My year of saying yes to everything | Shonda Rhimes

Summary

In this inspiring talk, the speaker shares how saying 'yes' to things that scared her changed her life, notably by committing to play with her children. Through this journey, she discovers that relentless work, which once defined her, was overshadowing what truly mattered—love, joy, and human connection. By embracing play and balance, she rekindles her passion for life and creativity, learning that success is not just about being a titan, but also about embracing moments of simplicity, presence, and happiness. She invites others to prioritize joy and rediscover life's hum.

Takeaways

• 😊 Saying 'yes' to things that scare you can lead to personal growth and the elimination of fears.
• 👶 One of the most impactful 'yeses' came from saying yes to her toddler, which led to more play and quality family time.
• 🏢 Despite having a dream job and being highly successful, she realized work was consuming her life, leading to burnout.
• 🎵 The 'hum' represents the rush and excitement she feels when deeply immersed in her work, but it eventually faded due to overwork.
• 💖 Rediscovering the joy of playing with her children reignited a different kind of 'hum,' one tied to love and joy rather than work.
• 🌟 She emphasizes that the real hum isn't tied to professional success but to happiness, peace, and love.
• 🎬 Balancing play and work led to a resurgence in creativity, allowing her to enjoy both work and family life again.
• ⏳ Even 15 minutes of uninterrupted play with her kids was enough to strengthen their relationship and bring joy.
• 🧠 The hum of life is more fulfilling than the hum of work, and she learned to prioritize moments of joy and connection.
• 💪 Saying yes to less work and more play helped her achieve balance and happiness, proving that even as a 'titan,' life is more than work.

Q & A

What was the speaker's initial experiment for a year?

The speaker's initial experiment involved saying 'yes' to all the things that scared her, including public speaking, live TV appearances, and acting, to overcome her fears.

How did the speaker's fear change as a result of her experiment?

The speaker found that the act of doing the things that scared her undid the fear, making it not scary anymore, which resulted in the disappearance of her fear of public speaking and social anxiety.

What significant change did the speaker make in response to her toddler's question?

The speaker made a vow to say 'yes' every time her children asked her to play, no matter what she was doing or where she was going, which led to a new way of life for her family.

How did the speaker describe her job and the impact of her work?

The speaker described her job as a 'dream job' where she creates and executive produces television shows, responsible for bringing about 70 hours of programming to the world, creating hundreds of jobs and having a global impact.

What is the 'hum' that the speaker refers to in her work?

The 'hum' is a metaphor for the intense feeling of creativity, productivity, and passion that the speaker experiences when deeply engaged in her work, which she describes as a rush, a buzz, and a driving force.

Why did the 'hum' stop for the speaker, and what did it signify?

The 'hum' stopped because the speaker became overworked, overused, and burned out, signifying a loss of joy and passion in her work despite her continued success and hard work.

What realization did the speaker have when her toddler asked to play?

The speaker realized that she was missing out on her children's lives and changes as she was too focused on her work and the 'hum', prompting her to reevaluate her priorities.

How did the speaker's perspective on work and play change after spending time with her children?

The speaker discovered that play and the joy of being with her children could also bring back the 'hum', but this time it was a more balanced and fulfilling 'hum' that included love and life's simple pleasures.

What advice does the speaker give to others regarding work and play?

The speaker advises others to find time for play and joy in their lives, suggesting that everyone should say 'yes' to play when their children ask, as it can lead to a more balanced and happier life.

How does the speaker conclude her journey of balancing work and play?

The speaker concludes that by saying 'yes' to less work and more play, she still runs her world effectively but with a greater sense of happiness, freedom, and a deeper understanding of who she is beyond her work.

Outlines

00:00

🌟 Embracing Fear: The Power of Saying Yes

The narrator shares a transformative experiment where they decided to say 'yes' to all the things that scared them for a year. This led to overcoming fears, like public speaking and social anxiety, by simply facing them head-on. A key moment was saying 'yes' to playing with their toddler, which sparked a new way of life and even helped save their career.

