I used to think being busy was a good thing, a necessary thing. “Busy” meant your mind was occupied, gears turning, neurons firing, things getting done. A mind at work was a healthy mind, an efficient mind that saw no challenge too great, no work pile too daunting. As I’ve cycled through different phases of “busy” in my still evolving career, I’ve come to realize what a Faustean bargain working hard and overachieving really is. Lots of work may mean more billable hours, flow-like waves of productive output, and seemingly blissful distraction from other less desirable aspects of life, like loneliness or an unpleasant home environment. But the real detriment of overwork, aside from the stress and nasty health problems, is the emptiness it creates — the lack of intellectual stimulation, the creative deprivation, and the psychological alienation. At its worst, work becomes meaning when meaning cannot be salvaged from anywhere else.

This is starting to sound melodramatic, I know. The reality is that life gives us chances (or we create the chances) to stop and reflect. Sometimes a sudden event like an illness or job loss jolts our routine and challenges us to either lament the setback and curse our misfortune or seize the opportunity to re-evaluate our lives. At other times, like the gaps between big projects or right after major deadlines, we can take a deep breath, look back on how we handled ourselves in the midst of our daily grind, and think deeply about what kind of person we became in the process:

• When and why did values flip in favor doing that “one more thing” and staying later than planned?
• How many recreational events and activities had to be passed up for work? Did it become a pattern?
• How many personal relationships were affected by late night or weekend work?
• Were mornings greeted with joy or dread?
• Did the outcome measure up to the sacrifices?

Sadly, I can picture a reverse-Feltron annual report of my former work-life experience: bars not visited, bands not heard, number of locations in NYC not visited, restaurants not frequented, etc. The real data would be considerably less appealing: hours waiting on bus/train platforms after midnight, number of mistakes noticed the next morning (after sending off “final” files), most eaten meal substitute for dinner, etc.

Everybody’s situation and experiences are different, so I won’t rattle off advice like I’m a fully rehabilitated workaholic who’s figured it all out (which I’m not, and I haven’t). I work for myself, which comes with its own demands as well as an even greater need for discipline and boundaries. I occasionally find myself walking into the same old traps, but slowly my foresight is improving. I’m getting better at framing projects with more reasonable expectations and timeframes, yet without compromising the quality of the end result or my quality of life. Most importantly, I’m actively trying to instill better patterns, like a clear start and end to the work day, unplugged weekends, more frequent visits with family and friends, and some completely unproductive — but immensely gratifying — daydreaming.