This morning, I had a conversation with my son, who is deep in the trenches of building his business. It had been a brutal week for him—angry customers, a vendor dispute, a difficult client explosion, and then, to top it all off, a sleepless night with a sick newborn at home. He was exhausted and discouraged.
One of my greatest joys is that my sons trust me enough to ask for my input. He asked. I listened. And I realized that before offering advice, what he really needed was to feel understood. Once he felt heard, he leaned in and asked, “Dad, what do you think I should do?”
That’s when I shared a lesson I learned the hard way.
Back in the early 2000s, I was a general manager at About.com, grinding away in a brutal corporate environment. Work followed me home like a relentless shadow, and I wasn’t giving my best to my young family. To make matters worse, we were preparing for the arrival of a newborn with a life-threatening condition. Everything in my life had mushed together into one giant, overwhelming mess.
Then my life coach, Bill, gave me a piece of advice that changed everything.
He told me to gather a collection of my most colorful golf balls. At the end of each workday, I would name them—each representing a challenge or unresolved issue. One by one, I’d place them into a cardboard box, seal it with strapping tape, and lock it away in a cabinet. As I left the office, I would turn off the light, look at the box, and say, “I know you’ll be here when I get back tomorrow. I’ll deal with you then.”
And then I let them go.
I walked out of the office, present and fully engaged with my family. I was able to support my wife, who deeply needed me. I wasn’t bringing the stress home to infect the people I love most. And the most remarkable thing? The next day, when I unlocked the box, I found that my mind was clearer, my solutions came faster, and I was far more effective.
When I shared this story with my son, he got emotional. “Dad, this is exactly what I needed to hear.”
So now, I challenge you—quarantine the insanity in your life.
Buy a box. Grab some tennis balls, golf balls, baseballs—whatever works for you. Give your problems a name, lock them up, and walk away for the night. Create a physical and mental boundary between your challenges and the beautiful parts of your life.
Because here’s the truth: When you return to them in the morning, they’ll be easier to solve. You’ll have more clarity. And most importantly, you’ll have had the gift of being fully present with the people who matter most.
We all have sticky wickets. But we also have the power to contain them—so they don’t consume us.
Try it. And let me know how it works for you.
All my best,
Rich
