The Work Beneath the Work

I sat down with Kevin Love this week for No Magic Pill, and somewhere in the middle of our conversation he said something that I keep going back to. Kevin was talking about his career. Five-time NBA All-Star. Olympic gold medalist. NBA champion. The dream he had been chasing since he was a little kid in Oregon.

And he looked at me and said:
“The hardest thing maybe in my entire career to reconcile with is that I have not enjoyed it enough.”

I felt that one in my chest. Because if I’m honest, I’ve said almost the exact same thing about my own life. Kevin won the championship in 2016. The thing he had given his whole life to. And when I asked him what it felt like, he said it wasn’t elation.

It was relief.

Then almost immediately came the next thought:
“Is this all there is?”

A year and a half later, in the middle of a game in Cleveland, he had a panic attack on the court. He ran into the locker room and ended up on the floor of the trainer’s office convinced he was dying.

I keep thinking about that gap. The gap between what we believe achievement will do for us…and what it actually does. For years, I lived inside what I now call the achievement myth. The belief that the next milestone, the next success, the next round of recognition would finally quiet the thing inside me that never quite felt settled.

But nothing ever filled the void. Instead it was another magazine cover. Another country reached. Another zero on the giving counter. Another standing ovation. Another proof that maybe now I had finally become enough. But the high always faded. And then the mind would start scanning again.

Kevin called it the striver’s curse. That feeling that success is always dangling just beyond your fingertips. And even when you reach it, somehow it still doesn’t fully arrive.

What moved me most was what he said next.

He talked about connecting the dots backward. Going all the way back to being thirteen or fourteen years old in Portland. Realizing he had been trying to achieve his way out of depression. Trying to outrun a feeling he didn’t yet have words for.

And he said the thing that finally began to set him free wasn’t the championship.

It was the work.
The inner work.
The honest work.

The kind of work where you stop performing long enough to actually meet yourself. I’ve been doing my own version of that these last few years. And what I’m starting to realize is this:

The people I know who are genuinely well, the people who feel at home in their own lives, didn’t get there by climbing higher and higher.They got there by going back. By looking honestly at the younger version of themselves and asking:

What was I really trying to fix?
What was I really trying to prove?
Why did I believe I had to earn my worth in the first place?

Kevin told me he wishes he had enjoyed it more.

That he could look back at this extraordinary career and say, that was beautiful, instead of that was something I survived with my teeth gritted. There was a tenderness in the way he said it that stayed with me. Kevin is such a strong and gentle giant.

Because I recognized it.

I felt that way about TOMS for a long time too. We gave away over one hundred million pairs of shoes. And somehow, in the middle of doing all that good, I missed so much of it. I was so busy chasing the next thing. The next expansion. The next proof. The next attempt to finally feel whole.

I think a lot of us are living that way. Especially now. We live in a world constantly whispering, and sometimes shouting, that we are behind. Not enough. Not successful enough. Not attractive enough. Not productive enough. Not important enough.

So we run harder. But what if the thing we’re actually hungry for can’t be achieved? What if peace doesn’t come from becoming more? What if it comes from finally believing that who we already are is worthy of love? That question sits underneath so much of why I’m building ENOUGH. Not because I have this figured out. I absolutely don’t.

But because I think there are millions of people silently exhausted from trying to earn a sense of worth that was never supposed to be earned in the first place.

I think there are kids growing up right now who already believe their value depends on performance. On followers. On winning. On becoming somebody.

And I want them to know there is another way. Kevin and I talked a lot about what actually helps.

Therapy.
Journaling.
Sunlight.
Sleep.
Breathing.
Calling a real friend.
Moving your body.
Telling the truth.
Learning how to sit with yourself without immediately reaching for distraction.

None of it is flashy. None of it is a magic pill. That’s kind of the whole point. Healing is usually quieter than we expect.

More human.
More ordinary.
More daily.

Before we ended, Kevin said something else that I haven’t stopped thinking about: “You don’t have to be the person you were five minutes ago.”

I love that. Because maybe freedom begins there. Maybe any moment can become the moment we stop running. Maybe any moment can become the moment we finally arrive inside our own lives. So I’ll leave you with the question his story left me with:

What are you doing right now that one day you’ll wish you had enjoyed more?

Not someday.
Now.

The people around you.
Your kids.
Your partner.
Your body.
Your friends.
Your morning walks.
Your work.
Your ordinary life.

The thing in front of you that you keep half-living because you’re convinced fulfillment exists somewhere else.

Maybe this moment is more sacred than we realize. Maybe being here is the work.

Episode four of No Magic Pill is out now. Kevin is thoughtful, funny, honest, and brave in a way that I think will help a lot of people feel less alone. And honestly, that’s really the whole point of this show. If this speaks to you, send it to someone you love. That’s how healing moves.

Carpe Diem,
Blake