why we’re all so obsessed with doing more (and what it costs us)

there are days when i wake up already listing things. before i’ve even made it to the kitchen, my brain is tallying: groceries, emails, deadlines, a message i forgot to respond to last night, laundry i should have folded two days ago. it’s a rolling inventory that runs in the background, a little ticker-tape of tasks. by the time the coffee is poured, i already feel like i’m behind. the day hasn’t even started, and somehow i owe it something.

i don’t remember learning this explicitly. no one sat me down and said, “life is a contest of how much you can get through.” but the lessons were everywhere, tucked into praise. the kids who managed three sports and piano lessons and perfect grades were admired in school assemblies. the adults who worked long hours were described with words like “dedicated” and “driven,” which sounded glamorous compared to “available for dinner” or “well-rested.” and then the internet arrived to provide a running exhibition of other people’s output: books written before thirty, businesses launched from kitchen tables, strangers who manage to run marathons, raise children, and maintain a glow-y skincare routine all at once. you absorb enough of that, and you stop asking whether it’s necessary. you just assume the right way to live is to do more, then a little more after that.