I have always had a knack for filling up my schedule up until the point I can no longer handle it. In high school, I took up one too many courses. It drained me. In university, I took up two masters and interned at the top firms of the country. It drained me – again. Now, I’m at the happiest I’ve ever been career-wise, and while it shouldn’t be as stressful as my previous career, it is getting the better of me again.
What is it with perfectionists that make us want to go hard on ourselves. As if any number is a number too small. As if there should be no limits. You’re smart, you can handle anything. Fast-forward to now – I’m out of my limits. Again.
At times I think I’m a workaholic. I inherited my mother’s work ethics. Work hard one day, work harder the next day. She never shied away from taking up multiple jobs either. Why should I?
But for the first time I am stretching out my physical and mental being. Or at least, to the point where I am aware of it.
Time – we’re granted 24 hours a day. We sleep, we work, we eat. Work harder if you want. But live. Breath. Stop and stare and smell the roses and stuff. Or something. Feel the moment. Spend your time with family and friends – and spend it wisely.
Because life – we only get one.