At this very second, there are families living on boats sailing across the Caribbean and in RVs exploring the midwest. There are women happily raising one kid, eight kids and no kids. There are moms who are breastfeeding and moms who are bottle feeding. Women writing books and writing grant proposals to raise money for the not-for-profit they dreamed of. Right this very second, there are women hiking in the mountains of Tibet and camping in the mountains of Colorado.

Heard of burnout? Yup, most people have. But over the past few years, “brownout” has become recognized as not just a precursor to burnout but as a problem in its own right.

Though more subtle than burnout, brownout has many of the same symptoms and characteristics. You find yourself feeling overwhelmed and overworked. Things that typically bring you joy don’t seem to give you the same boost that they used to. Your productivity dips as does your interest, engagement, and energy.

Next to my desk is a wooden tray, an old-fashioned “inbox.” It typically contains a random pile of papers that need attention, bills that need to be paid, forms that need to be filled out. I suspect you have a similar pile someplace in your life. Some of the tasks that need to get done in that inbox are simple and take just a moment. Fill out the permission slip for my daughter’s field trip to the aquarium, pay the $28 water bill. Others are far more complicated, overwhelming, intimidating or frightening. The unopened bill from a recent sonogram of the lump behind my ear that turned out to be nothing but the cost of which is not covered by insurance. The letter from the Federal Trademark office that it is time to renew our company’s trademark. The incomplete draft of my will.

Throughout our lives, we are often told to keep going. Don’t quit. Hang in there. One step at a time. Just keep moving forward. And often that is good advice. Forward momentum is fantastic and sometimes all you can do is put one foot in front of the other and do the next thing. It is advice that has gotten me through more difficult times than I can count. But sometimes the magic is not found when you simply keep going, doing the same things, the same way, over and over again. Instead, often the magic is in continuing to learn, explore and discover. The magic is continuing to grow. The magic is in knowing that you can continue to grow.

Throughout our lives, we are taught to work hard. We are told that success lies on the other side of hard work. And I've come to believe that is true: life has taught me that nothing comes easy and that consistent, hard work pays off in all kinds of ways.

Walking up the stairs in my house the other day, I noticed a ball of dust and dog hair in the corner of a step. I saw it out of the corner of my eye and kept walking. Later that afternoon, I noticed it again. And then again the next morning. And one more time before I finally picked it up.

Now in my defense, the first time I had walked up the stairs, I had something in my hands and the second time, I was on my way to do something. But, if I’m going to be really honest, with you and with myself, I just didn’t feel like bending over and picking up the dustball.

You do you. Be true. Live your most authentic life and don’t apologize for being who you are. Yeah, yeah, we’ve all heard it before. And on some level, I think we would all love to live a life that is the truest expression of the person we were meant to be. Who wants to go through life living someone else’s version of what happiness is supposed to look like? No one. So why do we do it and, more importantly, how do we stop?

I watched a fascinating video the other day. A university professor surprised his students with a pop quiz. Each was handed a sheet of paper with a single black dot in the center of the page. The assignment? Write an essay about what you see. The kids scratched their heads and looked at one another and at the professor. When it was clear that no further instruction was coming, they got to work. 40 minutes later, they handed in their essays.

The next day, the professor sat behind his desk with the stack of essays sitting in front of him. “Every single one of you,” he began, “wrote about the black dot. No one focused on the white space -- and there was much, much more white space than black dot.”

This is not actually about my back or about lifting weights. It is about learning to take the win. Learning to stop before you are exhausted and burned out. Learning to look at what we have accomplished with joy and satisfaction instead of beating ourselves up for the things still left to do.

Motivation is a myth. Wait, I know what you are thinking. It is motivation I need. If I just had enough motivation, I’d be able to conquer the world. Or, at least, crush my goals. Motivation is everything.

But here’s the thing. Most of us equate motivation with a feeling that we want to take a particular action. Meaning, you think if you were motivated, you would feel like making a green smoothie for breakfast, walking on a cloudy day, saving for retirement or getting off social media and back to work. You’re convinced that if you wanted the end result enough, you’d feel like doing the work needed to get there.

And that is the myth.

I wake up in the same body, in the same house, beside the same husband, with the same two kids sleeping down the hall, and the same dog sleeping at the foot of my bed. I have the same job. I have the same long, long list of things to do. So why is it that some days I feel hopeful, positive, and optimistic and other days bored, depressed, and afraid of the future?

My sister is a designer for one of the top jewelers in the world. Her office is flanked by hundreds of drawers holding tens-of-thousands of semi-precious stones in every imaginable shade, shape, and size. Each day, she is charged with combining those stones into dozens of beautiful creations. Each day, she leaves work exhausted. Why? Decision fatigue.

Walk # 56 from Walk Your Way to Better: We’ve all heard it, over and over and over: money can’t buy happiness. But, well, let’s face it—rich people look happier. They look like they take more vacations and have more adventures. They look healthier. They dress better. They live in more beautiful homes and drive fancier cars. They have people to clean their homes and cook their meals. All in all, they look happier.

I don’t recall where we were and I don’t recall what we were doing. I don’t remember how old I was, or whether this was during the decade in which I was practicing law in New York City, or the two decades I was raising kids while building businesses. Whenever it was, I have no doubt that I was busy. Probably too busy. “The key to happiness,” my brilliant and insightful friend Lorelei said, “is being the right amount of busy.”

Years ago, I read a novel about vampires and demons. The demons fed on drama and intrigue and thrived on the suffering of others. The vampires required the lifeblood of others in order to survive. While some controlled their appetite sufficiently by taking just a sip here and a sip there, others, well, once they got started, they sucked their victims dry. I realized that, metaphorically, vampires and demons live among us.

Last summer, I was at the beach watching a dad take his three-year-old into the ocean. As soon as the little boy touched the water, he was off, his little arms and legs motoring. Within seconds, he was five feet away. The dad tore off his t-shirt, tossed it to the beach and went after his bobbing toddler. The shirt landed on the beach, so close to the water’s edge that one big wave was sure to sweep it away. I got up from my beach chair, grabbed the dad’s t-shirt and moved it out of the reach of the coming tide. And I felt a tiny bit happier.

In the late 1960s, a researcher from Stanford University began a series of experiments that have become known as the Marshmallow Study. The premise was fairly simple. A group of young kids (mostly ages four and five) were invited into a room and offered two choices: they could enjoy a single marshmallow treat right away, or they could wait fifteen minutes—with the marshmallow right in front of them—and if they were able to refrain from eating the marshmallow for fifteen minutes, they were given two marshmallows to eat. Turns out that the kids who were able to delay gratification experienced greater success . . . for the rest of their lives.

There is an old story that is ascribed to the Cherokee that captures how to amplify the voices that encourage us to be the best version of ourselves and quiet the voices that spew doubt, fear, and shame. this. It goes something like this.

Most people talk about seeing the beauty. But I believe you need to find the beauty. Beautiful things are not always obvious. Often, they are buried, hidden. Beauty can be found sneaking through the edge of a storm cloud, tucked inside the muck of a crusty oyster shell, or in the mess that becomes your kitchen when children decide to bake cookies. Beauty can be found in loss and pain and fear. Beauty can be found in the simplest of moments, but only if you look.

For the past six months, I’ve made few plans. I have, as my mother advises at times like this, “circled the wagons.” I’ve kept my family close. I’ve spent as little money as possible. I’ve taken little risk. I’ve set few goals -- how can you know what goal to set when you have no idea what tomorrow will bring -- and the goals I have set I’ve second-guessed or abandoned. But now more. It is time to set a course.