Transcriber: Florencia Zotto
Reviewer: Rhonda Jacobs
My name is Renée,
and I'm an addict.
An action junkie.
A woman who regularly
sacrifices her way of being
for the reliable high of doing.
Being willing to name my addiction
was my first real step towards recovery.
A recovery 
I am definetly still on,
but a recovery deeply worth pursuing.
Up until a few years ago,
I convinced myself
I had it pretty well together.
A strong marriage,
two great kids,
enriching and fun friendships,
and a fulfilling career.
Yet, most days,
I still felt empty.
Feeling that who I was, 
what I had, and what I'd done
was not yet enough.
So I chased more.
I did more.
But "more" did not settle my soul,
did not open my heart,
did not strengthen my relationships.
For the most part,
"more" resulted in unhealthy stress,
greater responsibility,
and physical exhaustion.
"More" meant less time
with the people in my life
that mattered most.
"More" ultimately meant
a loss of my true 
sense of self and self-worth.
I remember the first time
I saw myself in my addiction.
It was 2014,
and one morning 
while eating breakfast,
my spoon started clattering 
against my cereal bowl.
I had developed a tremor in my hand,
and a few days later,
I noticed myself speaking with a stutter.
I called my doctor
and she scheduled an MRI.
She was worried about multiple sclerosis.
She shared that my gender
and age bracket
put me in the high-risk patient profile.
Not a recognition any of us want,
but there it was.
I had been working crazy hours,
which included travelling
and getting way too little sleep.
On most days I found it
difficult to breath,
to take that full deep breath
that resets your nervous system
when you need it most.
I also felt trapped.
Trapped by my drive to keep doing,
and yet, at that time in my life,
helpless to change it.
Thankfully, my diagnosis
was not multiple sclerosis.
It was stress.
I'd basically done this to myself.
The possibility of having
a life-changing disease
was definitely an eye-opener.
While I didn't have MS,
I knew that I had been gifted
a clear warning sign.
It was time for me to face my addiction
and acknowledge the negative impact
all my years of doing was having
on my health and on my relationships.
Acknowledging my addiction was necessary.
But not enough.
I needed to rethink and reframe 
my entire concept of doing.
I needed to shift my belief structure
about what it looked like to contribute,
to be seen and acknowledged
not just for what I did,
but for who I was.
And that may sound easy for some;
for me, it was anything but easy.
Not long after my health scare, 
I made one huge change.
In 2015, I left my senior
leadership role in biotech
to pursue work that would
fill my soul and sustain me
without needing to chase 
that next doing fix.
My progress was slow.
Most days I was still chasing
the reliable high
I got from my doing life.
Flash forward to January 2017,
I was attending a women's retreat
with my daughter
on the coast of California.
And it was the closing session
on Sunday morning
and the women were being
invited into the circle
to show the impact that the weekend
could have on their lives.
Most of the women are speaking up,
including my young daughter,
and I'm not.
And my daughter
is prodding me with her eyes
from the other side of the room to share.
She wants me to be the mom she knows.
The one who does without exception.
But in that moment,
maybe for the first time so clearly,
I heard a wiser more authentic voice,
and she said:
"Stay put.
Sit.
Observe.
Receive."
A few seconds later,
a much more familiar voice
came onto the scene, and she said:
"Why are you here 
if you don't step into the circle?
Who are you if you're
not contributing?"
There they were.
These two competing voices 
battling it out within me.
In the end, I had 
to physically leave the room.
And it may not seem
like that significant of a moment,
but somehow, I knew it was.
And as I looked out at the ocean,
I reflected on just how many times
this battle had ensued in my life,
how many times 
this drive in me to do,
to effort, to contribute,
how much it had ruled me in so many ways,
and how few times 
I had given myself permission
to honor that small
but important moment
we are almost always given
before taking action
to pause and decide,
to do or not to do,
and I started thinking: "Wow!"
Imagine all the effort 
I had put into the world.
Imagine all the things that I've done
that have not been authentic,
because they did not come
from a deeper place of knowing
that this is what was even needed
or what I even wanted to do.
And as a leader for the last 25 years,
and a parent for the last 15 years,
how much had my doing life
influenced a doing life in others,
and what had they sacrificed as a result?
My decision to not step 
into the circle that morning
honored a quieter voice in me,
a voice that I have ignored
for so much of my life,
a voice that said:
"You don't have to do this."
And that one small win gave me hope.
Hope that I could actually practice
this in my life more regularly.
And what if one of the choices
I could make for myself going forward
was to do nothing?
To take authentic inaction.
Two words that came 
into my consciousness that morning
as I looked out at the Pacific Ocean.
So what is authentic inaction?
Authentic inaction is
first and foremost, a practice.
It's a practice of slowing down,
being with,
and letting go of our bias towards action.
Authentic inaction is not a choice
between being and doing,
it is about bringing the two into harmony.