05:01

🚀 The Titan's Journey: The Hum of Success

The narrator describes their intense work life as a highly successful TV writer and producer, responsible for multiple popular shows. They explain 'the hum'—a metaphor for the creative and productive energy that drives them. This hum, fueled by constant work, becomes a form of addiction, pushing them to strive for greatness at any cost.

10:03

💔 When the Hum Stops: Facing Burnout

As the narrator's workload increases, the hum that once motivated them fades away, leading to burnout. They describe the emotional and mental toll of losing the passion that once drove them. In the midst of this, they realize they’ve been missing out on their children’s lives and the simple joys of being present, which prompts them to reevaluate their priorities.

15:05

🎈 Rediscovering Joy: The Importance of Play

The narrator begins to rediscover joy and a new kind of hum by playing with their children. This act of play, though initially uncomfortable and challenging for someone so work-focused, gradually reintroduces a sense of happiness and fulfillment. They realize that true contentment comes from love, presence, and the simple joys of life, not just professional success.

Keywords

💡Yes

The concept of 'Yes' represents the act of accepting challenges, new opportunities, or requests, even when they cause discomfort or fear. In the video, the speaker embarks on an experiment of saying 'Yes' to everything that scares her, which leads to personal growth, career transformations, and deeper family connections. It symbolizes openness and willingness to engage fully with life, both personally and professionally.

💡Hum

'Hum' refers to the speaker's feeling of creative flow, productivity, and deep immersion in her work. This 'hum' represents the euphoric, almost addictive sensation of being fully engaged in creative or professional pursuits. However, it also becomes a metaphor for her workaholism, as she eventually burns out and loses this feeling. Rediscovering a new 'hum' through love and play becomes a crucial turning point in her personal and professional life.

💡Play

'Play' is the speaker's antidote to burnout and the loss of the 'hum.' Initially, she struggles with playing with her children because it pulls her away from work. However, she learns that saying 'yes' to play, especially with her children, brings joy, connection, and a new form of happiness that revives her creativity. Play becomes a metaphor for balance and renewal, contrasting her relentless work.

💡Workaholic

The term 'Workaholic' describes the speaker's obsession with her career, where she works constantly without rest, leading to burnout. She identifies herself as a 'titan,' a symbol of her overwhelming commitment to work, but eventually recognizes that this behavior isolates her from joy, her family, and even the work she loves. The video explores how the speaker balances this identity with her need for play and relaxation.

💡Titan

A 'Titan' is how the speaker describes herself in her professional capacity. It represents her sense of power, control, and monumental success in the television industry. However, as she loses her 'hum,' the term 'titan' also symbolizes her emotional distance from her family and personal life. The speaker ultimately rejects this identity in favor of a more balanced, human existence focused on love and play.

💡Motherhood

Motherhood is a central theme, as the speaker reflects on how her work has distanced her from her children. Her daughters, especially her toddler, inspire her to shift focus from work to play. Saying 'yes' to play becomes an act of reconnecting with her role as a mother, which brings a different kind of fulfillment than her professional achievements.

💡Burnout

'Burnout' refers to the emotional, mental, and physical exhaustion the speaker experiences from overwork. The loss of her 'hum' is a direct consequence of burnout, where she no longer enjoys her work despite its continued success. The video explores how stepping back from work and engaging in play helps her recover from this state.

💡Creativity

Creativity is at the heart of the speaker's work as a writer and television producer. Initially, her creativity is fueled by the 'hum' of intense, relentless work. However, as she burns out, she realizes that creativity also comes from play and joy. The shift from work-driven creativity to a more balanced, playful creativity becomes a key lesson in the video.

