THE DEPENDABLE WON: On Pressure, Performance, and Peace

By Friday evening, many people do not feel victorious.

In my intake sessions with clients, the core question I always ask is: What does success feel like to you in this season of your life?

And I usually follow it up with: How far off are you from experiencing that as your default state?

As you can imagine, this creates an interesting conversation.

When it comes to defining success, I see it one way: success is nothing more than a feeling.

I think the title of this post says it all. Many high-performers feel as if they are in perpetual battle with: time, sleep, tech addiction, being consistent with health habits, alcohol, transitioning well between work and home, etc., etc.

Fridays become a signal for where they feel released.

Like a man dragging heavy buckets up a hill who, upon reaching the top, does not admire the view, but simply drops the handles, and wipes his sweaty brow with his sleeve.

I wonder what can happen to a man who defines achievement as it aligns with goal setting as follows:

A goal is not a destination, a place to get to, but a place to come from.

The modern professional often imagines success as a sort of arriving.

A calmer house. A quieter mind. A slower pulse. A deep breath at the end of the week.

Yet many discover something unsettling.

The work increased. The income increased. The responsibilities increased.

But peace did not. So the question then becomes: how can I achieve peace outside of performance?

By Friday, how can I achieve a deep sense of satisfaction and feel rest in my spirit, instead of restlessness?

These are states worth exploring, because one more look at the inbox, one more check of tomorrow's schedule, one more conversation replayed in the theater of the mind isn't going to take the edge off, but keep it alive.

The Dependable One

How long have you been considered the one others trust in a storm?

At what age did you get the sense that you were or had to be more responsible than your other siblings, cousins, and/or peers?

"He is so good. She is so good. I never have to worry about him or her."

I bet it felt good to make the lives of the adults around you easier. What you most likely didn't realize (the clients I work with seldom do - neither did I) is that part of your playfulness, and dare I say, voice, was crowded out by feeling as if you were this child/adult.

But somewhere along the way, they learned that rest and safety were not close companions.

So even after the battle ends, the grip on the weapons stays clenched.

A man can live this way for years before noticing that he no longer knows the difference between diligence and tension.

He will even call it ambition. Others will call him driven.

But inwardly, he feels as though some invisible foreman is forever tapping his shoulder saying, "No one cares, work harder."

There are people who arrive at success the way starving travelers arrive at a feast. Not to enjoy it, but to prove they survived long enough to deserve a seat at the table.

That is why achievement alone rarely heals exhaustion because the soul does not recover merely because the calendar fills with wins.

So what then?

I do not think the answer is becoming less ambitious.

Nor do I think the answer is lowering the standard or pretending that working hard on achieving important goals does not matter.

I think the deeper work is learning how to stop relating to life as though you are permanently behind.

To learn that a quiet evening is not something you must earn and to realize that your worth was never meant to rise and fall with the quality of your last performance.

Friday evenings can feel strangely emotional for some people, and if that is you, then perhaps the invitation this weekend is NOT to do less, but to hold on less tightly.

Relax without numbing out on 8k cals of comfort foods and 10 drinks.

Bring a spirit of play and let laughter count as being productive.

The world will ask enough from you and will not outright ask for your peace.

That is on you to lease out. Don't.

Blessings,

Chris