The person who figures it out loves feeling the kick of dopamine of being the hero. Swooping in and saving the day. Maybe it is time to look at it through another lens.
Always Wanting More
Years ago, I was standing in the aisle at church when the pastor’s wife stopped me.
“Lisa, you always want more,” she said.
Her words stopped me in my tracks. More what? Money? Possessions? Recognition? I wasn’t sure what she meant.
Then it dawned on me: she had noticed a pattern. While she seemed content where she was, I was always reaching for something new—always hungry to learn.
I’ve always loved learning. Give me an unfamiliar subject, and I’ll find a book, take a course, or ask questions until I understand it. Discovering something new, solving an unfamiliar problem, or developing a skill has always excited me.
For much of my life, that curiosity served me well.
But somewhere along the way, being the person who figures it out became more than something I enjoyed. It became something I expected of myself.
If You Build It, They Will Come. Or Not.
When I started Olinda Services in 1997, I needed a website. So naturally, I learned how to build one.
I had visions of Field of Dreams: if I built it, clients would surely come knocking.
Several months later, all I heard was crickets.
Clearly, a website wasn’t enough. I also needed to learn marketing: how to reach the right people, attract clients, and explain how my services could help.
So, I learned.
Over the years, I jokingly called the different stages of my business Olinda Services 1.0, 2.0, 3.0, and so on. Every challenge seemed to call for another skill, another adjustment, another version of the business.
A New Client, a New Learning Curve
With each new client, I became something of a chameleon, immersing myself in an unfamiliar world.
Gender intelligence? I read everything I could find. Data governance? I immersed myself in the subject.
Chicago Public Schools? I researched the system, the people, and the opportunities and connections that might move a project forward. Grant opportunities? More research.
I genuinely enjoyed learning, and I wanted to understand my clients’ worlds so I could serve them well.
What I didn’t always recognize was the cost: the time and energy I spent mastering subjects that weren’t necessarily mine to master.
The Person Who Figures it Out. The Trouble with Being Capable
My habit of jumping in and figuring things out began long before Olinda Services.
As a mother of five, I was always learning and adapting. Our church offered plenty of opportunities to serve, and I took on more than a few.
I started in the nursery and eventually became its coordinator. When Tim became Sunday school superintendent, I served as his assistant. I also substituted in classes for nearly every age group, from toddlers to adults.
Along the way, I helped with missions, coordinated food events, and sang in choirs, quartets, and special musicpresentations.
Some experiences were wonderful. Others taught me an equally valuable lesson: what I didn’t enjoy.
The Puppet Lesson
Take the class of two- and three-year-olds. One Sunday, it included an adorable set of triplets. All was well—until I brought out a puppet for the lesson.
One child saw it and started screaming. The other two quickly joined in.
Three terrified toddlers. One very unsuccessful puppet presentation.
I quietly put the puppet away.
Bless their screaming little hearts.
When Helping Becomes a Responsibility
Then there was the Sunday another pastor stopped me after church.
“I have a question for you,” he began. “I always go to someone who’s already busy because they get things done.”
Well, that’s flattering, isn’t it?
Our church treasurer had experienced a medical emergency and could no longer manage the finances. The church had a budget approaching a million dollars and was building a new auditorium.
Could I pitch in and help?
How hard could it be?
Two years later, I was running as fast as I could in the opposite direction.
I had learned plenty about financial management, church politics, and myself. Above all, I discovered that I really, really, really didn’t like accounting.
Being capable of something doesn’t mean we enjoy it. And being willing to help doesn’t mean we have to takeresponsibility indefinitely.
It took me a long time to understand those distinctions.
Who Set That Expectation?
Even today, Tim has a way of bringing me back to reality.
When I’m overwhelmed by everything I think I need to accomplish, he asks a simple question:
“Who set that expectation for you?”
Well.
Me.
Insert sheepish grin.
Raising My Own Bar
I wish I could say every unreasonable expectation I’ve carried came from someone else.
But I’ve been quite capable of creating my own.
I expected myself to learn more, know more, accomplish more—and be ready for whatever came next.
No one else needed to raise the bar. I was perfectly willing to do it myself.
And because I could usually figure things out, I kept taking on more.
When Life Changes, Our Responsibilities Change
Recently, I was talking with my business coach about how busy life is these days. I mentioned the years when our five children were growing up. How did I manage it all: family, church, homeschooling and eventually my business.
