Page 105 of Instigator

“He’s good. I, uh…”

She waits expectantly.

“I think I have a new project idea.”

She’s smart enough to know what I’m not saying, and her face falls. “You want to leave the helmet project?”

“No. Not yet, at least,” I hurry to add. “I’m just… bored. The way you felt last year with the concussion-spotting job is how I’m feeling now. I don’t know if it’s ennui or if it’s something bigger. So I’m working on figuring that out.”

“Ennui is dangerous,” she says seriously, her lips twitching. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” The word comes immediately, harsh and unyielding.

She flinches, then swallows, like she’s trying to hide it.

“Actually… yes,” I amend. “But not yet. I’ve still got some soul searching to do.”

“Okay, but when you’re ready?”

“I’ll come to you, I promise.”

She gives me a tremulous smile. “I just want you to be happy, babe.”

“That’s what I want too.”

Work has been my primary source of personal fulfillment for the last twenty-plus years. It’s what drives me. Makes me get up in the morning—or the middle of the night.

When I built my first company, I had a purpose. Then I sold it and was cast adrift. I spent my time and money on personal improvement. Losing the weight I had gained when I self-medicated with sugar and caffeine before I knew about the ADHD and how to self-regulate effectively. I took the time to get healthy, both physically and mentally. It took lots and lots and lots of therapy. I went on wellness retreats; I had spa dates with myself and pampered myself.

And I was fucking bored.

Then Colt asked me to be on the board of his company, and I found something to occupy my time again. Then I joined the Grizzlies Foundation, and I have a purpose again. Then I started this helmet project with Bex, and I’m finally feeling useful again.

I don’t want to give it up. I shouldn’t have to give it up.

But I don’t know how much longer I can keep going like this. Untethered, caught between what I want to do and what actually fulfills me.

Being on the board of directors doesn’t bring me joy. Overseeing the direction of a nonprofit doesn’t make me excited about the mission. And participating in endless meetings where nothing ever seems to get accomplished doesn’t make me happy.

Work makes me happy.

At the same time, I don’t necessarily want to build another company. The spark of an idea I had the other night was just that—a spark. It’s not a full-fledged project yet.

But it could be.

Deep in my heart, I know this is a symptom of the ADHD, ping-ponging me all around the place. It’s a manifestation of the restlessness deep within me that never seems to settle. Never seems to be soothed.

Being aware of it, putting a name to it, helps me not feel so much shame. A little bit, sure. Not a lot.

“I’m not making any decisions,” I finally tell Bex. “I’m just… thinking. Considering my options.”

She inhales sharply. “Okay. But when you’re ready, you’ll let me know?”

“You’ll be the first one I tell.”

“No I won’t.”

I cock my head. “What do you mean?”