It’s okay to do less

“If I had only done more.”

Many of us look back on our lives and have this regret. I don’t. I could have done less. Much less.

My compulsion to do more probably began the first time that a nun put a gold star next to my name on a piece of poster board in elementary school. I was off and running. And running. And running.

There’s a cost to doing more compulsively or addictively. It starves relationships. It erodes you physically and mentally. Doing more can create a beast that needs to be fed. And fed. And fed.

One of the first things I realized as a part of this life change is that I could have had the same or very similar results/outcomes in life if I had done less.

Less worrying—I was hard wired to worry. Over the years, I honed worry to an art form. For much of my career, I rationalized worry as being prepared for anything that could happen, even though I knew logically that this wasn’t possible.

I surrendered so much joy to worry. If I could have shut down or pulled the plug on my worry machine, I would have. But it doesn’t work that way.

It wasn’t until I read The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle and then took a mindfulness meditation class that I began to practice being present in the now and letting go of worry. I still struggle with this. But worry doesn’t erode me as much anymore.

Less obsessing—Obsession is worry’s annoying little sister who likes to stir up crap. When I wasn’t in full-blown anxiety about something, I was rolling it over and over in my head--looking at it from the same angle or a slightly different angle. But looking at it ad nauseum, not getting anywhere. It got me nothing except resentment and anger. I could rationalize my worry sometimes, but not my obsession over a problem. It was just time and life energy I’ll never get back.

Less work—If you had told me when I was 45 that I could have worked less, I would have given you fifteen reasons why I couldn’t, and they’d be good, credible reasons. I wore my ability to work hard like a badge of honor. I used to look at people and say to myself:

“I can work you into the dirt.”

It doesn’t even make sense when I read it now. What I meant was this: “I can handle way more than you can. When you’re exhausted, I’ll just be hitting my stride.” Competitive? Yes. Unhealthy? Absolutely. How much of that work was constructive when I was starting it at 4 am and continuing past 8 pm? How much of that work actually needed to be done? What could I have let go of? Plenty. The world would still have spun on its axis.

Less judging—I remember being in a meeting where the topic of anxiety came up. I shared that years prior, a doctor had recommended that I get on medication for anxiety and my response to him. “No. That’s not happening,” I said in a tone that was part white-knuckled self-reliance, part arrogance and part fear.

Those were the days when I judged medication for mental health very harshly. The fact is I wasn’t ready for medication at the time. But I spent years looking down at people who used meds for various mental health challenges. It probably cost me months or even years of mental and physical well-being. Or at least better-being.

Less cleaning—What an odd thing to include on this list. But the truth is, I have forfeited way too much of my time on this planet cleaning stuff. Picture frames, floors, refrigerators, garbage cans. I am of that generation of women whose mothers kept things spotless and who feel duty bound to do the same, even though our opportunities and obligations are totally different.

I have never mastered the mindfulness practice of being fully present with the wonderful moment of mopping the floors. Mopping the floors sucks. So now I choose to have only a very small floor to mop and I tell worry’s annoying little sister to shut up about it.

I don’t have doing less honed to an art form. God willing, I won’t. I am simply learning to be compassionate toward myself about all those mores I did and the less I am doing now.

Notice I don’t say “more compassionate.” Just compassionate.