I’m not even awake for the day and my brain’s already three steps ahead—next task, next milestone, next thing I’ve got to nail or it all falls apart. That’s me lately. That’s been me for too long. I’m an entrepreneur, right? Built a life, a business, a family from scratch, and I’m proud of it—damn proud—but somewhere along the way, I started carrying this weight. This pressure. Like if I don’t make the vision happen right now, today, this second, it’s all going to crash—my team, my kid, my marriage, myself. And it’s exhausting. Tired of ruminating, tired of being “elsewhere” when I’m right here, tired of happiness feeling like a stranger I used to know.
I don’t even know when it started. Maybe when the business took off and I realized I could actually pull this off. Or when our son was born, and suddenly it wasn’t just about me anymore. There’s this voice in my head—relentless—saying, “You’re the only one who can do it. If you don’t, they all suffer.” It’s like I’ve convinced myself I’m Atlas, holding up the world, and one slip means chaos. But here’s the crazy part: we’ve got what we need. Roof over our heads, (more than enough) food on the table, love in the mess of it all. Sure, things go off track—clients issues, we get sick, cash flow wobbles—but we’re okay. So why does it feel like I’m failing if I don’t have it all locked down yesterday?
I’ve been reading stuff lately—Power of Now, Letting Go, Expectation Effect —trying to figure out how to stop this mental treadmill. I want to be here, you know? Like, totally here. I want to live life again, not just survive it. But it’s hard. Harder than building a business ever was. Because building was action—hustle, grind, results. This? This is sitting still, letting go, trusting it’s enough. And I’m not yet good at that.
The other day, I found presence and peace. For five minutes, I wasn’t “elsewhere.” I was there. And it hit me: I’ve been chasing this finish line where “everything’s alright,” but maybe it’s already here, and I’m too busy running to see it.
I’m starting to get it, I think. This pressure—it’s not truth, it’s just my brain on overdrive. I don’t have to do it all, not alone, not today. My team’s got skills. My wife’s a retreat. My son doesn’t need a perfect dad—they need me, present, not a ghost lost in worry. I read somewhere that 90% of what we stress about doesn’t even happen. 90%! So why am I burning myself out on ghosts? Why am I betting happiness on a future I can’t control when my kid’s finding fun in little things right now?
I’m trying stuff—little hacks to pull me back. Writing down what’s “enough” each day—kids fed, two calls made, we’re breathing. Stealing moments—like this morning, enjoying the sound of a house full of family. It’s small, but it’s something. And I’m telling myself out loud, “You’re not the only one. It’s okay to let go.”
Here’s the raw truth: I’m scared to slow down. Scared that if I stop pushing, it’ll all unravel. But I’m more scared of waking up in ten years and realizing I missed it—the messy, beautiful now. My vision matters, yeah, but it’s not the only thing that does. I don’t want my kids to remember me as the guy who was always stressed, always somewhere else. I want them to remember the ball-throwing, the laughing, the dad who was there. And I want that for me too—happiness, not as a prize at the end, but as the air I breathe while I’m still in the game.
So I’m shifting. Not perfect, not even close. I’ll probably still pace tomorrow, still catch myself ruminating about cash flow or timelines. But I’m done letting “elsewhere” own me. I’ve got what I need—family, purpose, a shot at today. That’s enough. And if you’re reading this, grinding through your own version of this mess, maybe it’s enough for you too.
Live shifted - a blueprint 