Do What You Feel Like Doing. Without Guilt.
When Energy Was Not A Problem
There was a time when I had endless energy.
At least that is how it seems when I look back today. Maybe I did not actually have endless energy. Maybe I was simply too young and too stubborn to notice when the tank was getting empty. Either way, life moved forward at full speed.
There was always something that needed to be done. Build a house. Support a family. Buy a car. Learn new skills. Advance at work. Repair things. Help people. Solve problems. The list never ended, but somehow I still found time for things that had no practical purpose at all.
I could jump on a bicycle and disappear into nature for an afternoon. I could spend time by the sea, swim for no reason other than enjoying the water, stop to look at flowers, watch birds, admire some strange insect crawling through the grass or simply sit somewhere and enjoy being alive.
Back then I never thought about whether these activities were useful. I simply did them.
Nobody handed me a form to justify why I was staring at a flower instead of improving my productivity. Nobody demanded a report explaining how watching dragonflies would contribute to my long-term career goals.
Life somehow contained both work and pleasure, and they managed to coexist peacefully without trying to eliminate one another.
The Expanding Universe Of Obligations
Then years passed.
Responsibilities multiplied. Not dramatically. They accumulated slowly, like dust in an old attic. Every new obligation seemed reasonable on its own. Every project looked worthwhile. Every idea appeared important.
And I always had ideas. That was part of the problem.
I wanted to learn spanish. Improve bike. Create special tools. Build greenhouse. Fix broken table. Understand math. There was always another project waiting behind the current project. Whenever I finished one task, three new ones appeared, usually because I had invented them myself.
Looking back, I was probably the main source of my own workload.
Life would occasionally offer me a quiet afternoon, and instead of enjoying it, I would fill it with some grand plan involving work, learning, organization or improvement.
The strange thing is that I enjoyed much of it. That is why I never noticed the trap.
When people imagine burnout, they often picture someone trapped in a miserable job they hate. But sometimes people burn out doing things they actually enjoy. They simply forget that enjoyment also consumes energy.
Every new idea felt exciting. Every achievement opened the door to another achievement. Every success created another expectation. And without noticing, I slowly built a life where there was always something important waiting.
The only thing that stopped appearing in the schedule was rest.
The Body Starts Sending Letters
After fifty, however, the body began expressing opinions.
Not politely. For years it had sent gentle suggestions. Poor sleep. Anxiety. Constant thinking. Tension. Exhaustion. I ignored them all.
Like many hardworking people, I believed every problem could be solved by applying more effort. Tired? Work harder. Stressed? Work harder. Confused? Work harder. Unhappy? Work harder.
Apparently this strategy works wonderfully until it suddenly doesn't. Then came depression, panic attacks and overthinking. The feeling that my brain had become a committee meeting that never ended. Every issue required analysis. Every decision needed evaluation. Every problem deserved another hour of thought.
Unfortunately none of that produced additional energy. It only produced additional thinking. And thinking, as I eventually discovered, is surprisingly expensive.
The brain consumes energy like a government office spends paperwork.
The Shortcut That Wasn't
Because I still wanted to function, to perform, and to keep everything moving, I found another solution. Alcohol. At first it seemed helpful. A little relief, a quiet, and a little pause from the endless machinery running inside my head. And for a while it worked.
Many bad solutions work for a while. That is what makes them dangerous. If bad solutions failed immediately, nobody would use them. Alcohol did not solve anything. It simply postponed the discussion, like putting a blanket over a warning light on the dashboard and convincing yourself the engine must therefore be fine.
Eventually I reached a point where I had to admit something uncomfortable. I had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Not a dramatic catastrophe, not a complete collapse, just a gradual drifting away from what actually made life enjoyable.
Even Rest Had To Be Productive
I remember how obsessed I once was with efficiency.
Even resting had to be productive. After lunch I would lie down on the sofa for fifteen minutes and immediately start solving problems in my head. The body was resting, but the brain was running a full-scale industrial operation. I was apparently trying to achieve world-class efficiency in relaxation. If somebody had invented competitive napping, I probably would have entered the championships. I imagined I was being clever.
In reality I was simply continuing to work while lying horizontally. What I did not understand back then was that the brain is not a machine that can run forever. It consumes energy too, sometimes more than the body itself.
You can sit perfectly still for an entire day and end up completely exhausted. Not because you worked but because you worried, you planned, and solved problems that did not yet exist.
Learning To Listen To Myself
Eventually I realized that something fundamental had to change.
The breakthrough was surprisingly simple. I began paying attention to what actually felt right in the moment. Not what should be done. Not what was most urgent. Not even what would impress anyone. What felt right.
If I wanted to write, I wrote. If I wanted to go outside, I went outside. If I wanted to ride a bicycle, I rode a bicycle. If I wanted to sit quietly and stare at trees for half an hour, I did exactly that.
And something interesting happened. My mood improved. The resistance disappeared. Work that felt impossible suddenly became manageable. The endless procrastination began fading. I had discovered something that should probably have been obvious.
When I force myself into activities that completely oppose what my mind and body need, I become miserable. I postpone, I avoid, I complain and negotiate with myself like an unreliable politician before an election.
But when I follow what genuinely feels right, energy returns surprisingly quickly.
The Last Obstacle: Guilt
Unfortunately another problem appeared. Guilt - the old familiar voice.
"What are you doing?"
"Shouldn't you be working?"
"Isn't there something more important?"
"Shouldn't you be useful?"
That word again. Useful. For years I worshipped usefulness. Being productive, reliable, helping everyone. Working hard and achieving things. And do you know what happened? People appreciated it. Some admired it, some expected it, but in the end it did not save me from burnout.
It did not protect me from anxiety. It did not prevent depression. It certainly did not make me happy.
What many people actually wanted from me was not endless productivity. They wanted my time, my attention, a conversation, a kind word and presence. Meanwhile I was busy trying to become Employee of the Century in a competition that nobody had organized.
A Different Definition Of Success
That realization changed something important.
Today I still work. I still have projects.I still have responsibilities. But I try to remember a lesson that took me far too long to learn.
Life is not an endless examination where somebody keeps score. There is no secret committee awarding medals for accumulated exhaustion. Nobody stands beside your coffin counting how many emails you answered or how many evenings you sacrificed to productivity. People remember something else: your kindness, presence, your stories, your laughter, and the time you spent with them.
And perhaps even more importantly, you remember how you lived. Not how efficiently. How fully.
Doing What Saves You
Sometimes the most useful thing you can do is something completely useless.
A bicycle ride. A walk. A conversation. Watching flowers. Sitting quietly. Doing what feels right. And doing it without guilt.
That last part may be the hardest lesson of all. But perhaps it is also the most important. Because every time I choose something that genuinely nourishes me instead of exhausting me, I move a little farther away from the habits that once drove me toward depression, panic and alcohol. And a little closer to a life that actually feels worth living.
Not because it is efficient, not because it is productive, but because it is mine. After all these years, that seems like a surprisingly good reason.
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