Rocks, Roads, and the River of Enough: Lessons from Four Thousand Weeks

A friend recommended that I read Four Thousand Weeks by Oliver Burkeman. I was expecting another productivity book — a guide to managing my time more efficiently — or worse, a book shaming me for not getting enough done.

What I found instead was a quiet, paradigm-shifting truth that turned my whole understanding of productivity on its head.

Burkeman’s central message is this: we only get about four thousand weeks in an average lifetime, and no amount of efficiency will ever be enough to conquer that limitation. In fact, the more productive we become, the more we tend to fill the extra space we’ve created. That’s the paradox of productivity — efficiency doesn’t free you; it just accelerates the treadmill.

Once you see that clearly, the real work begins — the emotional work of accepting your limits, choosing your focus, and deciding what truly deserves your time.

Here are the three biggest lessons I took away — the ones that changed how I think about productivity, time, purpose, and balance.

1. You Can’t Do It All — and Grieving That Is Part of the Work

Burkeman writes that the hardest part of time management isn’t prioritizing — it’s grieving. You have to mourn the fantasy that you’ll ever “get it all done.”

For years, I’ve lived by the “rocks in a jar” metaphor — the idea that if you just put the big priorities in first, everything else will fit around them. But what no one mentions is that most of us have too many rocks. My jar was overflowing — family, clients, creative projects, business ideas, house projects, community commitments. The math simply didn’t work.

The real challenge wasn’t fitting it all in — it was admitting that I couldn’t. That meant acknowledging loss: the loss of the idealized version of myself who could somehow do everything well — who believed that if I just optimized a little more, things would finally “snap into place” like puzzle pieces.

The fact is — I couldn’t. And once I allowed that grief, something inside me shifted.

I stopped trying to cram in every rock and started asking, Which ones actually belong in the jar?

2. Pick Your Roads — and Limit Your Cars

There’s a story in Burkeman’s book — perhaps apocryphal — about Warren Buffett telling his pilot to list the top 25 things he wanted in life, circle the top five, and — here’s the surprising part — instead of saving the other 20 for “later,” he should avoid them at all costs.

Why? Because those are the “ambitions insufficiently important to form the core of his life, yet seductive enough to distract him from the ones that matter most.”

That made me see my choices more clearly. Before reading the book, my life looked more like a chaotic highway — too many lanes, too many cars, all going somewhere, but nowhere fast.

I had fifteen priorities all vying for my attention. I could move each car forward a bit, but inevitably one would get hard, or I’d feel anxious about the next step, or I’d lose interest. And instead of pushing through it — because I had so many other projects going — I could just jump to the next thing.

Which was fine, except I wasn’t pushing myself to do the hard things, be courageous, or persevere. The result was lots of busy-ness but not much crossing the finish line.

The truth I had to face was this: I can’t have unlimited priorities and still make meaningful progress in the ones that matter most.

So, I picked three roads:

• Family and friends

• Clinical work

• Creative side projects

On each road, I only get two cars — two active projects or commitments at a time. Not four, not seven — only two.

Right now, my “family road” has a wide-load truck on it — a big home renovation, which is practically taking up two lanes. And that’s okay. It’s temporary, and it has a clear purpose: to build a home where family can gather. However, that means I only have about a motorcycle’s worth of energy for other family-and-friend pursuits while this is happening — and if I do too much more (and I’ve tested this), I start to feel burnt out.

My “side-hustle road” has two cars right now: nurturing my email list and refining sales funnels for my toolkits. When those reach the finish line, I’ll make space for something new — like creating consumer versions of my products. This is hard for me because my brain is like a like an incorrigible todder -- into everything.

However, this idea of “three roads, two cars” gives me a visual way to respect my limits without beating myself up. And reminding myself that I can do the things I want eventually — but not all at once.

3. Enough Is a Moving Target

If Four Thousand Weeks teaches anything, it’s that life balance isn’t a destination — it’s a continual recalibration.

Every season, something shifts — the workload, the emotional weather, the energy available. And what was “just right” last month can suddenly feel like too much or too little.

I picture it as navigating a river — staying centered requires constant micro-adjustments to avoid the banks of “too much” and “too little.”

Recently, I noticed I was crowding my “clinical work” road with side projects. When a few challenging cases came up, my nervous system amped up. That was my cue to rebalance — to read more, train more, reconnect with peers, and tend to my professional growth.

Balance, I’m learning, isn’t static. It’s dynamic — and it only stays steady if you keep listening and adjusting.

In the End: The Gift of a Finite Life

If I could distill Four Thousand Weeks into one final truth, it would be this: the finite nature of time isn’t a problem to solve — it’s an invitation to live more fully and more intentionally.

So I’ll leave you with this question: Which of these truths resonates most with you — and what have you learned lately about spending your precious weeks well?

P.S. If you’d like more visual, relatable insights like this, sign up for my newsletter — it’s where I share new illustrations, metaphors, and tools to help you think and feel more clearly. And if you haven’t already, grab my free Emotional Thermometer — a simple visual guide to help you notice, name, and regulate your emotional temperature.