💡Love

Love, especially love for her children and family, is presented as the ultimate source of fulfillment and the real 'hum' in the speaker’s life. While her career brings success and satisfaction, it is love that rejuvenates her and helps her find balance. The speaker realizes that love is more important than work, as it fuels her happiness and creativity in a deeper way.

💡Balance

'Balance' refers to the speaker's journey from being a workaholic to finding a healthier equilibrium between work, play, and family life. Initially consumed by her career, she learns that saying 'yes' to play and love brings back joy and creativity. Achieving balance between work and personal life becomes her new goal, replacing the relentless pursuit of professional success.

Highlights

The speaker committed to saying 'yes' to all things that scared her for a year, leading to personal growth and overcoming fears.

Public speaking and social anxiety were conquered by facing them directly.

The transformative power of the word 'yes' was discovered, changing the speaker's life.

Emerson, the toddler, unknowingly prompted a life-changing question that led to a new family dynamic.

A vow was made to always say 'yes' when children ask to play, regardless of other commitments.

The practice of saying 'yes' to playtime had a profound, positive effect on the family.

The realization that saying 'yes' to playtime likely saved the speaker's career.

The speaker's identity as a 'titan' in the television industry was established.

The intense workload and pressure of being a successful writer and producer were described.

The 'hum' of work, a state of deep engagement and productivity, was explained.

The speaker faced a crisis when the 'hum' stopped, leading to burnout and a loss of joy in work.

The importance of play and the joy it brings was rediscovered as a remedy for the loss of the 'hum'.

The realization that the 'hum' is not just about work, but about joy and love in life.

The speaker encourages others to find their 'hum' through play and joy, not just work.

The balance between work and play was found, leading to a more fulfilling life.

The speaker's redefinition of success includes being a good mother and finding joy in life, not just work.

The final message is an invitation to embrace play and joy to rediscover one's passion and purpose.

Transcripts

So a while ago, I tried an experiment.

For one year, I would say yes to all the things that scared me.

Anything that made me nervous, took me out of my comfort zone,

I forced myself to say yes to.

Did I want to speak in public?

No, but yes.

Did I want to be on live TV?

No, but yes.

Did I want to try acting?

No, no, no, but yes, yes, yes.

And a crazy thing happened:

the very act of doing the thing that scared me

undid the fear,

made it not scary.

My fear of public speaking, my social anxiety, poof, gone.

It's amazing, the power of one word.

"Yes" changed my life.

"Yes" changed me.

But there was one particular yes

that affected my life in the most profound way,

in a way I never imagined,

and it started with a question from my toddler.

I have these three amazing daughters, Harper, Beckett and Emerson,

and Emerson is a toddler who inexplicably refers to everyone as "honey."

as though she's a Southern waitress.

(Laughter)

"Honey, I'm gonna need some milk for my sippy cup."

(Laughter)

The Southern waitress asked me to play with her one evening

when I was on my way somewhere, and I said, "Yes."

And that yes was the beginning of a new way of life for my family.

I made a vow that from now on,

every time one of my children asks me to play,

no matter what I'm doing or where I'm going,

I say yes, every single time.

Almost. I'm not perfect at it, but I try hard to practice it.

And it's had a magical effect on me,

on my children, on our family.

But it's also had a stunning side effect,

and it wasn't until recently that I fully understood it,

that I understood that saying yes to playing with my children

likely saved my career.

See, I have what most people would call a dream job.

I'm a writer. I imagine. I make stuff up for a living.

Dream job.

No.

I'm a titan.

Dream job.

I create television. I executive produce television.

I make television, a great deal of television.

In one way or another, this TV season,

I'm responsible for bringing about 70 hours of programming to the world.

Four television programs, 70 hours of TV --

(Applause)

Three shows in production at a time, sometimes four.

Each show creates hundreds of jobs that didn't exist before.

The budget for one episode of network television

can be anywhere from three to six million dollars.

Let's just say five.

