in weeks.

I say to you: Come again!? What’s that about? I’m getting more done in 24 hours than I’ve done in the last week. Is there some kind of boat-tipping effect, where I add more and more to my schedule and get more and more stressed, but at a certain point I add just enough and all of a sudden I’m swimming in flow? (That was not a cycle joke. That was a Csikszentmihalyi joke.)

I know. It’s too late to take it back. I see it. Go ahead. Laugh some more at the irony.

Flow, indeed.

5:15 am is the solution to so many problems.

5:15 am means that I wake up insanely early, in the quiet dark, and have an hour or so to wake up and see straight even before the sun comes up. It means that by the time it’s light, I am itching to get out and run—so I do. And 5:15 am means that because I run so early in the morning, I take my shower early in the morning. Therefore, 5:15 am means that I’m ready to leave the house for the rest of the day; I’m awake, I’m clean, I’m alert and happy, and I’m probably at least mostly dressed. If anything requires me to go outside later on, I don’t need forty minutes to get ready. I’m ready right away.

5:15 am means that by the time 7 rolls around, I’m already present. And I’ll tell you what that means: Being present by 7 means that most of my work is done by noon.

You heard me. Noon.

And so for the whole rest of the day, I feel almost no stress, none. Because I’ve already done most of the work I needed to do that day, and I can either keep working or fuck around as I please. There is no pressure to push myself further than I feel I can go. If I want to read or take a nap, fine. And you know what I usually do?

I usually keep working. Just because I want to.

It sounds idyllic because it is. I knew it in January when I did it for a month and felt fantastic. Yes, it had its drawbacks. Yes, it meant going to bed earlier. Hell, maybe doing it will cycle me back to polyphasic frustration again. But I just have to try. It was so freaking good.