The Man Who Couldn’t Chill

So…I heard from a fellow QBOMMer this week.

He’s got the life most people would design if money, time, and talent weren’t an issue.

Late 40s.
Net worth somewhere between eight and ten million.
Thriving business.
A short-term rental portfolio most investors would envy.
A strong marriage. Healthy kids. Abs. That “most-improved” mindset.

He’s the guy everyone points to and says, “He’s got it figured out.”
And maybe he does, on paper.

But here’s what struck me:
He can’t chill.
Not for long. Not even when he wants to.

Always Adding, Never Arriving

He’s constantly training, optimizing, building something new.
He recently launched an app. He’s thinking of joining a semi-professional sports league. Maybe moving states.

Not because he’s bored, because he’s restless.
He can’t not add another thing to his plate.

He’s traveled more than anyone I know, but when I asked if he’d ever really stopped. He laughed.

It wasn’t a midlife crisis laugh.
It was a knowing one.

He’s not broken.
He’s burdened.

Burdened by excellence.
By old loyalties and identities that once made him successful but now quietly weigh him down.

The Question That Stopped Him

I asked him something simple:

“If you woke up tomorrow with a blank slate, would you rebuild your life exactly as it is now?”

He paused.

Not a confident yes.
Not a defiant no.

Just silence…and a quiet, uncertain “maybe.”

That’s the moment I look for.
The space between certainty and curiosity.

It’s not crisis.
It’s awakening.

He’s starting to realize the things he built were perfect for who he was,
not necessarily for who he’s becoming.

The Control Reflex

Here’s the paradox of success:
The more you’ve built, the harder it is to stop building.

Letting go feels dangerous when control has always been your armor.

High performers rarely freeze when they’re afraid.
They grip tighter.
They optimize.
They add another layer of responsibility just to avoid the discomfort of stillness.

Because stillness demands self-leadership.
And that’s scarier than any spreadsheet or startup.

Control Is About Fear. Ownership Is About Alignment.

Control says: “If I don’t hold it all, it might fall apart.”
Ownership says: “I’ll carry what’s mine—and trust others with the rest.”

Control is fear disguised as discipline.
Ownership is courage disguised as calm.

Letting go doesn’t mean giving up.
It means giving yourself permission to evolve.

I know, because I’ve lived it.

There was a time I couldn’t imagine not being “the guy who holds it all together.”
The leader. The loyal one. The dependable one.
But every title comes with weight and eventually, the weight starts owning you.

So I had to loosen my grip.
One hand at a time.
And it didn’t happen once, it happens daily.

This Isn’t a Crisis. It’s a Process.

You don’t wake up one morning fully detached from your old identity.
You loosen, rebuild, loosen again.

It’s a cycle of humility and clarity.
And each time you release a piece of what once defined you, you make room for who you’re becoming.

So if you’re reading this and thinking, “That sounds like me…”
You’re not lost.
You’re in motion.

You don’t need a new project.
You need a new posture.

You’ve mastered the art of control.
Now it’s time to practice ownership.

Before You Read What Follows…

What you’ll read here each week isn’t theory.
It’s a process I’ve lived. And still live.

I didn’t start with my Mission, Values, or Purpose.
If I had, they would’ve come from ego or urgency, not clarity.

They emerged over time:

• Values came first—uncovered, not invented.

• Mission came later—after months of journaling, reflection, and honest feedback.

• Purpose is still unfolding—through struggle, service, and showing up every day.

I don’t write this because I’ve figured it out.
I write it because I’m still figuring it out.

Next Week: The MVP Framework

Next week, I’ll share how Mission, Values, and Purpose (MVP) become the compass for rebuilding.
Not the corporate kind.
The kind you earn through reflection and alignment.

If control is about gripping tightly, MVP is about holding intentionally.
It’s the blueprint for what happens after you’ve let go.

Until then…
Ask yourself one question this week:

“If I woke up tomorrow with a blank slate, what would I rebuild—and what would I finally release?”

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