You Can Do Anything, But You Can’t Do Everything.

Nimble Counselling contributor Blake Mahovic reflects on the pressure, especially in places like the Sea to Sky and across BC, to be the best at everything, and the quiet joy that comes from giving yourself permission to focus deeply on what matters most, while letting go of the rest.

For context, I just finished writing my thesis for my Master’s in Education. The process really puts you into more of a thinking mood than a doing one—much to the dismay of my business partner, who’s staring at the laundry list of things I’ve yet to do around the space. Things like painting, hanging pictures, and being a functional adult. Meanwhile, I’m over here talking about the pedagogy of deficit thinking, puffing on an imaginary pipe, and longing for elbow patches.

Alas, there are times in life for thinking, and times for action. While it may be objectively a time for action, try telling my head that. So here I am—thinking, and writing. Because as Rome burns, what else is there to do but play the fiddle?

For my research, I interviewed teachers. One in particular stood out—not because they were better or smarter or more dedicated than the others (all the teachers I spoke with were thoughtful, committed, and just genuinely good people), but because something about their perspective stuck with me. My research was focused on teachers’ perspectives of neurodiversity, and this teacher brought a particular curiosity and passion for the way children think. Having also previously been a math teacher—something that, in my opinion, lends itself especially well to thinking about how people think. After all, math is the art of thinking.

The whole interview was fascinating, but one line has been bouncing around the neglected corners of my brain, rattling through the cobwebs left behind by my avoidance of all my practical duties:

“You can do anything, but you can’t do everything.”

Nine little words. Beautiful. Destructive. Empowering. Humbling. Is it even a full sentence? Who knows. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it or everything it holds.

Unfortunately, this collection of words didn’t quite fit the academic narrative I was trying to form in my thesis—so I didn’t get to write about it there. But now here I am, on a blog that will likely be read by as few people as my thesis, trying to give it the attention I think it deserves.

Polymaths, Renaissance Men, and Pretenders

History (and the internet) is littered with people—usually men—who appear to have broken this rule. They seem to have done everything. Let me tell you: they didn’t.

When I think about this, my brain immediately goes to people like Fermat, who was a preacher, a court judge, and a casual mathematician who playfully proposed some of the greatest mathematical problems in history—and solved a few too. Then there’s da Vinci, whose work spans science and art and whose mark is quite literally left across the world. Or Isaac Newton, who “discovered” calculus, laid out the laws of motion, and was also an astronomer and a natural philosopher.

Fast forward to modern times: Arnold Schwarzenegger has been Mr. Olympia, one of the highest-grossing movie stars of all time, and made some of the most powerful bipartisan climate policy in American political history. Brian Cox is a celebrated physicist and science communicator, and also played keyboard for D:Ream (and sometimes New Order). I mean, come on.

But here I am to burst your bubble.

Fermat? Born into immense privilege. He had the luxury of being more of a thinker than a doer. If he’d been born into a different household—one where he had to spend all his energy just staying alive—I suspect his contributions would’ve been far fewer.

Da Vinci? Notoriously struggled to finish projects. His engineering designs looked fantastic on paper but rarely worked in reality. He had trouble connecting with people and often left things half-baked.

Newton? A complete lunatic and ego maniac. He stuck shards of glass in his own eyes (for science, I guess), buried the work of his contemporaries, and allegedly had portraits of people like Hooke destroyed in order to erase them from history. And just to really ice the cake—he didn’t even discover calculus. Several mathematicians, including our boy Fermat, were developing similar ideas independently. Newton just needed it to be him.

Arnie? A Wikipedia page riddled with allegations of sexual misconduct, womanizing, and some politically questionable moves. The man’s done a lot, not all of it great.

And Brian Cox? Well, I’m sure he’s bad at something. Probably gets crumbs in the bed or can’t park straight.

The point is: no one is perfect. Anyone you think is? You just don’t know them well enough. I’m not saying these men didn’t accomplish incredible things—they clearly did—but that doesn’t automatically make them great. They made intentional choices about where to focus their energy and what to ignore. That’s all.

The Art of Being Good Enough

Now, all of this is well and good—but it seems wildly at odds with the world we’re living in. A world where TikTok stars, podcast hosts, and David Goggins types tell you that you need to be the absolute best at everything you do.

There’s this societal push to do everything to the max. And if it’s not “the best,” someone on YouTube or Instagram will show you why it isn’t—either directly, or just by doing it better than you with seemingly no effort.

So what happens? We give up. If I can’t be perfect, why bother at all?

But here’s the thing: just because you can’t travel the world on a yacht doesn’t mean you shouldn’t float around in an inner tube on a lake. Just because Babish can make the perfect recreation of pasta al limone from Chef doesn’t mean you should give up cooking and live on takeout.

Here’s where the art of being good enough comes in. It’s not about quitting—it’s about accepting that you don’t have to be the best at everything. That sometimes, close enough really is good enough.

