The disappearing act
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You can build something you’re really proud of and completely lose yourself inside of it. Nobody warns you about that part.
My mom called me a few months ago. Normal Tuesday night check-in, nothing special. She asked how I was doing and I started talking about work. A trip I had coming up, a speaking gig, some guests I was lining up for the podcast, how the newsletter was growing. I was three minutes into it when she cut me off.
“Scott. I asked how you’re doing. Not the business. You.”
I went quiet. Tried to switch gears. And I realized I didn’t have an answer. Like, I literally could not produce a sentence about how I was feeling that didn’t route back through a metric or a project or something I was building. I mumbled something about being busy, being good, the usual stuff you say when you don’t actually know.
She wasn’t buying it. Moms never do. They’re the one person in your life who will never accept your highlight reel as an answer. She wanted to know if I was sleeping, if I’d done anything fun recently. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done something that had zero connection to work.
That conversation stayed with me. Not because she said anything profound. Because I couldn’t answer a simple question about my own life.
