Hey friend,

In my last email, I told you something my grandma’s story helped teach me:
I don’t just want more years in my life.
I want more LIFE in my years.
I’ve thought a lot about what that actually means.
And one word keeps coming back to me:
Capacity.
I use that word a lot around Live Better.
But I don’t want it to become one of those words we say so often that nobody stops to think about what it actually means.
So let me tell you what capacity looks like in my own life.
When I’m doing well, I can wake up early enough to have some time to myself and still feel rested.
I can go to the gym.
Sit in the sauna.
Work out.
Stretch.
Listen to a podcast.
Learn something.
Pray.
Read my Bible.
I can spend some time doing the things that fill my cup and help me start the day grounded, connected, and ready to be fully present for the people and things I care about
And here’s the important part:
I can do those things without worrying that I’m borrowing energy from later in the day.
Then I can go home.
Make breakfast.
Be with my family as everyone gets moving.
Help get the kids off to school.
And head into Live Better, ready for the people get to serve that day.
I can enjoy my cup of coffee because I like coffee…
…not because I’m desperately asking caffeine to turn me into a functioning human being. 🙂
I can be present with our team.
I can enjoy seeing the people I already know and love.
I can sit across from someone I’ve never met before who’s wondering if we might be able to help their family—and actually have the mental and emotional space to listen to them.
Then I can go to lunch.
Spend time with my wife and our youngest son.
Kick my feet up for a few minutes.
Recharge.
And head back into the office ready for the afternoon.
Then comes the part of the day that has probably taught me the most about what capacity really means.
I go home.
Maybe there’s a sporting event.
Maybe there’s another activity.
Maybe we’re simply home together.
And eventually one of my kids asks:
“Dad, do you want to play?”
“Can we wrestle?”
“Will you do this with me?”
When I have capacity, I can say:
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
And actually mean it.
Not because I feel guilty.
Not because I’m trying to convince myself to be a good dad.
Because there’s actually enough of me available to want to be there.
I’ve come to realize how important that word is:
Available.
Because I think a lot of us are physically present for our lives…
…while becoming less and less available to actually experience them.

We’re there.
But our minds are somewhere else.
Thinking about the fire we need to put out.
The email we forgot to send.
The bill.
The employee.
The project.
Tomorrow.
Yesterday.
Or we’re simply so exhausted that another person asking something from us feels like one more demand we don’t know how to meet.
I’ve been there.
I know what it’s like to walk through the door and love the people on the other side of it deeply…
…but not feel like I have much left to give them.
And that’s painful.
Because these are the people I’m doing all of this for.
My wife doesn’t just need me to provide for our family.
She needs me.
My kids don’t just need a dad who works hard for them.
They need me.
And the people I care for at Live Better don’t need a version of me who can technically make it through another shift.
They deserve someone who has enough capacity to actually be present with them.
That’s where this becomes much deeper than energy.
Capacity determines how much of you is available for your own life.
When I have capacity, I have patience left for bedtime.
And if you’re a parent, you know bedtime can occasionally require a supernatural amount of patience. 🙂
I can be present instead of simply trying to get everybody into bed as fast as humanly possible.
And after the kids are down, I can sit with my wife.
We can talk about the day.
How are you?
How are we?
What’s going on?
What’s been hard?
What’s been good?
What’s coming next?
I can connect with her instead of sitting beside her completely drained, physically present but mentally somewhere else.
And then at the end of the day, my body can actually tell me:
It’s time to sleep.
I can look back on the day with gratitude.
And I can look toward tomorrow with something other than dread.
I can actually feel excited about it.
That’s capacity to me.
Now, please don’t misunderstand me.
I don’t live every day like that.
I don’t have this figured out.
I still get tired.
I still have hard days.
I still get stressed.
I still occasionally take on too much.
There are days when my kids ask me to do something and the answer really does need to be “not tonight.”
That’s life.

