When Effort Isn’t the Answer

image: Li Yang via Unsplash

Most days, it’s easy to just move through the motions.

The next meeting, the next task, the next decision.

I do the thing, check the box, move on.

More recently, I’ve been noticing something quieter… what I’m bringing to those actions. The quality of energy behind them.

There’s the thing I do. And then there’s the energy I do it with.

I’ve started to realize how dramatically that difference shapes my experience. Even when the external action looks identical.

Take daily workouts, for example. I’ve been doing some kind of workout (walk, swim, hike, gym, yoga, etc.) for decades… it’s a pretty steady part of my routine. But recently, I’ve noticed a pattern: the same workout can either fill me up or completely drain me.

Some days, I walk with a lightness. I’m curious to move, curious to see what my body can do. The music’s good, I’m glad to have the time. I leave feeling more alive than when I arrived.

Other days, the motivation is different. I do the activity because I’m afraid of losing progress, or falling behind, or somehow not being enough. And even if the workout looks the same on paper, I leave feeling smaller. Like something in me was taken, not given.

Same action.

Different energy.

And the more I notice that, the more I see it everywhere else.

In how I send an email.

In how I enter a conversation.

In how I offer support, or hold back.

There’s always something humming underneath. I didn’t used to pay attention to it. But now, I can’t not see it.

A few weeks ago while walking our dog Simba, I watched a young kid being asked to clean up their toys in the play field down the street from our home. The parent’s words were kind enough, but the energy behind them wasn’t. You could feel the impatience, the edge of frustration. The young girl pushed back — not against the words, but against the energy.

It reminded me of the moments when I’ve said all the right things but something still felt off. When my tone and intention weren’t in sync. And later I wondered why it didn’t land.

I’ve started to think that behind every action there’s not just a reason, but a tone. Something pre-verbal, emotional, intuitive. It’s like background music — you don’t notice it until you step outside and realize what’s been playing the whole time.

So lately, I’ve been asking myself: What’s my real intention here?

Not the stated one, not the polished reason. The quiet truth underneath.

Am I sharing because I want to contribute, or because I need to be seen?

Am I saying yes from genuine excitement, or from fear of missing out?

Am I reaching out from care, or from insecurity?

The answers aren’t always flattering. But they’re honest. And honesty tends to create its own alignment.

When I bring attention to what’s driving me, the action often changes… or at least how it feels does. Even silence can carry intention. Not speaking out of awareness feels very different than not speaking out of avoidance. And people feel that. I feel that.

I used to think doing the right thing was enough. But now I see that doing is only half of it. The energy behind the doing shapes everything — the impact, the connection, the echo it leaves behind.

I’m not consistent. I still slip into old patterns of proving or protecting. But awareness gives me a choice. Not a performative one, but a quiet one.

When the action and the intention align, there’s a sense of ease. Wholeness. The moment feels clean.

It’s not about performing better.

It’s about being honest with myself about what I’m actually bringing.

Because when I don’t notice, fear or habit or ego will decide for me.

And when I do notice… something softer steps forward.

That’s how I’m learning to be.

Not just to do, but to be in the doing.