Now our children are grown, some are married, and living their own lives. You’d think that would leave considerably more free time.
Yet somehow, my days are still remarkably full.
My coach observed that when our capacity changes, we tend to fill the available space.
I’ve thought about that quite a bit.
When one responsibility ends, another often takes its place. We get so used to being busy that we barely notice how quickly we fill the gaps.
Different Responsibilities, the Same Love
Meanwhile, life keeps changing.
Children are born. Parents grow older. Illness reshapes family life. Children leave home, marry, and start families of their own. People we love die.
Each season brings changes—some joyful, others heartbreaking.
Our responsibilities shift, but our love and concern for the people in our lives remain.
Motherhood looks different for me now. Sometimes it means praying for my children at three in the morning. Other times, it’s pausing over the pictures of my grandchildren on my office wall or traveling to share a special family occasion.
My children don’t need me in all the ways they once did. That doesn’t make them any less important.
Life shifts. And we shift with it.
Making Room for Life Beyond Work
Several years after my mother died, I came to a difficult realization.
I had been so busy with business that I hadn’t given myself time to grieve.
Over the years, Tim and I had also lost his mother, my father, my brother, his brother, his sister, and his sister-in-law. Through all that loss, life and work kept moving.
Eventually, I began to wonder: when would I slow down long enough to process it all?
That question made me look more closely at how I was living.
I didn’t need to become less productive. I needed to make room for the parts of my life that work had crowded out.
Seeing the Whole Life
Sometimes clarity comes not from doing more, but from seeing what’s already in front of us differently. I explored that idea in Changing Your Lens, a reflection on perspective and finding clarity through life’s transitions.
My work mattered. It still does. But so do my family, my marriage, my faith, my health, my relationships, and the quiet moments that give me time to reflect.
I call these parts of my life my life domains. Rather than seeing them as competing with productivity, I needed to broaden my idea of what being productive meant. Making meaningful progress in those areas mattered just as much as getting work done.
And they deserved my attention, too.
More Is Sometimes Just More
I still love learning. I still enjoy being the person who figures it out!
I suspect I always will.
But the frantic pursuit of knowledge has gradually given way to something quieter.
I can enjoy a good book without extracting a professional lesson from every chapter. An interesting subject doesn’t have to become another area of expertise.
When someone brings me a question, I don’t always need to research every possibility and deliver the answer.
Sometimes I can help more by guiding them toward an answer of their own.
Using What I Already Know
After decades of learning, working, raising a family, serving others, and navigating change, I have a wealth of experience to draw on.
Perhaps I don’t need another version of Olinda Services—or another set of skills—to prove I can be helpful.
Perhaps the greater opportunity is to use what I’ve already learned more intentionally.
What I Hope to Leave Behind
And perhaps that same intention belongs in the rest of my life.
I’ve been thinking about the people who have shaped me and the legacy I hope to leave.
I don’t imagine the people I love will measure my life by the projects I completed, the books I read, or the problems I solved.
I hope they’ll remember our shared moments, the encouragement, the laughter, the love—and the ways I was present in their lives.
It is very possible that you are already enough!
I’ve spent my life surrounded by capable women—women who care deeply, work hard, raise families, support organizations, volunteer, and lead. Women who excel at being the person who figures it out.
Somehow, there always seems to be room for one more thing.
I know how easy it is to assume that one more thing is ours to do.
Sometimes someone asks. Sometimes we volunteer. And sometimes the only person who expects it of us is ourselves.
I don’t regret a lifetime of learning or the opportunities I’ve had to serve. Those experiences helped shape who I am today.
Choosing What Belongs in This Season
But I no longer believe every opportunity must become my responsibility, every question my research project, or every available hour another chance to get something done.
I still struggle to be still and enjoy the moment. I am training my brain not to be the person who figures it out. I am definitely a work in progress. But I’m learning.
There is room to say yes to what matters and no to what doesn’t belong in this season.
Not because we’re unwilling to contribute. Not because we’ve stopped caring. And certainly not because we have nothing left to offer.
But because our lives are more than the sum of everything we accomplish.
If you’ve spent years being the person who figures things out, perhaps you recognize a little of yourself in my stories.
I hope you’ll remember what took me so long to understand:
You are already enough. You don’t need to do one more thing to prove it.
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