The goal isn’t to never be tired.
The goal isn’t to never experience stress.
The goal isn’t to create some perfectly optimized existence where nothing difficult ever happens.
I’ve become much more interested in something else:
Is this a hard day…or has this become my pattern?
There’s a big difference between being exhausted after a demanding day and realizing you’ve been exhausted for six months.
There’s a difference between needing to recover and forgetting what rested even feels like.
There’s a difference between going through a hard season and slowly accepting survival mode as your personality.
I’ve lived in those patterns.
And I’ve spent a lot of time learning how not to stay stuck there.
Some of that has meant learning how my body works.
Some of it has meant taking better care of myself.
Some of it has meant admitting I can’t do everything.
I’ve learned to say no.
I’ve learned to create boundaries.
I’ve learned that taking care of myself isn’t taking something away from the people I love.
When done well, it allows me to love them more sustainably.
That’s been a big lesson in this season of my life.
Because I don’t want to give my family everything I’ve got for three months and then have nothing left.
I want to build a life I can continue showing up for.
I want to serve people well without disappearing in the process.
I want to work hard and recover.
Give and refill.
Lead and listen.
Push when it’s time to push and settle when it’s time to settle.
That’s capacity.
Not endless energy.
Adaptability.
And there’s another part of capacity I don’t think we talk about enough.
When I’m doing well…
I dream.
I have enough space inside of me to think beyond the next problem.
I can imagine what’s possible.
What kind of husband do I want to become?
What kind of dad?
What kind of doctor?
What could Live Better become?
How could we serve people better?
What could I learn?
Who could I help?
Could I someday coach the next generation in a sport I love?
What experiences do I want to have with my wife?
What memories do I want to create with my kids?
Who do I still have the opportunity to become?
It feels good to dream.
And I think a lot of adults slowly lose that.
Not because we stopped caring.

Sometimes we’re simply carrying so much that our entire world shrinks down to:
What do I have to get through today?
Wake up.
Get everyone where they need to go.
Work.
Solve problems.
Get home.
Make dinner.
Get through bedtime.
Go to sleep.
Repeat.
And eventually we stop asking:
“What could life become?”
We’re just trying to survive the life we already have.
I’ve been there too.
And I don’t think that’s what we’re here for.
That’s why I keep coming back to the question:
What is health actually for?
I don’t believe health is supposed to become the point of your life.
I don’t want you spending every waking moment thinking about your health.
I don’t want you obsessing over every symptom, every meal, every workout, every supplement, every metric, or trying to create a life where nothing ever goes wrong.
To me, that’s not freedom either.
And trust me—I know, I’ve been there. I’ve been the guy obsessing over all of it, trying to control every variable, thinking that if I just got everything “right,” I could finally feel okay. It doesn’t work that way.
Health should support your LIFE.
It should give you greater capacity to turn your attention outward.
Toward your spouse.
Your kids.
Your friendships.
Your work.
Your faith.
Your calling.
Your community.
The people who need you.
The things that fill you up.
The hard things worth doing.

And yes…
the dreams you haven’t dreamed yet.
Maybe that’s the deepest way I can explain what capacity means to me.
It’s not simply having enough energy to accomplish more.
It’s having enough of yourself available to actually participate in the life you’re building.
To work and recover.
To give and receive.
To struggle without staying stuck.
To be tired without becoming chronically depleted.
To be present.
To connect.
To love.
To dream.
To look back on today with gratitude…
…and forward to tomorrow with hope.
That’s the kind of health I’m interested in.
That’s the kind of life I’m working toward myself.
And friend, that’s what I want for you too.
In my next email, I want to go a little deeper into something that changed the way I understand all of this:
Your body isn’t stupid. And it isn’t your enemy.
Sometimes the very patterns frustrating us are actually our body’s best attempt to adapt to what life has been asking of us.
Understanding that changed the way I saw my own story.
And it changed the way I care for people.
We’ll talk about that next.
Until then, don’t worry about having it all figured out.
I certainly don’t.
Maybe just ask yourself one question:
How much of me is actually available for the life I love right now?

Dr. Joe

LIVE BETTER.