On Building Things That Serve You
yes, this one is about AI
For most of my adult life, I’ve accumulated tools.
Notebooks and fancy pencils and numerous planners. Project managers and note-taking systems. Personality frameworks. Countless productivity apps. At some point, I stopped counting and started just managing the tools. Feeding them. Maintaining them. Using a tool long enough to understand what it can and cannot do (and living with a low level of frustration because of friction, lets be honest). Trying to make these tools talk to each other, which they mostly refused to do.
The irony is cringe-level sharp: I am a person who cares deeply about living an integrated life. I believe the compartmentalization of work, faith, family, and self is one of the great lies of modern culture–the lie that these things belong in separate boxes and should stay there. And yet the infrastructure of my professional life was almost perfectly designed to keep everything fragmented.
Earlier this year, Michael and I went through a process called Life Focus. It’s a guided process (created by the Full Focus team) that uses prompt cards and workbooks and can be done solo or with your partner. I enjoyed the fact that it was a physical/tactile process using the cards and handwriting in the workbooks–they don’t make a digital version, so it forces you to slow down and really get immersed in the experience of it all. I won’t oversell it; it was a structured, honest audit of where my life actually was, not where I told myself it was. Where was I spending my time? Where was I not? What was I avoiding? What was I building toward, and what was I quietly drifting from without quite admitting it?
It was hard. It was also one of the most clarifying things I’ve ever done.
What it revealed wasn’t dramatic. It was more like a subtle series of recognitions… that I was showing up fully in some areas of my life, and in others, I had been running on autopilot for years. That some of my professional commitments, however they looked from the outside, were costing me in ways I had stopped acknowledging.
At the time, I was working for a national media organization (and fairly new to my role), and I was excited to expand my network and gain some new experience. But once I settled into the job, a couple of really clear signals began to ring–the role wasn’t a good fit for my personality and skills, and even more importantly, the schedule (and commute) was killing me. I missed my people, I missed my slow quiet mornings, I missed just being in our home, the place we’ve spent years cultivating to suit our family life. What was I trading 55 hours of my week away from all of this for…?
Ultimately, the decision to leave my job emerged from the Life Focus process.
I left a role that, by most external measures, was a good one, but the honest truth was that it required me to be someone I’m not… to shrink into a sustained execution role when my whole design is to build, lead, and create. The structured admin work that defined that role was, in Lencioni’s language, my Working Genius frustration. Add to that: my exercise schedule had to shift to a 6 am class (with a drive), so I was much less motivated to do that more than twice a month, and I was sitting at a desk and in a car for much of the day. As if I needed a sour cherry on top, my family was telling me (in real words, out loud, with their mouths) that they “never saw me” anymore. Every day was a small erosion.
And yes, leaving was hard. Regaining agency always costs something first.
But here’s what happened after: I got excited again. Genuinely, unperformatively excited. About work. About what I’m building. About the particular position I’m in–a woman who loves productivity systems and personality frameworks and strategic thinking and faith and motherhood and writing–and how all of those things actually belong together instead of being organized into separate tabs.
This month, I built something.
It started with a question I’ve been sitting with for months: what would it look like if my tools actually knew me? Not just my calendar or my inbox, but me. My priorities, my energy rhythms, my non-negotiables, the things that drain me, the people who matter, even the way my body moves through the month and what that means for how I schedule hard things. What if instead of me serving my tools, my tools served my actual life?
The answer I’ve been working toward is an AI Chief of Staff. A strategic partner that holds context across everything–not just tasks, but values, relationships, and goals. One that knows when to push and when to protect. That flags the things I’ve said matter before I shove them aside for whatever is demanding in the moment.
I built a setup wizard to help other women create their own on Claude Cowork (you need to already have an account). It takes about twenty minutes to dial it in. You answer honest questions about your roles, your working preferences, your energy patterns, your schedule, what drains you–and it generates a personalized setup you can use immediately. And it’s totally free!
You can try it here: Your AI Chief of Staff 👩🏼💻
And here is the setup guide with extra tips and tricks to make your CoS absolutely kill it.
I really enjoyed the process of creating this agent. And since I’ve left that last role, my work life has pivoted to a new season that I’ll share more about soon. I know everyone is going nuts on the internet about making a cajillion dollars from their AI app, but I simply wanted more from my tech setup, and my Chief of Staff has proven to be actually helpful in my day-to-day work. I hope it’s helpful for you, too!
If you build your CoS, please let me know how it’s going! Also, what did you name her? 😁
Until next time,
SBL
If you enjoy learning how to leverage productivity and AI tools to help you live a more creative life, then join me — that’s the journey I’m on, too. I’ve written recently about building The Signal Map, a tool to help you see where your energy is going. I hope you check it out! 💻🤍