We love to segment our lives in every way possible. I, for one, have 10+ calendars on Google Calendar. One is for fitness and shows only active activities in green. Another is for schoolwork which is yellow probably because school buses are yellow. I even have a purple calendar marked “religious” that shows mass and confession times. These parts of my life are distinct, segregated, and separate.
I can’t help but wonder what balance means, looking at my Google Calendar. Is balance the moment the screen displays all 10 calendars in their spectral vibrance? Or might it mean something the website can’t quite depict—unscheduled, quality time to myself, with others, or with God? Balance is this elusive subject that seems to be the obsession of “thought leaders,” self-help authors, and the motivational parts of YouTube, yet one that some of the most successful people don’t seem to have. In other words, the 0.01% of doers seem absolutely obsessed with their end goal—and likely achieve it—at the expense of their closest relationships.
Steve Jobs and Elon Musk come to mind when talking about this elite group—both people I tend to admire. I love their drive, their commitment, even their brutality at times. “That’s what’s required to be successful,” I might think. But then I look at their personal lives: the divorces, the paternity denial, the burned bridges of former employees. This summer, I watched a documentary on famous Hollywood directors that asked the question, “Do you have to be an asshole to be successful?” No, I don’t want to believe that. So there’s this other part of me that rejects that familial and relational imbalance. I want a family, and a strong family at that. But I also want that astounding success. It doesn’t seem you can have it all—but that’s not what we’re told.
A major factor in our generation, of course, is FOMO—fear of missing out. I don’t mean this in the sense of “going out or staying in on a Friday night” but a much deeper, sobering, nagging question: “was my potential misused?” There’s an incredible fear of what might have become of us, what could’ve been. Maybe if I had focused all my energy into piano when I began lessons at age 5, maybe if I had chosen that Ivy League, maybe if I had worked out every day, maybe if I had paid attention in class—I might be…something.
This is such a harmful mantra, but it only gets reinforced by our infinitely scrollable feeds. Everyone on Instagram has ridiculous vacations, is incredibly fit, and has happy friends. They cook Food-network-like meals and can scrapbook like Martha Stewart. They’re also artists, but nail the candid didn’t-know-the-camera-was-catching-me-laugh pose. It’s the new social currency, and it makes us feel like we’re deficient in most parts of our lives. But we’re not, we’re all human. Being a rockstar in one area likely means deficiency in another. If you’ve ever read about the training regimen it takes to be a Marvel character, you’d likely realize that’s not the life you want to live.
So can you be a Steve Jobs while maintaining a healthy family life? How much of the screen should the “family” Google calendar take up? I don’t have an answer here yet, but I can tell you most of the people we strive to be like have incredible imbalance in their lives. Life has tradeoffs after all.
So in picking a company to work for, a part of my life that will take up 40 or more hours a week, I’d like to think that I take balance into consideration. I’m looking for a place that prioritizes family, flexibility, and health. I want to feel energized going into work and want success at the company to be measured not by rank but well-being. Of course, maybe that’s not possible—for me at least, that’s asking to have it all.