It all starts with that inevitable 5:30 a.m. coffee. I sit there, eyes half-shut, clutching my mug like it’s the last life raft on the Titanic. Somehow, it wakes me up—or rather, it wakes me up to the reality that I have a mountain of tasks waiting: emails, side projects, deadlines glaring at me from the corner of my screen, files to send off to print, POD sites to update, portfolio pieces to upload… and then, just when I think I’ve cleared my inbox, more emails. Oh, good morning, productivity, and welcome an overly-caffeinated carousel I can’t get off.
I grin, because somehow, after eight years of self-employment, I’ve trained myself to start each day with a weirdly cheerful sense of productivity. Mornings just seem brighter when there’s a to-do list whispering, “You’ve got this.” And as I take another sip of this magical brew, I think, “Ah, yes, one more gulp of motivation,” knowing it’ll hold my hand through the next few hours and keep me steady as I draw the two-thousand-five-hundredth line on an illustration that’s just about done.
I really do love mornings like these, and I’m so grateful that most of my mornings are exactly this way. Honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without them. On those rare “you don’t have 68 things on your to-do list” days, I’ll admit—I usually find a way to create them. The grind mindset seems to have settled into me naturally, long before I even knew what “the grind” meant, let alone realized it was a daily reality for so many of my fellow freelancers.
At 18, I convinced myself that if I worked hard enough, success would simply follow, as naturally as winter after fall or the tide rolling back in after it ebbs. Action and reaction, a beautiful cycle—it’s woven into the very fabric of existence and in us, too, as people. And, honestly? I’ve proven it true. I worked when there was nothing concrete to work on, back when my “projects” were just daydreams and sketches.
Today, my reality isn’t much different—just amplified by years of training myself to keep this endless wheel of tasks spinning, no matter what. Because in some overly dramatic, doomsday scenario, if I stop… well, I imagine everyone and everything will leave me behind, and I’ll just float away into the void of non-productivity. What a terrifying thought! It’s like every night, right before bed, that fear drifts over me, whispering, “You could have done one more thing today to make tomorrow easier.”
It’s not even really about the projects themselves, honestly. It’s the idea that there might be a day with nothing to work on that haunts me. (And I’ll say it—not working feels like a tiny death. And they say death is inevitable!) So here I am, ironically, on a weekend where I don’t have anything concrete lined up, feeling like my usual skill for conjuring endless to-do lists is faltering. If this isn’t a productivity crisis, I don’t know what is.
I’ve weathered three serious burnouts in my life. The last one? Just before last Christmas. I look back on it with an odd sense of nostalgia. Did I feel like absolute garbage? Yes. Did I question everything—myself, my purpose, the meaning of it all? Absolutely. But did I pull off a massive project that might lead to even more work down the line? Oh, hack yeah.
In the end, the pride of finishing a project on that scale somehow outweighed the soul-crushing fatigue and doubt that came with it. So, was it worth the sacrifice? Looking back now… I’d say, yes. Absolutely worth it.
Lately, I’m starting to wonder if this mindset might be a problem. Just yesterday, a friend asked me what I was working on, and I almost choked at having to admit, “Not much.” I scrambled to defend myself, launching into all the tasks that were coming next week. Just waiting on feedback! It was a tough moment. Here I am, a so-called productivity addict, and I couldn’t even conjure up a small project to fill a quiet weekend.
Oh, Lord, am I okay? Do I need to be deprogrammed from this mindset? Honestly, I’m still searching for the answer. When I think back on that specific pre-Christmas burnout—or the two before it—I wonder: where would I be today without them? Where would I be if my days didn’t look like this? Truthfully, I might have a problem with a hint of self-inflicted suffering. I kind of revel in the grind, dressing it up as a noble sacrifice toward some idealized, higher goal. Otherwise, maybe I’d be bored. And, honestly, nothing is scarier than boredom.
Is this rock bottom for a productivity addict? Who am I if I’m not hustling?
In one of my YouTube videos, I mentioned being really mindful of how I spend my time. But I don’t think I emphasized it enough. The truth is, I’m a tiny bomb of imploding anxiety. The fact that we only (as far as we know) get this one life, that we’re here for just a brief moment on the universe’s timeline, is both fascinating and absolutely terrifying. So, of course, it feels crucial to be mindful of how I spend my time. Isn’t it only natural to want to spend it building the life I want, chasing some level of happiness that feels right?
All we have is this one moment, right now. And if I’m not spending it drawing, or at least doing something that’ll let me spend tomorrow drawing—then what’s the point? Maybe I don’t need to say how much I love drawing if I’m justifying my entire grind mindset on the simple fact that I have to draw today, tomorrow, and every day I get after that.
I know this is probably toxic. But admitting these things to myself—and then writing them out here—is maybe part of solving the problem. If I even dare step into that territory of looking in the mirror and admitting that there might actually be a problem.
Here’s the kicker, though: drawing as the backbone of my life came to me so naturally. If it weren’t drawing, I could see myself in some alternate universe obsessing over music, knitting, sewing, ceramics, writing—any creative outlet, really. I sometimes fantasize about having a few more lifetimes just so I can master each one of those creative realms. I can’t do anything halfway. It’s either all or nothing. All or oblivion.
And so, here I am again, facing these extreme choices. I don’t have answers yet, and I’ll probably be drifting through this fog for a while, searching for them—like trying to solve the age-old question of what came first: the chicken or the egg… or in this case, the workaholic or the quest for self-fulfillment.
But at least I’ve managed to get something down in this blog after years of empty drafts. Also, I’ve got this amazing cup of coffee and something to do today on this unbearably quiet weekend morning where, for once, I don’t have a million things to check off my list... so I, in my usual fashion, yet again created a task out of pure air. Just like winter comes after fall or the tide rolls back in after it ebbs, I inevitably find myself back, yet again, at my desk on a Sunday morning. Mission accomplished.
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