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{{first_name}},
I had the title. I had the team. I had the respect.
I also had a resting heart rate of 100bpm and a sense of dread every Sunday night.
I thought, "If I just work harder, I'll clear the chaotic
feeling."
So I worked harder. I became ultra-efficient. I was a machine.
But here's the thing about machines:
They don't heal. They break.
The crash wasn't a loud explosion. It was a Tuesday morning.
I sat in my car in the parking lot, unable to turn the key. My body simply said: No
more.
I went looking for a fix:
- I tried meditation. (Too quiet)
- I tried talk therapy. (Too slow)
- I tried vacation. (Didn't last)
Then I met a potter who taught me about gold.
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