The Pull That Won’t Quit
Five hours this morning digging sweet potatoes. Physical work—lifting, carrying, the kind that reminds you exactly how old your body is. Came home, showered, grabbed a coffee from 7-Eleven around lunchtime.
Then I sat down at the computer.
Table of Contents
Not to rest. Not to zone out with some mindless entertainment. To work on my Duolingo streak, check my to-do list, and dive into this blog. Again.
Here’s what’s interesting: a few weeks ago, one of my schools closed. I lost students. Most people in my position would be scrambling to replace that income—reaching out to new students, advertising, hustling. I haven’t given it much thought.
Not because I don’t need the money—I absolutely do. But because something else keeps pulling my attention. The blog. The writing. The building of something that doesn’t pay me a single yen right now but won’t let go of my focus.
When one thing pulls this hard, how do you juggle anything else?
Have you ever had something consume your attention even when logic says you should be focused elsewhere?
“It’s All About Balance”
Years ago, I worked as a caregiver for a quadriplegic friend—my boss, my roommate, someone I genuinely respected. He was mostly independent, but I helped with morning and evening routines. He had every reason to be bitter about life’s limitations, but he wasn’t. He had ambitions, stayed cool under pressure, and navigated challenges that would break most people.
He used to remind me: “It’s all about balance.”
Coming from him, that phrase meant something. A man dealing with extreme physical limitations, teaching me about finding equilibrium. Not as some motivational poster slogan, but as hard-won wisdom from someone who understood what it meant to manage competing demands with limited resources.
I’ve carried that phrase with me. When I’m frustrated, overwhelmed, exhausted from work—I hear his voice. “It’s all about balance.”
But here’s what I’m still figuring out: what does that actually mean when one thing pulls harder than everything else?
My friend had to juggle his physical limitations with his ambitions—survival demanded it. But what about when the imbalance isn’t forced by circumstance? What about when you’re choosing the imbalance, even when you know you probably shouldn’t?
The Drive That Doesn’t Make Sense
Here’s the part I’m still trying to understand: why am I so driven to work on this blog when there’s no guarantee it’ll ever pay me?
I work farming and teaching because I need the money. I have bills piling up, debts to catch up on. Logic says I should be spending every spare moment finding more teaching clients, replacing that lost income from the school that closed.
Instead, I’m here. Writing. Tweaking CSS at 3 AM. Thinking about post ideas while I’m supposed to be sleeping. Feeling relieved when rain cancels farming because it means a full day for the blog.
It’s not rational. But it’s real.
I think it’s about building something long-term, even when there’s no immediate payoff. Some kind of faith that consistent effort toward something meaningful will eventually matter, even if I can’t see how yet.
Or maybe it’s just obsession disguised as ambition. Hard to tell sometimes.
What pulls at your attention even when logic says you should focus elsewhere?
What Won’t Let Go of You?
I can’t be the only one dealing with this. What pulls at your attention even when logic says you should focus elsewhere?
Maybe it’s a creative project that doesn’t pay. Maybe it’s a hobby that consumes more time than it should. Maybe it’s learning something new when you already have enough on your plate.
Maybe it’s a relationship that needs more than you can give. Maybe it’s a cause you can’t stop thinking about. Maybe it’s just the pull toward rest when responsibilities keep stacking up.
The thing that won’t let go looks different for everyone. But the tension—the question of managing what demands your time versus what demands your attention—that’s universal.
When Finding Your Rhythm Means Different Things
My friend’s wisdom—”it’s all about balance”—made sense coming from him. He had to navigate physical limitations against ambitions. Clear trade-offs. Obvious constraints.
But my situation is different. The computer work after farming? That is my rest—at least physically. Five hours digging sweet potatoes doesn’t tire me mentally much. The physical labor is grounding, but my mind stays relatively quiet during it.
Sitting at the computer provides physical rest while engaging my mind. Teaching provides conversation and connection. Farming provides movement and purpose. In a way, they complement each other naturally—different kinds of energy, different kinds of engagement.