In the context of my research, this looked like asking: is it worth robbing a child of their joy so they can get an A in math? Or can we accept a B—or even a C+—so they have the space to thrive elsewhere? Or just enjoy being kids?

I don’t know if it’s just me, or if it’s something about living in BC — especially Vancouver — but there’s this relentless feeling that you’re supposed to get the absolute most out of every single day. Like if you’re not crushing it at work, running the Grouse Grind before breakfast, and meal-prepping organic quinoa bowls for the week, you’re somehow already behind. That pressure to be constantly achieving, constantly optimizing, can really mess with your sense of what’s “enough.” I actually wrote more about that in another post called “FOMO Is Ruining Your Life”, which digs deeper into why we feel this way and how to push back on it. If you’re finding yourself wondering what to focus on, or why you're feeling burned out or dissatisfied despite doing everything “right,” I encourage you to check it out.

The RPG of Life

I grew up in a particular corner of the north of England that’s both incredibly beautiful and, arguably, one of the most isolated and rain-soaked parts of the mainland. It’s the kind of place where escapism isn’t a luxury — it’s survival. One of my main escapes growing up? RPGs. Role-playing games.

Now, stay with me.

These games have a mechanic that I think mirrors life in a way that’s surprisingly elegant. You pick a character to take on the world and all the chaos that comes with it. You’re then given a set number of “action points” to assign to attributes like speed, strength, stealth, charisma, intelligence, etc. And how you divvy up those points shapes how you interact with the world. Maybe you talk your way out of a fight, or throw your opponent through a wall, or slink off into the shadows and avoid it altogether.

But here’s the key thing: you never get enough points to max out everything. You can’t be the fastest, strongest, smartest, sneakiest, and most charming character all at once. You get to pick your strengths — and by default, you also pick your weaknesses.

And let me tell you, trying to go through those games with a completely “balanced” character? It’s dull. You're average at everything and exceptional at nothing. It’s not fun — in the game or in real life. (This makes me think of the Groove Armada song “Everybody Looks The Same” but maybe that’s aging me)

This is how I’ve come to view life. You get to choose what you want to be exceptional at — what you want to go all-in on. That’s where the joy is. But that doesn’t mean you can completely ignore the rest. Because just like in the game, if you max out your strength and put nothing in speed, sure, you can bench-press a car, but it takes you two hours to cross the street. Max out stealth and put zero into strength? You’re a ghost, but you can’t pick up anything you sneak off with.

Sometimes being balanced isn’t the best for a valuable and interesting life.

Look at Isaac Newton: full points in intelligence, none in charisma or humility. David Goggins? All endurance, not much left over for warmth or subtlety (at least from what I’ve seen — he might be lovely, I don’t know). And in real life? Maybe you’re the best athlete, or the most decorated cribbage player in North America — but that doesn’t give you a free pass on learning to cook a basic meal, answer your emails, or, you know, be a decent person to be around.

That’s not to say you need to be perfect in every area of life. You don’t. But it is a call to be intentional. If you want to be incredible at something — really master something — do it. Just know that those action points have to come from somewhere. Every “yes” is also a “no” to something else.

Pick Your Points

This isn’t a permission slip to settle for mediocrity in every aspect of your life. It’s an invitation to excel at something—and not sweat the other stuff.

Is your relationship important to you? (I sincerely hope it is.) Then focus on being the best damn partner you can be. Does your backhand really need improving right now? Or is the energy you’re using to perfect your backhand stealing from your ability to be present in your relationship?

Do you love writing, sewing, building businesses, or becoming the world’s leading Tolkien scholar? Great—go all in. Just don’t worry if you’re not also gunning to be assistant regional coordinator of sales integration.

And if you are—great. Just know that your time and energy are finite. Spending it in one place means you don’t have it in another.

Still Not Sure Where Your Energy Should Go?

If you’re reading this and thinking, “I genuinely don’t know where my energy should go,” I get it. I’ve tried professional sports, restaurant ownership, education, and mathematics.

And here’s what I’ve come to believe: the most meaningful and rewarding thing I can do with my energy is to try and show up for others in a way that genuinely makes their lives a little better.

If nothing else, that’s a pretty good place to start.

How Counselling Can Help

If reading this has left you wondering where your own “skill points” are going — or why you feel maxed out in all the wrong areas — you’re not alone. Sometimes it takes more than self-reflection to figure out what actually matters, where your energy’s leaking, and how to stop trying to level up everything at once. That’s where counselling can help. Nimble Counselling offers compassionate, evidence-based mental health support with registered clinical counsellors, available in-person in downtown Vancouver and online across British Columbia. Whether you’re feeling stuck, overwhelmed, burnt out, or just ready to reallocate your energy in a way that actually fits your life — therapy might be a great next step. Nimble’s here to help you sort through the noise and make room for what really matters.