When Life Draws the Line for You

This Tintin meme gets me every time. It’s hilarious, a little tragic, and painfully relatable.

You know those moments when you feel like life has packed twelve months of chaos into a single week? Yeah, that’s been me lately.

Growing up in Iran in the ’90s, The Adventures of Tintin wasn’t just a comic—it was forbidden treasure. These books were banned after the '70s regime change, making every copy a contraband masterpiece.

I still remember wandering through dusty second-hand bookstores, whispering trades with other kids, and clutching my hard-earned discoveries like gold. Tintin’s adventures, crafted by Belgian artist Hergé, were meticulous, vibrant, and daring—an intoxicating mix of curiosity and courage. It wasn’t just the stories I loved; it was the freedom they represented.

But as much as I admired Tintin’s boldness, I often felt like Captain Haddock. Staring at life, pint in hand, muttering, “What a year, huh?”—only to realize, “Captain, it’s February.”

Which brings me to January of this year—a month that felt like a lifetime.

A January Curveball

The first week of January, life threw me an unwelcome surprise: emergency surgery.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t expected. And it scared me to death. The kind of slow, painful experience that forces you to stop and rethink everything.

Then came the waiting—the agonizing weeks waiting for biopsy results. Every day felt heavier, filled with what ifs:

What if it’s cancer?

What if I’m not safe?

What if this is it?

When the results finally came back clear, I exhaled for the first time in weeks. I was safe. Safe. But the word hit me harder than I expected—not because it wasn’t welcome, but because it carried a harsh truth:

By the time you don’t feel fine, it’s often too late.

The Price of Urgency

Here’s the thing about urgent matters: they don’t just demand your attention. They demand your arms, your legs, and half your soul.

Now, I’m not quite sure if I even have a soul. (In fact, I have a founder’s fee prize for anyone who can track it down—consider it a fun side hustle for the year!)

But I know this: I absolutely need my arms and legs to keep building the dreams I have in this world.

Urgency has a way of stealing the tools we need to thrive. It screams louder than the important things, hijacking our focus and energy. By the time you realize you’re chasing the wrong things, the cost is already too high.

A wise mentor once told me: "Ignore the urgent. Consistently work on the important."

But let me tell you—when you’re lying in bed post-surgery, urgency doesn’t knock politely. It barges in, yelling questions like:

What if this is worse than you think?

What if you never get to finish your work?

What if you’ve been running in the wrong direction all along?

And then there’s the inescapable hilarity of the whole process. One minute, I’m on a video call with my doctor, discussing literal matters of life and death. His calm, supportive demeanor feels like a warm blanket in the middle of a storm.

The next minute? I’m jumping into a Zoom meeting, being greeted by a cheerful, robotic message: "We’ve let your host know you’re here!"

It feels like the hero’s journey straight out of Dungeons & Dragons—except instead of battling dragons or navigating cryptic maps, I’m sitting there waiting for someone to tell me what urgent half-baked plan they think deserves my attention today.

Do they experience what I do? Do they see the absurdity, the tension, the downright weirdness of juggling these extremes? Probably not.

Those weeks reminded me of something crucial: urgency will always feel louder than importance. But urgency is a thief. It steals your time, your energy, and your ability to see what truly matters.

Helping Others While Forgetting Myself

Here’s the irony: my entire career revolves around helping people navigate life’s edges.

• CEOs managing multi-million-dollar deals.
• Teams grappling with burnout and high-stakes decisions.
• Individuals facing life-and-death situations.

I guide them to sacrifice less and compromise smarter. I teach them to draw lines between “urgent” and “important.”

And yet, I forgot to draw those lines for myself.

I forgot that I, too, am human. (At least, we think.) I forgot that I also need reminders to pause, reflect, and check in.

For years, I’ve told clients this:

I’ve repeated this mantra in coaching sessions, consulting meetings, and workshops. And yet, I missed the point for myself.

I adapted. I self-censored. I fit into molds that weren’t meant for me—so much so that I lost myself in the process.

What I’ve learned, painfully and slowly, is this:

The soil matters. The environment matters. The lines you draw for yourself matter.

Check In Before It’s Too Late

Here’s the hard truth: By the time you don’t feel fine, it’s often too late.

We brush off the signs—fatigue, discomfort, a lingering sense that something’s “off”—because we’re busy, distracted, or convinced we’re invincible. But our bodies and minds are always whispering, if only we’d stop long enough to listen.

So here’s your reminder:

Check in often. Check in early. Especially when you feel “just fine.”

“Just fine” is where the cracks hide. It’s where urgency lurks, waiting to hijack your focus.

The Reminder We All Need

This January forced me to pause. It reminded me that life isn’t about the hustle—it’s about the important things:

Reconnecting with yourself.

Prioritizing your health.

Building real, meaningful connections.

And it’s about remembering that the soil matters. The environment you create for yourself—physically, emotionally, and mentally—determines whether you’ll thrive or simply survive.

What Will You Choose to Remember?

So let me ask you:

What’s one thing you’ve been brushing off?

What’s one line you can draw today between the “urgent” and the “important”?

What’s one thing you can check in on—before life decides to check in for you?

Take a moment. Pause. Reflect. Because while life may hand you a few “Captain, it’s February” moments, it’s in those pauses that you’ll find clarity, growth, and purpose.

And if you’re ever unsure where to start, remember: "When a flower doesn’t bloom, you don’t change the flower. You change the environment in which it grows."

What’s your reminder this month?

A Final Note: Let’s Talk Tintin

Oh, and before I go—here’s a fun little side quest for you: I’m still collecting the original Tintin books. The ones I painstakingly hunted down as a kid in the ’90s? Some of them didn’t survive the many moves, life transitions, and one particularly nosy cousin who still swears he “has no idea what happened to them.”

So, if you happen to have any Tintin books lying around—especially the banned originals either in Farsi or English—let’s strike up a deal!

Whether it’s cash, consulting tips, or some founder’s fee humor, I’m open to negotiation. Think of it as joining me on a treasure hunt—except this time, I’m Tintin, and you’re the mysterious informant pointing me to the hidden stash.

Reach out. Let’s make this fun. Who knows? Maybe this deal will come with its own adventure story.