There Was a Time I Was on First-Name Terms with the Hotel Staff

For a few years, my passport looked busier than my diary.

Cape Town to Johannesburg. Johannesburg to Warsaw.

Johannesburg to Prague. Back again.

I was on first-name terms with the hotel staff in multiple cities.

I'd said yes to both projects practically immediately when they were asked of me, the way I said yes to most things back then: fast, and without much thought about what I was actually agreeing to.

I told myself the flying was just the cost of that managing director promotion I'd been chasing back then. Plus I was a jetsetter. I had loads of frequent flyer miles, I was experiencing other countries. That was cool.

Right?

Then my counterpart on one of the projects got fed up. The team wasn't performing the way he wanted, and he was fairly convinced it was because I wasn't always there. My first reaction was to feel attacked. My second, once I stopped bristling, was worse:

He had a point.

I had been so busy proving I could honour the commitment that I never asked whether I was still the right person to deliver it. Turns out "I said I would" and "I should" are not the same sentence. When I finally paused, it wasn't only the project that needed rescuing. I was running on empty, living on conference calls, and still taking them on the rare nights I was actually home. My family got the worst of me, and were expected to tiptoe around my calls like the house had gone into some kind of lockdown (picture COVID conference calls without the COVID, and way before Zoom was cool).

Stepping back was better for the client, and better for me, though I only admitted the second part much later. It was the most meaningful choice I'd made about that project since I said yes to it, and it turned out to be one of the smartest decisions I made for myself too.

I'd love to say I've fully learned this lesson. This week, my genius brother locked himself out of his house.

Grown man.

Not the only person with a key.

He called, and I dropped everything and drove over, because apparently that's just what I do. Derailed part of my afternoon. Would I do it again tomorrow? Also yes, instantly, no pause required.

That's the instinct worth watching, because it's the one we question least. Easy to spot when it costs you a continent-hopping career. Much harder when it's someone you love, and saying yes fast feels like proof you care. But pausing there isn't asking whether you love them enough. It's asking whether you're the help they actually need, or just the person who always answers.

At work, the same reflex looks like finishing someone else's report, or rewriting a perfectly good email, just slower, because at least then it's been done properly. It feels like support. Sometimes it's closer to theft: taking away their shot at learning it, or training them to believe they can't manage without you. A fast yes can look exactly like generosity and still cost someone the resilience you meant to protect.

Next time the yes is automatic, ask a harder question than "can I help." Ask what the help is costing: both the person you're helping as well as yourself. It might be a hard thing to admit to ourselves because we like feeling needed, but our involvement is not always the best solution to a problem.