A new episode made every nine days times four shows,

so every nine days that's 20 million dollars worth of television,

four television programs, 70 hours of TV,

three shows in production at a time, sometimes four,

16 episodes going on at all times:

24 episodes of "Grey's," 21 episodes of "Scandal,"

15 episodes of "How To Get Away With Murder,"

10 episodes of "The Catch," that's 70 hours of TV,

that's 350 million dollars for a season.

In America, my television shows

are back to back to back on Thursday night.

Around the world, my shows air in 256 territories in 67 languages

for an audience of 30 million people.

My brain is global,

and 45 hours of that 70 hours of TV are shows I personally created

and not just produced, so on top of everything else,

I need to find time, real quiet, creative time,

to gather my fans around the campfire

and tell my stories.

Four television programs, 70 hours of TV,

three shows in production at a time,

sometimes four, 350 million dollars, campfires burning all over the world.

You know who else is doing that?

Nobody, so like I said, I'm a titan.

Dream job.

(Applause)

Now, I don't tell you this to impress you.

I tell you this because I know what you think of when you hear the word "writer."

I tell you this so that all of you out there who work so hard,

whether you run a company or a country or a classroom

or a store or a home,

take me seriously when I talk about working,

so you'll get that I don't peck at a computer and imagine all day,

so you'll hear me when I say

that I understand that a dream job is not about dreaming.

It's all job, all work, all reality, all blood, all sweat, no tears.

I work a lot, very hard, and I love it.

When I'm hard at work, when I'm deep in it,

there is no other feeling.

For me, my work is at all times building a nation out of thin air.

It is manning the troops. It is painting a canvas.

It is hitting every high note. It is running a marathon.

It is being Beyoncé.

And it is all of those things at the same time.

I love working.

It is creative and mechanical and exhausting and exhilarating

and hilarious and disturbing and clinical and maternal

and cruel and judicious,

and what makes it all so good is the hum.

There is some kind of shift inside me when the work gets good.

A hum begins in my brain,

and it grows and it grows and that hum sounds like the open road,

and I could drive it forever.

And a lot of people, when I try to explain the hum,

they assume that I'm talking about the writing,

that my writing brings me joy.

And don't get me wrong, it does.

But the hum --

it wasn't until I started making television

that I started working, working and making

and building and creating and collaborating,

that I discovered this thing, this buzz, this rush, this hum.

The hum is more than writing.

The hum is action and activity. The hum is a drug.

The hum is music. The hum is light and air.

The hum is God's whisper right in my ear.

And when you have a hum like that,

you can't help but strive for greatness.

That feeling, you can't help but strive for greatness at any cost.

That's called the hum.

Or, maybe it's called being a workaholic.

(Laughter)

Maybe it's called genius.

Maybe it's called ego.

Maybe it's just fear of failure.

I don't know.

I just know that I'm not built for failure,

and I just know that I love the hum.

I just know that I want to tell you I'm a titan,

and I know that I don't want to question it.

But here's the thing:

the more successful I become,

the more shows, the more episodes, the more barriers broken,

the more work there is to do,

the more balls in the air,

the more eyes on me, the more history stares,

the more expectations there are.

The more I work to be successful,

the more I need to work.

And what did I say about work?

I love working, right?

The nation I'm building, the marathon I'm running,

the troops, the canvas, the high note, the hum,

the hum, the hum.

I like that hum. I love that hum.

I need that hum. I am that hum.

Am I nothing but that hum?

And then the hum stopped.

Overworked, overused,

overdone, burned out.

The hum stopped.

Now, my three daughters are used to the truth

that their mother is a single working titan.

Harper tells people,

"My mom won't be there, but you can text my nanny."

And Emerson says, "Honey, I'm wanting to go to ShondaLand."

They're children of a titan.

They're baby titans.

They were 12, 3, and 1 when the hum stopped.

The hum of the engine died.

I stopped loving work. I couldn't restart the engine.

The hum would not come back.

My hum was broken.

