Almost Enough

The irony that I’m writing this particular entry on only a couple hours of sleep is not lost on me. I also think I’ve missed my self-imposed every-other-Tuesday deadline, but I’m powering through and making it happen before the weekend wraps.

It took a minute to figure out what exactly I was going to write about this time around. Adding this blog to my already overflowing to-do list might not have been the smartest idea, but I wanted a way to connect and write more. To write in those quiet moments between tasks. An opportunity to give my brain and creativity a place to stretch, even amid all the other chaos of life.

Currently, I have a ton of last-minute preparations to do before production on Misguided starts in two days. I finally finished filling out the cast list for the season—adding six new actors to the mix. I’m genuinely excited about this ensemble. The vibes feel right, and the talent is powerful. On top of that, there are props to prep, catering orders to place, locations to lock, wardrobe to approve, and the list just keeps growing.

After four seasons of powering through and putting my personal touch on nearly every detail, I’m finally ready to move on to the next project and maybe not be so hands-on. I’ve proven to myself I can do this. And I’m proud of the growth this series reflects. But back to this entry (and trying to figure out what to write) because there's just so much going on.

And that’s the thing: even when I’m already busy, I somehow keep getting busier.

When I was asked to watch the kiddos overnight this past Thursday, just days before production is set to begin, I couldn’t help myself from saying “yes.” Truthfully, I could use the money. This season is mostly self-funded, pulled from my savings, because I didn’t want to ask friends for another round of crowdfunding support. I did one small fundraising push, and I’m grateful to those who contributed. But I couldn’t ask more of my friends, they’ve already gone above and beyond for this series and this dream.

When I do an overnight shift with the kids, I don’t tend to sleep much. I’m constantly monitoring Oliver’s blood sugar on my phone, always slightly on edge, worried I’ll miss a critical low alert. After a sleepless night and a full day with the boys, I’m completely drained. The exhaustion is real. But still, I power through.

I’m no stranger to burning the candle at both ends. I’ve always been an overachiever. In high school, I was yearbook editor my junior and senior year and somehow also became Senior Class President, on top of an already packed academic and college prep schedule.

I’ve never really stopped to ask myself why I push so hard. Why I strive to do it all. Why do I need to prove I can do it? Maybe it’s just that: to prove to myself I’m capable of doing the hard things. But then, when does that become success? I already know I can do hard things. I’ve proven that. So why do I keep needing to prove it? Is it still about me, or has it quietly become about proving it to someone else?

I don’t know if I have that answer. But maybe it’s worth sitting with.

I think part of me still believes that if I do enough, if I handle it all, if I just keep pushing, then I’ll finally feel secure. Or seen. Or both. 

That’s the thing about being driven: the destination keeps shifting. The goalpost moves, but I keep sprinting. I push myself toward exhaustion. And maybe that’s not all bad because ambition has carried me far. It’s gotten Misguided this far. It’s let me pay rent through jobs I never imagined myself doing, and still carve out space for creativity anyway.

But lately, I’ve started to wonder: when does drive stop being fuel and start being fire? The kind that scorches instead of lights the way?

And here’s the truth, I wanted this post to hit 1,200 words. I set that arbitrary goal for myself, and I’m coming up short. And in some ways, that’s the point. Through all the ambition, all the striving to get it right, to be the best version of me, I’m learning that sometimes I will come up short. And that’s okay.

Among the many lessons I’ve picked up on the long road to whatever success even means, maybe the most important is this: it’s okay not to be perfect. To be a little sloppy. To be a mess. I’m learning to give myself grace. To comfort the overachiever in me and remind him that it’s okay to simply be okay.

Sometimes I imagine sitting across from that high school version of me, the one organizing a talent show, editing yearbook pages well into summer vacation, calculating GPA points like they were lottery numbers. I want to tell him he doesn’t have to do it all to be enough. That his worth isn’t tied to his output. That rest isn’t laziness, and slowing down doesn’t mean giving up. I want to let him know that in the future, he is still ambitious, still passionate, still deeply committed, but he's also learning how to take care of himself. How to be proud without being perfect.

This isn’t a tidy revelation. There’s no breakthrough epiphany here. Just a very real weekend afternoon, on very little sleep, running on caffeine and adrenaline and a to-do list longer than I care to admit. And somehow, despite the exhaustion, despite the chaos, I’m still proud. Still showing up. Still writing. Still making it happen.

This is the reality: late nights and early mornings, missed deadlines and unbelievable accomplishments. It’s not perfect. It’s not even on schedule. But it’s mine.

And for now, that’s enough.