How do you determine the correct work-to-life ratio?

Is there such a thing as a correct ratio?

And is there even a true divide between work and life?

The concept of balance becomes even murkier when we consider people who are deeply passionate about their work—those whose jobs are more than just a paycheck. If your work is your passion, is there even a need for separation? Or does it all become one and the same?

Are these questions just pointless mental chatter?

Never.

Hard questions are the foundation for a strong life.

Questions are to building mental strength as resistance training is to building physical strength.

Every rep counts.

Let's say you find yourself in the simplest situation.

Buying a couch.

Nothing to it.

You just go to the store, pick one that looks decent, sit down for a minute to make sure you won’t need a chiropractor, and swipe your card. Done.

Simple, right?

But no – enter the dragon.

You are now the Bruce Lee of buying couches.

First, you start with the obvious, “Leather or fabric?” Easy, right? Wrong. Leather has that sleek, classy look, then you remember your dog—who treats the couch like his personal kingdom—and your toddler, who’s a Picasso with crumbs and juice boxes. Fabric seems like the safer choice, until you realise it stains easily. You end up Googling “stain-resistant couch materials,” only to discover that the stain-resistant options feel like sandpaper. Now you’re in deep, and that’s just the upholstery.

Next comes the colour. “Neutral or bold?” you ask yourself, feeling very grown-up. Neutral says, “I’m a responsible adult with my life together.” Then you spot a pop of red that just screams personality. Suddenly, you’re torn between living out your best minimalist life and embracing your wild, inner rebel. You try to imagine each option in your living room, and now you’re picturing a whole new colour scheme for the walls. Before you know it, you’re mentally repainting the entire house.

Then comes the real doozy: “How much am I willing to spend on this?” This is when you start soul-searching. Are you the “splurge for quality” type, or are you about that “good enough” life? You think, “This is a place where I’ll relax, unwind, maybe even nap.” A couch is practically a family member. This is about comfort, it’s about investment, it’s about… who I am as a person.

Now you’re walking around the store, testing out every couch like it’s a life partner. You sit, you lie down, you bounce a little, and you look at it from every angle, imagining Friday movie nights, future spills, and where you’ll awkwardly perch when you have guests over. You’re mentally fast-forwarding through the next ten years of your life, all while the sales associate watches, wondering if you’re okay.

At this point, you’re not buying a couch. You’re evaluating your entire philosophy on money, comfort, family, and whether or not you’re someone who needs 12 throw pillows (because maybe, just maybe, those throw pillows are what’s been missing from your life).

Then you hit the final wall, the biggest question of all: “Do I even want a couch at all?” You start questioning everything. Maybe you don’t even need a couch. Maybe you should go full Zen and just sit on floor cushions. You’re picturing yourself meditating, free from all material attachments, and for a split second, it’s tempting. No couch, no problems, right?

Of course, in the end, you buy the couch—the same one you first sat on two hours ago. You’ve just been through a mental boot camp, wrestling with the meaning of life, your relationship with money, and whether you’re a fabric or leather kind of person. This whole absurd process shows that the simple stuff isn’t always so simple, and that’s where the real questions lie. By asking these, even in the weirdest, most mundane scenarios, you’re already practicing the art of self-reflection.

This absurd process of couch-buying, believe it or not, is a mini philosophy lesson. If you can ask yourself these small, ridiculous questions and find the humour in it, you’re on your way to asking the big ones. The hard questions—about balance, purpose, what really matters. They’re the foundation of a strong life. These questions are like resistance training for the mind, each one adding strength and resilience over time.

Balance isn’t always about the big, life-changing moments. It’s hidden in the little, everyday choices, the ones that seem too small to matter but actually shape our lives more than we realise. These choices are the reps, the practice that helps us handle life’s larger questions with a bit more clarity.

Reflection: Where in your life are you overthinking the small stuff? And what does that reveal about what really matters to you?

Hit reply and let me know. And if someone you know has ever spiraled into a life crisis over something mundane, send this to them—they’ll get it.

Until next time,

Broden Johnson

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