CHAPTER 8
Overcommitment and Burnout
On the surface, it seemed as though everything was going according to plan. I was in my senior year at UC Berkeley, carrying the weight of three demanding majors—Computer Science, Economics, and Business Administration—with a 3.9 GPA. The prestige of my academic record should have felt like a crown of achievement, yet each day I found myself increasingly anxious, as though something essential was slipping through my fingers.
My life had become a delicate balancing act, a high-wire routine performed without a safety net. Mornings started early with classes that demanded my full attention, and yet my mind was often elsewhere, racing ahead to the next task, the next obligation. By afternoon, I was shifting gears, applying to graduate schools, tailoring each application with precision, hoping that the perfect combination of words and accomplishments would open the doors to my future. As the evening set in, I was either buried in the depths of startup development, wrestling with the complexities of AI-powered information management, or attending service events through my church, where I was expected to be fully present and engaged.
But as I tried to keep everything in motion, the pressure began to mount. The demands of my academic work were relentless; each assignment felt heavier than the last, requiring more time, more energy, more focus than I had to give. Graduate school applications became a daily reminder of the uncertain future I was hurtling toward—an uncertain future compounded by the sting of each rejection letter that found its way into my inbox.
Then there was my startup, a venture that I had poured my heart into, believing that it could be the key to something greater. But the work was grueling, the progress slow, and the results often disappointing. The burden of leadership weighed heavily on me, as I felt responsible not just for the project’s success, but for the team that looked to me for direction. The weight of unmet expectations loomed over every decision I made, and the fear of failure hung like a shadow over everything I did.
And finally, there was my commitment to my church—a community that had supported me through thick and thin, but which now felt like another set of expectations I struggled to meet. I was present in body, but my mind was elsewhere, consumed by the chaos that had become my daily existence. Each Sunday, as I sat in the pews, I could feel the disconnect between the message of peace and service being preached and the internal turmoil I carried within me.
The truth was, by trying to prioritize everything, I was prioritizing nothing at all. My grades, once a source of pride, began to suffer. The subjects that had once sparked my curiosity now felt like a burden, and I found myself going through the motions just to get by. My participation in church became superficial; I was there physically, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was distracted, distant, unable to connect with the message or the community. And the startup, which had once been a beacon of hope and ambition, wasn’t getting the undivided attention it needed to truly take off. I was spread too thin, and everything I was involved in was paying the price.
I began to withdraw, retreating into myself in search of solace, but finding only more anxiety. Late at night, after the day’s work was done, I would turn to video games or scroll endlessly through TikTok, numbing the fear that gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. These distractions provided temporary relief, but they only deepened the sense of disconnection I felt from the world around me—and from myself.
I was falling apart, but I couldn’t admit it. I couldn’t admit it to my friends, to my mentors, to my church, or even to myself. I had always been the one who kept it together, the one who excelled, the one who met expectations. But now, I felt as though I was failing, and the fear of that failure paralyzed me.
This fear wasn’t just about me—it was tied to my father, whose expectations had shaped much of my life. Growing up, I had seen the sacrifices he made, the opportunities he had missed, all in the name of giving me a better future. I didn’t want to let him down, didn’t want his sacrifices to be in vain. But in my drive to meet those expectations, I had lost sight of my own well-being. The relentless pursuit of success had taken a toll on my mental and physical health. I was exhausted, burned out, and yet I kept pushing, believing that I had no other choice.
The turning point came one evening when I sat alone in my room, surrounded by the chaos of my own making—textbooks strewn across the floor, half-finished applications glowing on my laptop, and a notebook filled with startup ideas that had yet to see the light of day. The weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating, and for the first time, I allowed myself to acknowledge the truth: I couldn’t do it all. I couldn’t keep up this pace, couldn’t continue to meet everyone’s expectations, couldn’t keep pretending that everything was fine.
I felt a surge of fear as I let that truth sink in. What would happen if I failed? What would my father think? What would become of everything I had worked for? But alongside that fear came a realization—if I continued down this path, I was going to lose myself. And that was a failure I wasn’t willing to accept.
It was then that I reached out to Ray Choi, a mentor who had always been a source of wisdom and guidance. I confided in him, sharing the struggles I had kept hidden for so long. I expected him to offer solutions, to help me find a way to juggle it all, but instead, he asked me a simple, yet profound question: “What are you really chasing?”
I sat in silence, the question reverberating in my mind. I didn’t have an answer—not a clear one, at least. I had been chasing success, approval, validation, but for what? To prove something to my father? To myself? To the world? As I fumbled for a response, Ray offered his insight: “You’re trying to do everything, Jacob, but no one can. You need to figure out what truly matters to you, and focus on that. Otherwise, you’re going to lose yourself in the process.”
