A Fulfilling Life Is Made Up of Fulfilling Days
rethinking the reflexive yes to invite deeply satisfying experiences
This might be the worst question ever: Are you living up to your potential?
I can’t imagine a more stifling idea, yet it guided much of my life. I believed I was obliged to enact my maximal function, making optimal use of my capabilities and resources for public benefit. Failing to “fulfill my potential” would make me a disappointment and burden to my parents, family, teachers, and society.
The inevitable judgement: I am failing. The frustration: This is impossible. Anger toward the setters of standards and those blocking my required ideal.
What nonsense. Potential is unfulfillable. Fulfillment is an internal experience.
Better questions, for your journal:
What have been your most fulfilling experiences?
What makes those memories so meaningful?
What does fulfillment feel like?
What does a fulfilling day look like for you?
I dove into this concept of unfulfilled potential in a Boundaries at Work event last week for Generalist World, a community of professionals whose varied skills have led us to “squiggly” (rather than linear) careers. This versatility attracts scope creep, as it can be difficult to know what is not the job of a generalist. Even in specialized fields, many people hold increasingly demanding roles with teams, projects, and associations. Of course, we’re also plugged into an online environment of endless options to learn skills, build networks, and create content.
Imagine: You MUST succeed exceptionally in your one perfect career path.
How does the idea of “fulfilling your potential” land in your body? Are you stressed yet? Sense the singe of burnout? My nervous system is crackling with the thought. How could I possibly consider every option? How could I ever hope to know the “best” use of my time, let alone “fulfill” what is always expanding?
Beware the reflexive yes
A common response to this quagmire is what I call the reflexive yes. This shortcut to apparent clarity treats others’ requests as oracles, satisfying our people-pleasing instincts while sparing us from decision fatigue. The more pressure we feel to do the right thing and find the right answer, the easier it is to interpret requests as mandates, even when we have many ways to weigh in, opt out, or offer alternatives.
In practical terms, when you’re in reflexive-yes mode, you accommodate others whenever possible. You may point to personal reasons — such as being helpful or career advancement — but the reflexive yes actually precedes reasoning. You’re not filtering through anticipated social and professional benefits relative to required time, attention, and energy, identifying this opportunity as the best available way to be help people or advance your career. You default to yes instinctively (unless there’s an obvious conflict with another obligation) and backfill the specific reason.
The upside is a temporary sense of harmony. But when saying no feels impossible, we overcommit. At the extreme, we sacrifice fundamental aspects of our wellbeing like rest, exercise, and time with loved ones. Ironically, this unsustainable arrangement leads to burnout and the eventual abandonment of commitments, so self-sacrifice is a mirage. There’s no opting out of your body’s requirements. Something will give.
But long before our bodies reach crisis, the reflexive yes takes away our creative power. The biggest problem with the reflexive yes, and why I wrote the book 50 Ways to Say NO, is that we don’t see what we’re losing when we don’t consider alternatives.
I relate this idea of potential and decision making to the concept of superposition in quantum physics. (What do you call a generalist’s professional role? A superposition!) Like a particle in its wavefunction — existing neither precisely here nor there but rather as a range of probabilities — a person is capable of a vast array of potential actions.
This quantum state, however, is unstable. As soon as the particle/individual hits something decisive (like a photon, request, or illness), it collapses to a finite state.
Each reflexive yes, by committing you to that one possibility, exacts a profound cost: irretrievable life energy that might have gone to any number of alternatives. And as Wes Kao (cofounder of Maven) pointed out in a recent Generalist World masterclass, that chunk of your life is triple the size you think it is because we consistently underestimate time requirements by a factor of three.
That thing you said yes to, imagining it will take a couple hours? That’s an entire day.
Now imagine: You have an entire day for anything you want. How do you use it?
What finally shifted me out of the nightmare of overwhelm and self-judgement was an understanding of fulfillment as an internal rather than an external state. Fulfillment is not a positive evaluation of my accomplishments or contributions. It’s a feeling.
For me, it’s a deep alignment between my heart and my attention. In a state of fulfillment, I love what I’m doing. I feel warm and expansive. I’m deeply present, connected, and tuned in. Potential becomes irrelevant. There is nothing else.
Not every day is like this. But fulfilling days are becoming more common as I replace the reflexive yes with my favorite all-purpose boundaries-boosting phrase:
“Let me think on it and get back to you.”
This phrase opens the space to consider: If this commitment takes three times as long as I’m expecting, how much of my life will it consume? What would be the upside? Are there any alternatives I would rather explore? Is this even the most effective way to pursue what I think I’m getting?
Even more importantly, it gives me a chance to drop the thinking altogether and check in with my feelings.
Do I want this?
What do I feel when I imagine it?
Does it feel like an internal YES?
I’ve clawed back a lot of time in recent years. Not everyone’s happy about it, but it’s been great for my closest friends and family. I’m a lot nicer to be around when I’m not resentful and exhausted. I have much more to offer the people I love best.
Interestingly, my career has not suffered. Instead it has evolved in thrilling new directions as I’ve reallocated time and focus to things I’m genuinely excited about. Interrupting the reflexive yes has enabled me to perceive better-aligned opportunities.
I love feeling this fulfilled.
For your journal:
What would make your work days more fulfilling?
What are you ready to say no to?
What strategies do you use to interrupt the reflexive yes?
More Resources:
🏕️ Summer Journaling Camp — Explore your authentic yes and no in a playful, guided journey of self-discovery. Enrollment opens soon: Join the waitlist to be notified when doors open and get a free guide to my favorite journaling exercise.
🚫 50 Ways to Say NO — Go-to phrases to protect your boundaries and why they work. Also available as a card deck.
Thanks! I really needed this today.