The Lie We Call "The Top"

Let’s just get straight to it: the “top” that everyone’s racing toward? Yeah… it doesn’t exist. It’s a damn illusion. A moving target with zero finish line, no gold medal, and absolutely no peace. But we chase it anyway.

We’re conditioned to believe that if we just keep going—push a little harder, work a little longer, sacrifice just one more thing—we’ll finally “make it.” That mystical peak of success, contentment, and balance. Except, spoiler alert: you never actually arrive. You just keep climbing while life quietly passes you by in the background.

We live in a world that rewards burnout and applauds people for never resting. We brag about 60-hour work weeks like they’re Olympic achievements. We wear “busy” like a badge of honor. And for what? So, your boss can send a “great job!” Slack message before asking you to cover someone else’s shift? So, you can move up the ladder and find that the next rung just asks for more?

Here’s the truth no one talks about: while you’re sprinting toward some imaginary finish line, you’re missing the actual good stuff. The real-life, messy, beautiful, heart-wrenching stuff that makes life worth living.

You miss your kid's belly laugh over something stupid. You miss the way your partner looks at you when you're not distracted. You miss sunsets. Conversations. Connection. You miss the chance to just be—because you're too busy trying to be enough.

I’ve been there. I still catch myself slipping into that mindset sometimes. I have a career I love, a growing business, an incredible team, a list of things to do that never ends—and still, I sometimes forget that my life is not my job. My job is just a part of my life.

It’s easy to say, “Well, I can’t just check out. I have responsibilities.” Sure. But you also have one damn life. And your people? They notice when you're gone—even when you’re physically present but mentally trapped in your inbox. Your children will remember the vacations you never took. They’ll remember the late nights you stayed at work more than the trophies you brought home. Oof, right?

We are given vacation time—yet most of us don’t use it. Or if we do, we spend the whole-time checking emails, feeling guilty, and convincing ourselves we’re being “responsible.” What we’re really doing is burning out while pretending we’re fine.

I’ve been that person, too. Still feel the guilt creep in when I take time off. Still feel like I “should” respond to that email or fix that problem—even from a beach or a cabin or the middle of a forest. But why? For whom? My laptop doesn’t care. My job will still be there. What won’t still be there? That moment with my kids where they’re laughing uncontrollably. That peaceful hike. That sunrise. That stillness.

Your nervous system was not designed to live in survival mode 24/7. You are not lazy for needing rest. You are not broken for wanting to feel again. You are human. You need pause. You need quiet. You need to be reminded of who you are outside of the grind.

Taking time off—real, unplugged, unapologetic time off—is not weak. It’s necessary. It helps you return as a better parent, partner, friend, and employee. It clears your head. It grounds your soul. It reminds you of what matters.

So, take the damn vacation. Go solo. Go with your kids. Go with your best friend. Hell, go with your dog. Explore the world. Or just explore your own damn backyard. Sit in silence. Breathe fresh air. Watch your child notice something for the first time. Let yourself feel things that aren’t tied to deadlines or productivity.

Look, I’ll be the first to say I love what I do. I genuinely love this work, this practice, this mission. But it is not my entire life. My life belongs to me. To my children. To our adventures. To our healing. To the moments we will never get back if I keep choosing productivity over presence.

Even if I never worked another day in my life, there wouldn’t be enough time to see all this world has to offer. So why the hell would I choose to limit myself even more by never actually living in it?

Let the grind wait. It’ll still be there. The mountains, the oceans, the laughter, the connection? Those things won’t.

Take the trip. Make the memory. Be where your feet are.