A quiet house. Rare.

My twin girls experiencing Fruit Loops for the first time–a special treat from their normal healthy breakfasts.

Sugary cereal is the crack cocaine to a desperate soul. So, of course it’s quiet.

Then, my son comes down the stairs. Something irking him.

I get it. Sometimes we just wake up annoyed, can’t explain why, and we see all the bad in the world.

And when something feels off, we are less in control. So he does something interesting…

He crawls under the table, starts tapping his sisters’ bare feet, and it’s not quiet anymore.

Why would it be?

And, having recently invaded their space, he says, “I need space!”

And indeed he does. But he had it, then infiltrated someone else’s and demanded the thing he once possessed.

Having dug further into a needless hole.

We don’t lose this behavior as adults, it just looks different.

Perhaps in the last year or two it’s been tough for you.

Work’s heavy. Complex family issues popped up and are persisting. Your spouse and you don’t laugh as much.

And, what do we say?

I need a vacation.

You do. No doubt. But saying and doing are passing scrunchy face glances at each other like my kids typically do when they’re bothering each other…and nothing happens.

So the work carries on. The family stuff lingers. Your spouse and you mean the same thing but are saying them in different ways and now you’re annoyed how long it took to figure it out…and you wonder when you’ll laugh with each other again.

While this is piling on top of you—and the vacation isn’t getting taken—we fantasize about when it was simpler, less noisy…just plain less.

Where did those days go and why do they feel a million miles away?

Another perspective is needed to shake you.

So you consult someone you’ve consulted before.

You know their advice isn’t perfect, but sometimes there’s something. And you can at least be a bit more vulnerable with them than anyone else.

And the friend, mentor, colleague, whoever is given the chance to fix.

They relish it even though they don’t say it.

And they strap on their cape and play the hero.

You should just do…

And you know you should, but you knew that a long time ago. You haven’t done it yet. Why would you do it now because the caped crusader told you so?

It’s their idea, not yours. And you’re left being defeated.

It’s not that easy, you think to yourself.

And I agree with you.

It’s excruciatingly difficult.

But it’s also incredibly simple.

The most worthy thing you can accept today is that it can be both.

Because when you know it’ll be hard but it’s also not complex, you step out of emotion and take back control.

You don’t need the person in the cape. You don’t even need the vacation right away.

It’s more like retracing steps than it is solving a puzzle.

A client of mine has never been more financially successful. But life is life-ing.

He’s thoroughly learned that the reward for good work is more work. He’s past the security stage. The look-at-all-I-have stage.

He’s seeking meaning. Understanding himself. And trusting that person to move forward.

So, I asked a benign question: How many hours a day would you say you’re dedicating to serving other people?

Eight, he said with a sigh.

He’s got all the intelligence and skill. He forecasted he could start grabbing time back in twelve months.

Logical. Gives him enough time to rearrange projects, tie some loose ends, create a platform for more autonomy.

Then, I said, This is what I mean when we live in reality and possibility, not imagination and certainty.

There are 8,760 hours in a year.

He’ll be sleeping ⅓ of that so he’s got 5,781 hours of wake time in a year.

And he’s going to give around 50% of it to other people doing stuff he’s good at but doesn’t mean much to him anymore.

My role isn’t to say You should just do… any old coach, friend, whoever can say that.

If I’m spitting my idea versus revealing the truth, I’m piss poor at what I do.

So, I offered up a different perspective.

He’s the asset of his business.

Carrying on his current path, he’s operating more like a machine.

8 hours a day, doing the same things.

Like a car with the same commute.

But, should that be all he does, he’ll depreciate. He’ll care even less. He’ll get more tired. He may even burn out.

And whereas a vacation is like an oil change, it’ll refresh the car and keep it running, the asset will still depreciate.

In other words, it doesn’t fix anything, it just carries on the status quo.

So, then it came to, how do you appreciate an asset?

He has a desire to teach, build, be fit, invest in family, read, learn…all skill-building, meaning-building stuff.

Asset appreciation that may feel excruciatingly difficult in the moment because he hasn’t done it before or seen it this way…but pretty damn simple.

Like how I drew it out live:

I asked something along the lines of, Is it possible to take 1 hour a day and reinvest it?

Without hesitation, Of course.

Cool, if you’re down for that, excluding weekends, you’d have approximately 270 hours of asset appreciation instead of depreciation.

A few questions. A little drawing. A few minutes and we’ve found reality and possibility and told imagination and certainty to chill a bit.

The following morning…

And the dominoes will fall.

Because once you make one meaningful move, and the big scary thing you imagined—like a client being pissed, missing out on money, or something else—doesn’t occur, a spark goes off.

And the evidence you created becomes the new drug.

Like eating Fruit Loops everyday. Except instead of sugary goodness coursing through your veins, it’s being decisive in a way that means something to you and…appreciates you as an asset.

Because the fear most people have—when they don’t trust themselves—is that if they reallocate from the business…they’ll just do nothing.

They’ll play video games for 10 hours a day, eat Little Debbies, and spend too much money buying stuff they don’t need.

But that’s a myth.

My client’s gotta make the moves. He’s gotta remove an hour a day to get 270 a year.

But he isn’t gonna use all of them to kick it on the porch and do nothing.

At first, sure.

When you’ve been a machine for a long time, a little siesta is needed.

But he’s an A-player. So he’ll get bored on the porch.

And soon, that daily hour will be reallocated.

And the asset gets more valuable.

So, when my son had all the space he needed at the top of the stairs, he did what most of us do…

Find confrontation. Stir up a messy mixture. Create more problems for ourselves.

But the space he needed was always available, he just had to take hold of it.

Where are your 270 hours this year?

An hour a day.

You can carry on like a machine. Capable as hell, depreciating and tired.

Or, go back to the space where you found meaning.

An hour a day.

To work out.

Read.

Laugh.

Write.

Sit and think.

Be a kid again.

To look inward and say, Where do I want to go?

Not, Where am I capable of going?

You’re no machine. We’re all gonna die.

The excruciatingly difficult first step is incredibly simple.

A bit of space. Better questions. Reality and possibility, not imagination and certainty.

Whatever it is for you…it starts with an hour a day.

You’re this close to tasting it.

Grab a spoon and a bowl, and start.

-C

P.S. If the space is too scary to grab on your own…read this.