The Most Expensive Yes

A couple of months ago we were getting ready for a family event when I asked my son if he was coming. He looked up and said, "No. I don't have the social battery today." I laughed and asked what he meant. He said, "If it's just family, that's one thing. That's not a lot of cognitive load. But new people, a new place, making conversation all day? I just don't have it today." Then he went back to his morning like nothing had happened.

I stood there for a second. He knew his answer. He knew the reason underneath it.

I remember thinking, Wow, I would love to be that decisive.

That moment stayed with me, because for most of my life I never gave myself enough time to find my own answer. If someone asked me to do something, my answer was almost always yes. Saying no was never the hard part. I genuinely loved saying yes. I love creating. I love new ideas. I love the energy of building something from nothing. If someone invited me into something interesting, I was already imagining how to make it work before they finished asking.

I always believed I could figure it out. For a long time, I usually did.

Until one day I couldn't.

A few years ago I agreed to give another talk. I wish I could tell you it was an incredible opportunity that changed my life. It wasn't. It was a good opportunity, the kind you say yes to because it sounds interesting and you know you can do a good job. The problem was my plate was already overflowing. I was working full time, just back from vacation, and closing out a pro bono consulting project. But I did what I always did. I said yes and trusted it would all work out.

The night before the presentation I was still working on slides after everyone else had gone to bed. One more change, then another. Midnight came and went. One o'clock became two. The next morning I woke up exhausted. I skipped my workout because something had to give. I walked into that presentation knowing I wasn't bringing my best work. It went ok.

I had worked too hard to be that tired.

I drove home thinking, this has to change.

The late night was the symptom. What I saw on that drive home was the pattern. I had been borrowing from tomorrow to pay for today's yes for years.

Tomorrow missed the workout. Tomorrow was exhausted. Tomorrow was less patient. Tomorrow got whatever was left after today's enthusiasm wore off.

For years I thought the fix was getting better at saying no.

The real change was much simpler. When someone asks me to do something now, I almost never answer in the moment. I say, "Let me get back to you." That one sentence has saved me from more resentment than any else I've ever tried.

At first it felt awkward. I worried people would think I wasn't interested. I worried they'd move on. Almost nobody reacted the way I imagined. They waited. Sometimes they found another solution. Sometimes I still said yes. Sometimes I said no. The world kept turning.

The only thing that changed was me. I finally gave myself enough space to ask a question I had skipped for years. Do I actually want to do this? Not, can I squeeze it in or can I make it work. The answer isn't always no. Sometimes it's an enthusiastic yes. The difference is that now it's my answer.

Looking back, the most expensive yes was the automatic one. The one I gave before I stopped long enough to hear myself. The presentation cost me one night. The automatic yes cost me years of them.

Maybe that's why my son's answer stayed with me. He trusted himself enough to tell the truth. I'm still learning that.

What's the yes sitting in front of you right now? Before you answer it, borrow my sentence. Let me get back to you. Then ask yourself the most important question. Do you actually want this?

What is your most expensive yes? The one you are still resenting yourself or someone for. Hit reply. I love hearing from you.

Until next Tuesday.
Ceaneh