I’LL JUST GET THROUGH THIS WEEK.
Work pressure is a bit like tyre pressure. Too little and you don’t get very far. Too much and eventually someone starts checking whether you’re about to explode. So we keep adjusting it. One more deadline. One more meeting. One more “quick thing.” One more email sent at 11:47 p.m. Eventually, being permanently inflated starts looking suspiciously like competence.
WHY IS THE BANANA BROKEN?
Parenthood comes with its own pressure. More like a hot-air balloon. You keep adding air and hoping everyone stays airborne. Breakfast. Shoes. Nursery. Lost teddy. Forgotten water bottle. A child crying because the banana has been cut incorrectly. Somehow you are responsible for keeping another human emotionally stable while you haven’t had coffee yet. And still, every morning, you launch.
MY WATCH SAYS I’M DOING IT WRONG.
Then there is health pressure. Sleep eight hours. Exercise. Eat vegetables. Drink water. Reduce stress. Get enough sunlight. Your phone reminds you to stand. Your watch judges your sleep. Your app congratulates you for walking 8,000 steps, but quietly lets you know that 10,000 would have been more appropriate. At this point, you’re not sure whether you’re looking after your body or managing it.
WHAT WILL PEOPLE THINK?
Social pressure is particularly impressive because nobody actually hired us for this job. Yet somehow we know the requirements. Have a good career. Be a good parent. Look healthy. Travel. Have hobbies. Be successful, but not annoyingly successful. Be happy, but not suspiciously happy. And whatever you do, make it look effortless. There is apparently a performance review happening somewhere. We just haven’t found the manager.
SO… WHAT IS YOUR PURPOSE?
And then, just when you thought being alive was enough, someone asks about your purpose. You need a calling. A mission. A five-year plan. Ideally something that sounds good on LinkedIn. We are expected to know what we want to do with our one precious life while occasionally forgetting why we walked into the kitchen.
Maybe pressure isn’t always about how much we can handle.
Maybe sometimes it is about how many things we have quietly decided we are supposed to handle.
And perhaps the first pressure valve is simply admitting:
Some of this is ridiculous!
~ Megha.
myhandwrites.com
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