A few years ago I realized that if I’m too busy to take something on, I shouldn’t say “I don’t have the time”. In fact, I often do have the time. It’s not that hard to squeeze in some extra time for someone. What I don’t have – and what I can’t squeeze in – is more attention. Attention is a far more limited resource than time. So what I should say is “I don’t have the attention”. I may have 8 hours a day for work, but I probably have 4 hours a day for attention.

One summer, a guy wrote me out of the blue asking if he could intern for me. His email was great – clear, thoughtful, kind, inviting, confident but not pushy, and not too long (but long enough to say what he had to say without leaving anything out). He was studying at Harvard Business School and was going to be back in Chicago that summer. He asked if he could swing by and say hi. His email made it easy for me to say yes. So he did, and we had a great session. We spent maybe an hour or so together. I learned about his background, what kind of stuff he was interested in, what he wanted to learn, what he could teach us, etc. Then we riffed on a few ideas. It was natural, flowing, effortless. Really promising.

I realized I had the time. Every day is the same 24 hour cycle. Every workday around 8 hours. Surely I could have found even 20 minutes a day to work with him. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that I couldn’t find the time. I couldn’t find the attention — especially sustained attention. My mind fills up with a few key projects and that’s it. I’m absorbed by those. That’s where my attention is. Had I made 20 minutes here and there for him, I’d be physically present in that moment, but mentally I’d be elsewhere. And that’s not fair to either of us.

Your body knows before your mind catches up. There's a particular quality of avoidance that feels different from regular procrastination — it's more like watching yourself walk around a hole in the ground, pretending it's not there while your entire route gets shaped by where you refuse to step.

resistance isn't a wall to be knocked down or a problem to be solved. It's information. It's your psyche pointing directly at the place where you've decided you end and something else begins. It's the exact spot where you're most invested in staying who you think you are.

The invitation isn’t to become fearless — that’s another performance — it’s to get curious about what you’re protecting by staying afraid. What identity are you maintaining by not touching this thing? What story about yourself gets to stay intact as long as you keep circling?

Most of what we resist doing holds grief just beneath the surface. We're mourning the version of ourselves that gets to remain small and safe and uncomplicated. We're grieving the luxury of not knowing what we're capable of. That grief doesn’t mean stop — it just means something old in you is being asked to end

the thing you're avoiding isn't usually as difficult as the elaborate system you've built around it. The email doesn't get longer the more you wait to write it. The conversation you've been dreading takes fifteen minutes. The project that feels impossible has a first step that takes an hour.

Your resistance has its own ecology. It feeds on distance and abstraction. It grows stronger when you think about it. In reality, it’s more like a shadow — one that only exists when you’re not looking directly at it.

turn around the way you might approach a spooked animal — curious, present, not trying to fix or conquer anything.

This is about discovering that you can be afraid and still show up. You can be uncertain and still take a step. You can feel like you're about to fall apart and still send the email, have the conversation, start the thing.

The change isn't in the doing — it's in being willing to be transformed by it. It's in letting yourself discover that you're bigger than you thought, stranger than you imagined, more resilient than your protective mechanisms would have you believe

It’s the trembling before your next becoming.

What you're avoiding isn't just a task or a conversation or a project. It’s the version of you that stops waiting to be more ready than this. It's the end of the story where you're too afraid to find out what happens next