Authentic inaction is found
in those small but important moments 
in our day-to-day lives
where we can, and yet rarely do,
connect who we are with what we do.
Authentic inaction invites us
to consciously and resourcefully question
our dominant culture of constantly doing,
achieving,
and improving.
It allows us to live
a less productive life,
a life that acknowledges
the limits of our time,
our attention,
and our energy.
But in return, brings in to sharper focus
what it is we are truly meant to do.
My own three crucible moments:
my tremor,
leaving my corporate life,
and not stepping 
into the circle that morning,
finally convinced me
that I could heal from my addiction.
While I can still easily 
be drawn in by my need to do,
I have stayed on my path,
exploring this concept
I've named authentic inaction.
I've also put on my researcher hat
and curiously, but painfully, 
witnessed it all around me.
I am definitely an action junkie
but so are many of the people
I spend my life with.
Why do they choose to do,
often at the expense of their being?
What is their addiction about?
Here are five doers 
I've identified and come to know,
and in some ways,
find myself in each of them.
As I'm describing the doers,
see if you resonate 
with one or more of them,
or know someone in your life who might.
The first is the achieving doer.
They do to be recognized
and build up their sense of self.
They've likely always been acknowledged
for their ability to get things done,
so what they achieve
is directly connected to their self-worth.
The second is the avoiding doer.
They do to avoid being confronted
with whatever might be more important
or more difficult.
And as they keep 
themselves occupied with tasks,
they avoid facing the bare questions
and challenges in life.
The third is the controlling doer.
They do because they want it done
and don't often want to wait
for other people to do it.
And while that makes them feel in control,
that same control can push others away,
leaving them feeling
alone and unsupported.
The fourth is the perfecting doer.
They do because, well,
they don't think anyone else can do it
quite as well as them.
Their standards often result
in over-engineering and over-efforting,
and yet, no matter 
how well something is done,
still never quite feels good enough.
And the fifth is the supporting doer.
They do for others
and are really good at it.
Doing makes them feel needed,
but also obligated.
And when they do too much
without expecting anything in return,
they end up feeling resentful
and unappreciated.
All doers share commitments,
deadlines, events, projects,
things we authentically want to do,
and others, we feel we have to do.
But we still have the freedom to choose
whether we become action addicts,
whether we have our doing life,
or it has us.
So how does authentic inaction work?
How can you take this practice
out into your own life?
If you resonate 
with any of the doer descriptions,
here are four steps I'm recommending
to practice this in your own life,
to explore this concept in your own life.
Step one is simply about being aware.
It's that moment when we look 
at ourselves in the mirror and say:
"I am an action junkie."
Without first becoming 
aware of the addiction
and how it's playing out in our lives,
we're helpless to change it.
No different than any other addiction.
The second step is the adoption
of three possibly new beliefs.
The first belief
is that our addiction to doing
is not emotionally and physically healthy.
It's not serving us or anyone else 
in our life that loves us.
The second belief is around authenticity,
which is not just about 
knowing who we are,
but understanding
how what we do, the actions we take,
communicate to the world who we are
more vividly than most anything else.
And the third belief
is the rejection of the lie that says:
"Do more. It is not yet enough."
Step three of four
is sitting with the question:
Who am I, and therefore, what am I to do?
If we stay with this question long enough,
sit with it in our daily life,
the answers will come.
Start simply.
Begin by making a list
about what inspires you,
what depletes you,
what's slowly sucks
the soul out of your body.
Look for themes.
Look for the obvious.
Look for the outliers.
Do you host a holiday dinner
every year but don't enjoy it?
Do you raise your hand 
at work to take on a new project
that you don't really want to do
or realistically have the time for?
Do you commit to meeting a friend
early in the morning for a workout
when what you really want 
and need is to sleep in?
Once our patterns and reasons 
for doing become clear
and we are fully committed to connecting
who we are with what we do,
when a moment arises for us to say "yes"
or to say "no,"
to do or not to do,
we will make the right choice.
Our action or inaction will be authentic.
And the final step, step four
is being willing to fail and choose again.
We have to accept 
that in many circumstances
we won't hear or listen
to our more authentic voice.
That familiar pattern of saying "yes"
even when we mean "no"
may win.
And when it does,
pause.
Take a deep breath.
Be willing to sit with the discomfort
that comes when we are at risk yet again
of taking another action
that does not line up
with who we truly are.
And next time,
choose again.
Being an action junkie is an addiction,
but like other addictions,
recovery is possible.
When we begin to undo the doing
in our own do-crazy worlds,
we begin living a healthier
and more authentic life.
My hope in my own life
is to stay committed to my recovery,
to wholeheartedly believe that who I am,
what I have, and what I've done
is already enough.
My hope for those of you listening
and my invitation
is to feel inspired
and equipped to take your own first step
with authentic inaction.
Thank you.
(Applause)