His words struck a chord. For so long, I had been driven by a fear of failure, a fear of not living up to expectations—both my own and those imposed on me by others. But in doing so, I had neglected to ask myself what I truly wanted, what truly mattered to me.
That conversation marked the beginning of a period of deep introspection and reorientation. I began to take a hard look at my life, at the choices I had made, and at the values I had been living by. It wasn’t easy—it required confronting uncomfortable truths about myself, about my need for approval, about my fear of disappointing my father. But it was necessary.
One of the key realizations during this period was that I had been centered on the wrong things. People can be centered on money, career, or even relationships, but the most successful individuals are principle-centered. They stay true to themselves and their values, abiding by a set of foundational rules that guide their actions and decisions. This was what had been missing for me—a set of guiding principles that reflected who I truly was and what I truly believed in.
In trying to meet everyone’s expectations, I had lost sight of my own principles. I had been chasing success as defined by external metrics—grades, accolades, career milestones—without considering whether those things aligned with my deeper values. And in doing so, I had become disconnected from myself, from what truly mattered to me.
This realization led to some difficult decisions. I stepped down from my role as a teaching assistant, a position that had been both a source of pride and a significant burden. I withdrew from my involvement in the startup, recognizing that while the project was important, it wasn’t where my heart truly lay. And I made the decision not to pursue graduate school in the foreseeable future, choosing instead to focus on my current engagements—my job and my church—where I felt I could make the most meaningful impact.
These decisions weren’t easy, but they were necessary. They allowed me to reorient my life around my principles, to focus on the things that truly mattered to me. They also gave me the space to explore innovative ways to integrate technology with my spirit of service, to use my skills in a way that aligned with my values and contributed to the greater good.
As I reflected further, I began to understand that true agency comes from self-knowledge. By understanding myself better, by knowing what I truly valued, I was able to take active responsibility for my life. I was no longer just reacting to the pressures and expectations around me; I was making deliberate, intentional choices that reflected who I was and who I wanted to become.
This shift in perspective also reshaped my understanding of strategy—not as a rigid plan, but as a series of choices that reflect my values and shape my life’s trajectory. I realized that we all end up somewhere in life, and it’s much better to decide where we end up than to drift aimlessly. Our actions, not our intentions, determine our path. The choices we make—both big and small—reflect who we are and shape who we become. This understanding reinforced the importance of aligning my decisions with my principles, of making choices that were true to who I was and what I believed in.
As I moved forward, my mindset began to shift from one of fear and anxiety to one of curiosity, imagination, and anticipation of possibilities. No longer was I paralyzed by the fear of failure; instead, I began to see the world as a place of endless opportunities, where each decision could lead to growth and learning. This change in perspective was liberating—it allowed me to approach life with a sense of purpose and excitement, rather than dread.
I realized that people often center their lives around social mirrors and models—money, work, possessions, pleasure, friends, and even enemies. These external markers of success can dictate our actions, influence our decisions, and shape our identities. But they are fleeting, subject to change, and often leave us feeling unfulfilled. A principle-centered life, on the other hand, offers a stable foundation. It allows us to remain true to ourselves, to act with integrity, and to live in alignment with our deepest values.
For me, those principles are now rooted in something even deeper—my faith. Matthew 6:24 says, "No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other." This verse became a guiding light during my period of reorientation. It reminded me that I couldn’t continue to live my life trying to serve multiple masters—success, approval, validation—without losing sight of what truly mattered. Instead, I needed to focus on serving Christ, on aligning my life with the values He teaches—love, kindness, humility, and service.
As I began to re-center my life around these principles, I found a new sense of peace and direction. I realized that success isn’t about achieving everything or meeting everyone’s expectations. It’s about living a life that is true to my principles, about making decisions that reflect my values, about using my skills and talents in a way that contributes to the greater good. It’s about being centered not on external metrics, but on the principles that guide my actions and shape my character.
This process of reorientation also brought me closer to God. Proverbs 3:5-6 advises, "Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight." As I let go of the fear and anxiety that had driven me for so long, I began to place my trust in God’s plan for my life. I realized that I didn’t have to have it all figured out, didn’t have to control every outcome. Instead, I could trust that by living according to His principles, I would be guided in the right direction.
In the end, I’ve come to understand that it’s not the accolades, the titles, or the achievements that define me. It’s the principles I choose to live by, the values I uphold, and the decisions I make in alignment with those values. It’s about serving God and others, about using my talents to make a positive impact in the world. This is the foundation of a meaningful life, a life that is not driven by the fear of failure, but by the pursuit of what truly matters. And that, I believe, is the key to true success—a success that is not just measured by worldly standards, but by the standards of the heart and spirit.