What if doing more is taking away my freedom?

This week I saw a post from Tim Ferriss that felt heaven-sent. In three images it said, more or less, that most things don’t make a real difference; that being busy can be a form of mental laziness; and that productivity isn’t about doing more, but about being selective, focusing on the few important things and ignoring the rest.

It made me uncomfortable.

Not because I disagreed, but because I felt it was talking to me.

For a long time I’ve considered myself a distracted person. I’ve struggled to focus and many times I’ve been very hard on myself for it. I’ve felt that I should be more disciplined, stay longer on one thing and not let every conversation, problem or possibility open up a new idea for me.

But over the years I also came to understand that this apparent distraction has another side. My creativity, my curiosity and an important part of my contribution at work live there. One of my most valuable abilities has been connecting things that seemed separate, simplifying complex problems, producing ideas and finding solutions that are fast enough, creative and aligned with value. I’ve done it in business, at work, in my family and in my personal life.

That’s why I’ve never wanted to switch off that part of me. It would also mean switching off one of my best abilities.

The problem isn’t having a lot of ideas. The problem begins when every idea gains the right to become a project or an action.

Creativity under anxiety

Lately I’ve been feeling anxious. Sometimes about money; other times about emotional and personal matters. And when the anxiety rises, an insistent question shows up in me: what else can I do?

What business could I start? What opportunity am I not seeing? What project could produce results faster? What other door could I open while I wait for the one I really need to open?

I don’t feel I do it to escape my problems. On the contrary, I want to solve them. I want to meet my responsibilities, regain stability and reduce risk. But anxiety quietly changes the criteria I use to evaluate ideas. I stop asking myself what matters most, where I have a real advantage or what can build up value over time, and I start asking which idea could save me fastest.

Every new possibility feels like a way out. It also feels like a small dose of control.

The risk is that, trying to move faster, I start spreading my attention thin. I open up possibilities that also need time, capital, energy and patience before they produce anything. Then I neglect, not necessarily my responsibilities, but the depth with which I could be building what already exists.

The urgency to get quick results can end up delaying the result I need.

The things that are already there

The farms helped me see it clearly. They are real assets that already exist and have important potential. And yet many times, instead of first focusing on making them more productive, more profitable and better run, I’ve thought about all the businesses I could build around them.

I’ve imagined consulting, a vehicle to finance cattle operations, products, content and several other things. Some were interesting ideas. Others probably didn’t make much sense. But almost all of them added a new layer of complexity before solving the essential problem.

The farm was still there.

It needed financing, execution, better production systems, partners and a governance structure that separated family relationships from the responsibilities of the business. The path wasn’t mysterious. It was hard, slow and depended partly on decisions and people I don’t control.

And there I understood something: maybe I didn’t have too many projects running, but I did have too many projects open inside my head. I imagined them, started to structure them, noticed they could distract me, stopped them and then carried the frustration of feeling I hadn’t done that either.

Unfinished ideas also consume attention.

When what matters moves slowly

One part of this story would be very easy if what matters responded at the speed you want. But it doesn’t always work that way. Getting financing, selling an asset, finding an investor or structuring a partnership takes time. Sometimes you’ve already done what you could do and you still have to wait.

The hard part is that the important results can take six months, while the obligations arrive every thirty days.

That gap creates fear. Fear that it won’t move forward. Fear that it will take too long. Fear that the thing the next step depends on will never happen. And when that fear shows up, doing anything else can feel better than waiting.

Activity gives an immediate sense of movement. A new idea answers back; a new opportunity excites; an extra task is up to you. Waiting for something important to mature, on the other hand, confronts us with the limits of our control.

Maybe that’s why filling ourselves up with things can be so seductive. We don’t always do it because we’re lazy or unable to prioritize. Sometimes we do it because being busy calms, for a moment, the fear of not being able to control the pace of the result that really matters. But feeling in motion is not the same as moving forward.

What mattered was already fairly clear

When I did the exercise of imagining that my obligations were covered for the next six months, it didn’t take me long to answer what I would do.

I would dedicate myself to my current job. To the few responsibilities that really have impact. To concentrating the effort on the two product lines where we have the most clarity today. To not keep opening products just because scientifically they sound interesting, if they don’t yet have a clear path.

I would also focus on financing and developing the farm: getting the resources, executing the rotation, structuring the cattle operation well, building partnerships that add capabilities and leaving in place a governance that can sustain the project over time.

And I would work on recovering my financial freedom. That’s it.

The answer wasn’t hidden. Anxiety had covered it with options.

That’s why some ideas should go on a list that says “could be interesting, but not now.” Others deserve an even more honest decision: probably never. Not because they’re impossible or because I lack the ability to execute them, but because doing everything I could imagine is incompatible with the life I want to build.

Freedom also requires giving things up

I want financial freedom, emotional freedom and freedom of time.

Financial freedom, for me, isn’t an abstract number. It’s being able to meet my responsibilities, choose the things I enjoy and get something I want without turning every decision into a source of anguish.

Freedom of time is being able to live those things, be with the people I love, explore, learn, rest and enjoy without feeling I should always be tending to another front.

Emotional freedom is taking back command of myself. That my inner state doesn’t depend completely on an answer, on a third party, on a negotiation or on some outside circumstance.

And then an obvious contradiction appears: the more things I put on my life, the less financial freedom I have, because every project demands resources; the less freedom of time, because every project requires attention; and the less emotional freedom, because every open front adds a new source of uncertainty.

Many times I’ve looked for freedom by adding things. Maybe I should start building it by choosing better.

Doing less isn’t giving up freedom. It’s ceasing to mortgage it.

A place for ideas

This doesn’t mean I should distrust every new idea or become someone closed to possibilities. Coming up with ideas, analyzing them and learning from them also has value. My creativity doesn’t need to disappear; it needs to occupy the right place.

Ideas can live in a backlog. They can go through filters: what’s their impact, what’s their complexity, what resources do they require, how much time do they demand, how much do they add, do I have a real advantage, can I build them on something that already exists or do they mean starting from zero.

And, above all, they must answer one question: does this strengthen my core or create another world I’ll also have to sustain?

If I find a technology for cattle, I don’t have to immediately turn it into a new company. First I can use it to run my farm better, increase its productivity, learn how it’s implemented, who should operate it and what value it really creates. The idea can be useful without claiming for itself a company, a brand and another part of my life.

I don’t have to execute everything I’m capable of imagining.

Putting energy where life should grow

Saying “not now” doesn’t give me a sense of loss. It brings me calm. Also faith, hope and a certain assurance that I’m not abandoning anything essential. I’m putting my energy where it should be today.

I want my work to grow. I want the farm to grow. I want to recover my stability and my financial freedom. I want an abundant life, not only in money, but also in time, peace, experiences and the capacity to enjoy myself. I want to know myself better and better and feel again that I’m the one driving my life.

I trust that if I act with clarity, discipline and intention, God will also walk with me on this path.

Maybe being productive doesn’t consist of doing everything you can do. Maybe it consists of choosing what deserves to receive a part of our life and protecting it from everything else, even from our own good ideas.

Because attention isn’t only a work resource.

Attention is the life we’re handing over.

And being selective, in the end, can be one of the deepest ways to recover freedom.