Some years ago, I was a workaholic. I worked 16 hours a day and was still thinking about work when I was lying down. I wanted to relax somehow, so I went to the mall to buy things for myself and for the family, which was just accumulating and giving me no joy.
I realized that it was not the symptoms but the cause that needed to be eliminated, and so life should be changed. I gave up the urge to be the best, make all the money in the world, fame, and things like that. Scary when you want to be the best. This never happens. One day you are the best and the next you are no longer.
I started working less, spending more time with myself and my family and acquired the experience, the awareness that when you share your time, conversations, and other gifts that are impossible to buy for the money, it gives you so much joy.
Was it hard to give up my old life?
Yes, but as soon as I get tempted to do more work, I sit down, start writing and go back to myself. I remember being more excited about the time spent with people than doing endless work and buying stuff.
I am writing to understand my self. I am not writing for future generations, but for the people now living. When you live, those thoughts flutter, fly in your head: from existentialism to what you buy in the store. When you put everything into a text, your thoughts become clearer: you see your progress, your character, your faults, your mistakes.
What’s more, if it can help someone, maybe wake them up or stop for a moment, then it’s even better. With the years, such a time comes – when sharing, giving begins to bring more joy than luxury cars, delicious dinners in the restaurants. And openness is the essence of writing – I don’t see the point in pretending.
© Fortune, 2019
Have you been or still are a workaholic?