High Standards, Low Energy

There’s a clever phrase I stumbled across and love repeating often: Taste is a burden.

I look at it as this idea of being so aware of what holds value that mediocrity actually taxes your brain. Behavior. People. Systems. You name it.

To be constantly aware of what’s worthy, what has substance, and what’s low-grade, super-insufferable, mind-aching mess—you get accustomed to combing through bullshit to find what’s real.

You want better. It’s what you’ve always sought after, right? It’s like living in a constant state of yearning. You want more, so you do more…right? But what happens when there’s a capacity gap between knowing what’s good—wanting to produce it with every fiber of your being—and you just… can’t?

I’ve realized that for the majority of this year, I haven’t been tired.

I’ve been fatigued.

Because tiredness can be remedied. A cat nap. Coffee. A mental break. Tired is the humming exhaustion that hits after real productivity.

“I’m…so…damn…tired.”

But you get up and do it again. You train your brain to believe you can do just one more thing. One more hour. One more page. One more TikTok video (because why the hell not?).

Fatigue is different.

Fatigue settles deep. It stomps and makes a home in your bones so quietly that you miss the transition. And I know mine started in my mind.

Much like everything.

With high standards, you keep the pursuit of a thing—the grind—top of mind. You shift into a mode, hoping you’re unstoppable. But when your body betrays you, when the energy dwindles, what do you do? You’d think I was a heavyweight champ with how hard I beat myself up with guilt.

With a racing mind and an unwilling body, it becomes a slow, melancholic kind of grief. I grieved the determined creative who wanted to do more but lacked the capacity. It took me some time, but after that grief—along with adjustments in treatment and much-needed rest—I was able to reframe some of my thinking.

To be clear: high standards paired with low energy is not laziness. My value isn’t tied to my performance. External validation does nothing for my esteem if it’s measured against standards that aren’t even mine.

It’s a burden—to know better. To want better. To understand what’s good for you, but feel too fatigued to go after it. Fighting with myself—really, with my mind—became a personal consequence.

I avoided what I knew was best and delayed the inevitable, only to abandon what truly mattered most. I even tried over-intellectualizing my lack of rest because I knew the end goal. But at what cost do you get there?

Shame arrived faster than the rest I actually needed. I know what excellence looks like. I understand having standards so high that you go above and beyond to achieve your wildest dreams. But I also know your body will sound the alarm when your mind races ten steps ahead.

Taste truly is a burden. It comes with responsibility. It’s heavy. And the sensation of good flavor means nothing if you’re so depleted you can barely taste it.

Until next time,

Jenn