There’s actually a peaceful pleasure in moving between them. Physical work in the morning, mental work in the afternoon. Hands in the dirt one day, fingers on keys the next.
The Focus Part
What helps is staying present with whatever I’m doing. When I’m digging potatoes, I remind myself to focus on the potatoes—not drift off thinking about blog tasks waiting at home. Time doesn’t drag when you’re fully engaged in the work in front of you. It only feels like a slog when you’re wishing you were somewhere else.
But here’s the tension: even when I manage to stay focused during farming, there’s still that pull. That quiet anticipation of getting home to the computer. Not because farming is bad—it’s good, honest work. But because the blogging won’t let go of my attention.
The line between healthy devotion and unhealthy obsession gets blurry when you’re the one standing on it. Is that obsession disguised as ambition? Maybe. But it’s also the most engaged I’ve felt about anything in years.
How do you stay present with what’s in front of you when something else keeps calling?
The Honest Part About Money
Meanwhile, teaching income dropped when that school closed. Students shifted to online lessons, which is fine—we still have good conversations about life, out-of-body experiences, whatever they want to talk about.
Here’s where it gets complicated: I do work when it’s offered. My farming boss asked if I was busy next Monday—a national holiday. I said I could work as usual. I often volunteer for extra shifts now that I live alone and have less reason to skip work. There’s even talk of another worker leaving soon, which might mean more hours for me.
But I also make choices that don’t maximize income. That boss whose school closed—they moved further away and eventually closed the school room. When they needed help with a company lesson, I’d sometimes give up a farming day to cover it—even though farming pays better once you factor in travel time. It felt right to help them.
He once told me, years ago, that one of my weaknesses was staying loyal to small schools when the real money was probably in business English at companies—something I’d done in the past. He was right. I’m a people pleaser, someone who likes working alongside good people more than chasing the highest paycheck.
Next month I’m scheduled to visit that company three times for him—but this time on my days off, so I’m not losing farming income. Learning, I guess. Slowly.
So earlier I said I haven’t given much thought to replacing lost income—that’s not quite accurate. I am working. I’m just not chasing the most profitable work because other things matter more—relationships, loyalty, and yeah, time to build this blog that might eventually become something.
My friend would probably say “it’s all about balance.” But my version apparently involves choosing meaningful work over maximum profit, staying loyal to good people even when it costs me, and spending whatever time is left building something long-term that doesn’t pay me yet.
Maybe that’s not equilibrium. Maybe that’s just my priorities showing.
Have you ever chosen meaningful work over more profitable work? What made you do it?
What About You?
I can’t be the only one dealing with this kind of pull. What won’t let go of your attention, even when logic says you should focus elsewhere?
Maybe it’s a creative project that doesn’t pay but keeps calling you back. Maybe it’s learning something new when your plate is already full. Maybe it’s a cause you can’t stop thinking about, or a relationship that needs more than you can reasonably give.
Maybe you’re great at juggling priorities and you’ve figured out how to give appropriate attention to everything that matters. Or maybe you’re like me—leaning hard in one direction while trying to convince yourself it’s still sustainable.
What won’t let go of your time and attention, even when you know you should probably focus elsewhere?
How do you know when devotion is healthy versus when it’s tipping into obsession? When do you lean into the pull, and when do you force yourself back toward center?
My friend taught me “it’s all about balance,” but he never said it looks the same for everyone. Maybe your version involves equal time for competing demands. Maybe mine involves accepting that some seasons lean heavier in one direction.
I’d genuinely like to know: What pulls at you? How do you handle the thing that demands more attention than it probably should? Do you fight it, lean into it, or find some middle ground I haven’t figured out yet?
Share your version of this—the thing that pulls harder than logic says it should, and how you’re managing it (or not). No judgment here, just curious about how others navigate their own way of staying centered.
I respond to every comment, and your experience often helps others more than mine does.
