The Durability Trap

Durability and endurance, in my estimation, are some of the most essential qualities of leadership. They’re traits so ingrained in high performers that they often are fetishized in the grind culture. But when I sat down with my executive coach last week, the conversation turned toward an uncomfortable truth: durability can be a double-edged sword. I was sharing the usual dynamics — struggles with balancing time, managing the whirlwind of priorities, and the stress that was compounding from not being able to do either well. At times, my reaction to something trivial spiraled out of control. Her response was simple but pointed: “If you can’t show up at 100% for yourself, you won’t be able to do it for your people or your business either.” It was a powerful reminder that if it’s all grind all the time, your best work won’t come through.

Leadership, in a sense, can be lonely. There’s a proverb: “The higher the monkey climbs, the more he shows his ass.” It’s easy to spin stories in our heads about what it takes to operate, how much we should be working, what’s truly necessary. But unchecked, that can often lead us down the wrong path and narrative we tell ourselves. My recent conversation with my coach cut through those stories. Here I was, pushing through every day, expecting that if I just kept grinding, I’d somehow sustain everything—my work, my team, my vision. But that’s not how it works. In leadership, durability and endurance are not quite the same thing, and this difference is significant.

Durability is the ability to resist wear and tear—to keep going in the face of constant challenges without breaking down. It’s like armor: it deflects damage. But armor alone isn’t enough. Endurance is different; it’s about how much you can take before needing rest, about having the resilience to bounce back and keep moving forward. Endurance is more than just “grinding it out”—it requires pacing, recovery, and sometimes, stopping entirely. It’s what allows you to sustain that push over time. Not every day will be good. Problems will come at you from all angles, and you’re expected to solve them—whether they’re people problems, business problems, or personal ones. But if problem-solving becomes synonymous with constant suffering, you’re no longer just enduring; you’re stuck.

Those who know me well know I’m an avid cyclist, having spent much of my early adulthood training and racing bikes in all disciplines. As an athlete, I learned the value of both durability and endurance firsthand. When you’re training and racing at a high level, you get used to discomfort, and you must keep pushing through. You must endure. Grit, resilience, the ability to get comfortable with being uncomfortable—all of these unlock true potential. But you also learn that peak performance requires more than just grinding every day; it requires rest, preparation, and pacing. You can’t race at your best without time to recover. A bad race, a minor injury, or a sub-par training ride isn’t a reason to quit. But when these things become systemic, it’s time to pause and re-evaluate.

There’s a common saying that “the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.” When discomfort becomes a permanent state in your work, you have to step back and reconsider. Maybe it’s not about grit or resilience anymore. Maybe it’s about rethinking your approach entirely.

This is where many high performers—myself included—struggle. We pride ourselves on perseverance, on getting things done, on pushing through. But what if the very thing we need to do is stop? What if true durability in leadership is about recognizing when to not push forward? To pause, to think, to reset.

Andy Grove, in High Output Management, talks about the role of leaders as firefighters, constantly putting out flames. But there’s a point where firefighting turns into a never-ending cycle of chaos. The real challenge isn’t just fighting fires—it’s knowing when to create a firebreak. It’s the moment when you clear your calendar, step back, and make space for real thinking. First principles thinking. Root cause analysis. That’s where breakthroughs come from, not from pushing harder but from stopping and reflecting.

This idea of a firebreak isn’t just theoretical. I’ve seen firsthand how stepping back to solve a recurring issue can unlock new possibilities. One recent experience involved a chaotic project with endless setbacks. Instead of powering through and piling on more work, I created a firebreak—took a step back, paused all action, and focused only on the root cause. Within a short, concentrated amount of time, I identified the core problem and got the team back on track. The solution wasn’t in more effort; it was in creating the space to understand. Interestingly, I’ve had this level of insight come from things like family vacations or even just walking or working out in silence.

It’s not just about creating space to solve problems. You also need to carve out time for creativity. Often, productivity and the relentless drive to "get shit done" (GSD) can stifle the very creativity we need to solve the toughest problems. There’s something powerful about stepping away from the grind—whether it’s going for a walk, sitting in silence, or even daydreaming—and allowing your mind to wander. That’s when the simple solution to a complex problem tends to appear. It’s as though our brains work better in the background, freed from the constraints of productivity. We often solve our biggest problems when we aren’t actively trying to solve them.

Productivity can be the enemy of creativity. When you’re always focused on efficiency and output, you lose the space for those creative breakthroughs. This is why it’s essential to bake in moments of disconnect, not just to recharge, but to let your mind roam freely. These are the moments when you get inspired, when an elusive idea finally clicks into place. It’s in that daydream-like state, when you’re not actively trying to GSD, that you often unlock the best solutions.

Installing this skill—the ability to balance durability with strategic withdrawal and creativity—is critical. It’s not about giving up or slowing down; it’s about recognizing when the path you’re on isn’t leading anywhere new. This is not something you can template or schedule. It’s personal. Everyone has their own breaking point, and recognizing yours is one of the most valuable leadership tools you can have.

Failing to do so leads to bad decisions, compounding issues, and a lack of focus on what really matters. When you’re operating at less than 100%, you’re not only failing yourself—you’re failing everything of value around you. The irony of durability is that it’s not about always enduring. True durability isn’t just resistance; it’s knowing when to let go so you can endure even longer.