Motivation is a myth. Wait, I know what you are thinking. It is motivation I need. If I just had enough motivation, I’d be able to conquer the world. Or, at least, crush my goals. Motivation is everything.

But here’s the thing. Most of us equate motivation with a feeling that we want to take a particular action. Meaning, you think if you were motivated, you would feel like making a green smoothie for breakfast, walking on a cloudy day, saving for retirement or getting off social media and back to work. You’re convinced that if you wanted the end result enough, you’d feel like doing the work needed to get there.

And that is the myth.

I wake up in the same body, in the same house, beside the same husband, with the same two kids sleeping down the hall, and the same dog sleeping at the foot of my bed. I have the same job. I have the same long, long list of things to do. So why is it that some days I feel hopeful, positive, and optimistic and other days bored, depressed, and afraid of the future?

My sister is a designer for one of the top jewelers in the world. Her office is flanked by hundreds of drawers holding tens-of-thousands of semi-precious stones in every imaginable shade, shape, and size. Each day, she is charged with combining those stones into dozens of beautiful creations. Each day, she leaves work exhausted. Why? Decision fatigue.

Walk # 56 from Walk Your Way to Better: We’ve all heard it, over and over and over: money can’t buy happiness. But, well, let’s face it—rich people look happier. They look like they take more vacations and have more adventures. They look healthier. They dress better. They live in more beautiful homes and drive fancier cars. They have people to clean their homes and cook their meals. All in all, they look happier.

I don’t recall where we were and I don’t recall what we were doing. I don’t remember how old I was, or whether this was during the decade in which I was practicing law in New York City, or the two decades I was raising kids while building businesses. Whenever it was, I have no doubt that I was busy. Probably too busy. “The key to happiness,” my brilliant and insightful friend Lorelei said, “is being the right amount of busy.”

Years ago, I read a novel about vampires and demons. The demons fed on drama and intrigue and thrived on the suffering of others. The vampires required the lifeblood of others in order to survive. While some controlled their appetite sufficiently by taking just a sip here and a sip there, others, well, once they got started, they sucked their victims dry. I realized that, metaphorically, vampires and demons live among us.

Last summer, I was at the beach watching a dad take his three-year-old into the ocean. As soon as the little boy touched the water, he was off, his little arms and legs motoring. Within seconds, he was five feet away. The dad tore off his t-shirt, tossed it to the beach and went after his bobbing toddler. The shirt landed on the beach, so close to the water’s edge that one big wave was sure to sweep it away. I got up from my beach chair, grabbed the dad’s t-shirt and moved it out of the reach of the coming tide. And I felt a tiny bit happier.

In the late 1960s, a researcher from Stanford University began a series of experiments that have become known as the Marshmallow Study. The premise was fairly simple. A group of young kids (mostly ages four and five) were invited into a room and offered two choices: they could enjoy a single marshmallow treat right away, or they could wait fifteen minutes—with the marshmallow right in front of them—and if they were able to refrain from eating the marshmallow for fifteen minutes, they were given two marshmallows to eat. Turns out that the kids who were able to delay gratification experienced greater success . . . for the rest of their lives.

There is an old story that is ascribed to the Cherokee that captures how to amplify the voices that encourage us to be the best version of ourselves and quiet the voices that spew doubt, fear, and shame. this. It goes something like this.

Most people talk about seeing the beauty. But I believe you need to find the beauty. Beautiful things are not always obvious. Often, they are buried, hidden. Beauty can be found sneaking through the edge of a storm cloud, tucked inside the muck of a crusty oyster shell, or in the mess that becomes your kitchen when children decide to bake cookies. Beauty can be found in loss and pain and fear. Beauty can be found in the simplest of moments, but only if you look.

For the past six months, I’ve made few plans. I have, as my mother advises at times like this, “circled the wagons.” I’ve kept my family close. I’ve spent as little money as possible. I’ve taken little risk. I’ve set few goals -- how can you know what goal to set when you have no idea what tomorrow will bring -- and the goals I have set I’ve second-guessed or abandoned. But now more. It is time to set a course.

The other morning, I was walking up the stairs in my house when I noticed a ball of fuzz on a step. It wasn't big -- about the size of a quarter -- and probably came out of a dog toy that Moose dismembered (those of you with dogs probably know exactly that I mean). I noticed it but did not bend over and pick up it. 'Cause I didn't feel like it. My mind was on other things. But I noticed. And then I noticed it the next time I walked up the stairs and that time I thought "I'll grab that later." I probably walked up and down those stairs four or five more times before I finally bent over and picked up the ball of fuzz, walked into the bathroom, and dropped it in the trash can. What's my point?

I'm determined to stop adding caveats to my dreams, my goals and my gratitude.

• "It's a beautiful morning, but it is supposed to rain later."

• "99 Walks is on a mission to get a million women walking, but we are just starting."

• "I'm grateful for my good health and the health of my family, but I'm afraid of what the future will bring."

Why? Why do I add “but”? I can think of five possible reasons.

Since March of this year, we have all faced a lot of uncertainty, change, and upheaval. For many of us, the rhythm of our lives has been disrupted. We have struggled to get comfortable with uncertainty. We have wrestled with fear, worry, and anxiety. During the early days of quarantine, we retreated into our own, personal bubbles. We drew our families close. We avoided contact with the outside world as much as possible. A trip to the grocery store was an epic feat of planning and worry.

“I think I’ve ruined my brain.” Eric, my husband, and I were sitting outside on the deck late one afternoon.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“It’s so hard to hold a single thought, to focus on one thing. It’s like my brain is constantly bouncing in different directions all the time.”

And then, like he was being paid to do it, a squirrel ran across the yard in front of us. Our dog, Moose, who had been laying quietly at my feet, bolted to action and sprinted across the yard.

“Squirrel,” I said, following him with my eyes. No matter what Moose is doing, a squirrel cannot be ignored. It must be chased. And that is how my brain is these days.

I remember the day we added our puppy, Moose, to our family. He was eight pounds of puppy love. The exuberance, energy, and joy that that little bundle of fur invested in each day is a marvel. Puppies play all the time. At least, when they aren’t sleeping. Or eating

As parents, we recognize the importance of play for our kids. It is how they learn, have fun, blow off steam and develop skills.

As adults, we don’t play enough.

The company I founded and helped build was doing great. Growing every year and staying true to its core mission: we were empowering more than 500 local moms to build hyper-local media empires in their own communities and sharing content each and every week that genuinely made families’ lives better. Our advertisers, who were the clients who kept the lights on and the engine going, were happy.

Things were good. But they weren’t good enough.

Compare and despair is not new. It wasn’t created by social media or Leave it to Beaver. In fact, the expression “keeping up with the Joneses” -- our impulse to want what our neighbor has -- came from a comic strip that debuted in 1913. And I suspect that the tendency began long, long before then, perhaps when Grog looked at Zog and realized he had more food and a warmer blanket. Now that’s not to say that social media hasn’t amplified our compare and despair culture.

The past few months have been hard. Uncertain, unsettling, confusing, and sometimes frightening. But they have also forced us to slow down and to take stock. To begin to realize what’s important and to have the time and space to begin to prioritize those priorities. We are walking more. We are talking more. We are cooking more.

This month, as we begin to emerge back into regular life, let’s savor more.

Last week, I created a word by accident: MORK. I sent a colleague an email in which I intended to say "is this something we should do or is it just creating more work?" But in my rush, I condensed those two words into MORK. She responded, "by mork, you mean 'more work'?"