Work vs Time
Dec 04, 2019
By Matthew Piling
Working two jobs has often left me feeling trapped. The income we’ve needed has always been a blessing, and I know many would be grateful for a steady paycheck. But after putting in over 80 hours a week, there’s barely any time or energy left for anything else. And there’s so much else I want and need to put my time and energy into! It’s a frustrating conundrum — feeling pulled to do more important things than work, but needing the work to afford the resources to do those things.
I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure out how to work smarter, not harder — to create greater value in less time, and earn more income. The plan was that this greater income would let me work less, meet our needs, and free up time for what truly matters.
The theory sounded perfect, but reality rarely matched. Over the years, I’ve earned raises and found better jobs. But the extra income never solved the problem. In fact, it often tempted me to work even more hours to “buy my freedom.” But the physical and emotional toll of those extra hours — or the increased responsibilities that came with new roles — always canceled out any gains. I ended up too exhausted or distracted to use the time I thought I’d gained for anything meaningful. While it’s true that man isn’t required to run faster than he has strength, I often wished I could just run a little farther.
One night, during a quiet moment at work, I found myself stewing in negativity. I felt like a victim of my circumstances. I needed to work because I’d chosen to provide at a certain level for my family. But those efforts were blocking me from doing the even greater things I felt called to do. I thought I’d never break the cycle — the cards were stacked against me and there was nothing I could do. I knew this mindset was surrendering my power, but I didn’t know how to fix it. I was stuck.
Frustrated, I grabbed my journal and started sorting through my thoughts. As I wrote, a clear realization came: not only was I causing and perpetuating my situation with my thinking, but I was doing it to protect myself.
Our brains are wired to shield us from perceived pain or threats. They don’t always explain what they’re protecting us from or how our default behaviors soften those blows. But there’s always a reason behind what they drive us to do. If we ask intentionally, we can uncover why we fall into certain habits — and replace them proactively with better strategies.
In my case, deep soul searching revealed I was clinging to my two jobs to avoid growth. If I kept myself exhausted, pouring my energy into something good like providing for my family, I wouldn’t have to face painful personal demons blocking me from my greater purpose — and no one would question it. In fact, I’d even get praise: “Wow, you work so hard to provide! That’s so noble!” My martyr’s mask felt justified, but it boxed me in even tighter.
What a frustrating truth! My grueling, relentless schedule was a creature of my own making. I was my own worst enemy — no one else to blame.
That realization was so freeing. Understanding why I was stuck and knowing I had control allowed me to re-examine everything. I’m still adapting and adjusting, but I’m more aligned with my purpose than ever — and it feels amazing. I’ve gone from dreading my jobs to seeing them as fuel for my dreams. Don’t get me wrong — I still want to quit when the time is right, but I no longer feel trapped.
Whatever effects you experience in life have causes. And as co-creators with God, we must acknowledge that we are the cause. If we don’t, we’re handing over the driver’s seat — then wondering why the bus isn’t headed where we want. When we take the wheel, everything changes. We still depend on Him for fuel, directions, and good traffic, but we get to choose the destination. It all comes down to cause and effect. We are the cause, 100% of the time. Control slips away only when we give it up. That responsibility might sound heavy — but to flip a familiar phrase, with great responsibility comes great power. And that power is ours.