I had spent years performing calm without actually feeling it.

If you follow my Instagram, you’ve probably seen a lot of family time, holidays, and maybe too many photos of sunsets on beaches. What you didn’t see was that work had followed me everywhere.

For over a decade, I have been in “hyper-growth” mode, building software companies in senior roles with lots of decisions, lots of pressure, and lots riding on the outcome (or so it felt). For most of that time, I prided myself on being calm under pressure. I was good at operating in fast-moving environments, making decisions quickly, and carrying a lot.

That ability created opportunities for me, but it also masked something I did not fully see at the time. I thought I was handling the pressure well. Looking back, I think I was often just absorbing it.

Then COVID hit, and it was one of those stretches where stress seemed to be coming from every direction. The fun started to disappear from work, slowly but steadily. No more Friday drinks. No time for small talk or real connection. Just the next Zoom call to extinguish another “crisis.”

I started waking up at 4:30 in the morning in a cold sweat. At first once in a while, then more regularly. That can’t be normal, can it? - maybe that’s what it takes to build new things.

The strange thing is that, on paper, I was still doing well. I was still performing. I was still delivering. I was still getting positive feedback, which, if I’m honest, I love a little too much. (working on it) From the outside, it probably looked like I was at the top of my game.

That’s part of why I missed it.

For me, burnout did not look like failure from the outside. It looked like continued performance under chronic stress. I think part of why I didn’t want to name it is that it didn’t fit the story I had about myself. I had always seen myself as someone who could handle a lot. Isn’t that part of what we think makes a great leader?

At a certain point, I knew I needed to step away and reset. The first step was not fixing everything. It was getting off the ride.

I have to admit, I didn’t fully understand what was going on until I got off the roller coaster. Distance gave me perspective that I did not have while I was still inside it.

What helped was not one big fix, but a slow rebuild. Often it was two steps forward and one step back. As they say.. “It’s a process…”

I started rebuilding around a different set of priorities. First was pace. I stopped filling my days and let my energy lead a little more. I started taking attention more seriously too: meditation, less noise, less urgency.

I also made movement a real priority: strength training, yoga, hiking, cycling, and being outside.

At first, I didn’t really feel like connecting with people. But over time, I started reaching out, reconnecting with old friends, and spending more time in nature with others.None of this changed overnight, but layered together, it started to bring me back to myself.

What surprised me most was how many people reflected some version of the same experience back to me. The more I talked about it, the less isolated it seemed. The more I read, the more I realised this was not just a personal problem. It was a pattern.

We have built cultures that reward obsession, urgency, and output, and then act surprised when people become depleted. Modern life is becoming too fast, too productivity-obsessed, and too overloaded.

Part of why I started The Calm Society is that this stopped being an abstract idea for me. I started it because I wanted to keep exploring what actually helps people live better in a world that has become too fast, too productivity-obsessed, and too overloaded.

But I also started it because I no longer think this is just a personal issue. There is a larger story here about what we reward, what we build, and what kind of lives those systems are producing. And with AI, that question feels more urgent, not less.

I don’t feel like I have this all figured out. I’m still learning. But I do know this: a life that looks calm from the outside is not always a life that feels calm on the inside.

And I know I’m not the only one who has felt that gap.

The Calm Society is, in part, my attempt to explore that gap more honestly.

I’d love to hear from you: have you ever had a period where, from the outside, everything looked fine, but underneath you knew something was off?

Or put another way: what has helped you feel more genuinely calm, not just look calm from the outside?

More soon on the larger technology story behind all of this.

Cameron