I was doing the same things I always did, all the same titan work,

15-hour days, working straight through the weekends,

no regrets, never surrender, a titan never sleeps, a titan never quits,

full hearts, clear eyes, yada, whatever.

But there was no hum.

Inside me was silence.

Four television programs, 70 hours of TV, three shows in production at a time,

sometimes four.

Four television programs, 70 hours of TV, three shows in production at a time ...

I was the perfect titan.

I was a titan you could take home to your mother.

All the colors were the same, and I was no longer having any fun.

And it was my life.

It was all I did.

I was the hum, and the hum was me.

So what do you do when the thing you do,

the work you love, starts to taste like dust?

Now, I know somebody's out there thinking,

"Cry me a river, stupid writer titan lady."

(Laughter)

But you know, you do,

if you make, if you work, if you love what you do,

being a teacher, being a banker, being a mother, being a painter,

being Bill Gates,

if you simply love another person and that gives you the hum,

if you know the hum,

if you know what the hum feels like, if you have been to the hum,

when the hum stops, who are you?

What are you?

What am I?

Am I still a titan?

If the song of my heart ceases to play, can I survive in the silence?

And then my Southern waitress toddler asks me a question.

I'm on my way out the door, I'm late, and she says,

"Momma, wanna play?"

And I'm just about to say no, when I realize two things.

One, I'm supposed to say yes to everything,

and two, my Southern waitress didn't call me "honey."

She's not calling everyone "honey" anymore.

When did that happen?

I'm missing it, being a titan and mourning my hum,

and here she is changing right before my eyes.

And so she says, "Momma, wanna play?"

And I say, "Yes."

There's nothing special about it.

We play, and we're joined by her sisters,

and there's a lot of laughing,

and I give a dramatic reading from the book Everybody Poops.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

(Laughter)

And yet, it is extraordinary,

because in my pain and my panic,

in the homelessness of my humlessness,

I have nothing to do but pay attention.

I focus.

I am still.

The nation I'm building, the marathon I'm running,

the troops, the canvas, the high note does not exist.

All that exists are sticky fingers

and gooey kisses and tiny voices and crayons

and that song about letting go

of whatever it is that Frozen girl needs to let go of.

(Laughter)

It's all peace and simplicity.

The air is so rare in this place for me that I can barely breathe.

I can barely believe I'm breathing.

Play is the opposite of work.

And I am happy.

Something in me loosens.

A door in my brain swings open,

and a rush of energy comes.

And it's not instantaneous, but it happens, it does happen.

I feel it.

A hum creeps back.

Not at full volume, barely there,

it's quiet, and I have to stay very still to hear it, but it is there.

Not the hum, but a hum.

And now I feel like I know a very magical secret.

Well, let's not get carried away.

It's just love. That's all it is.

No magic. No secret. It's just love.

It's just something we forgot.

The hum, the work hum, the hum of the titan,

that's just a replacement.

If I have to ask you who I am,

if I have to tell you who I am,

if I describe myself in terms of shows

and hours of television and how globally badass my brain is,

I have forgotten what the real hum is.

The hum is not power and the hum is not work-specific.

The hum is joy-specific.

The real hum is love-specific.

The hum is the electricity that comes from being excited by life.

The real hum is confidence and peace.

The real hum ignores the stare of history,

and the balls in the air, and the expectation, and the pressure.

The real hum is singular and original.

The real hum is God's whisper in my ear,

but maybe God was whispering the wrong words,

because which one of the gods was telling me I was the titan?

It's just love.

We could all use a little more love,

a lot more love.

Any time my child asks me to play,

I will say yes.

I make it a firm rule for one reason,

to give myself permission,

to free me from all of my workaholic guilt.

It's a law, so I don't have a choice,

and I don't have a choice,

not if I want to feel the hum.

I wish it were that easy,

but I'm not good at playing.

I don't like it.

I'm not interested in doing it the way I'm interested in doing work.

The truth is incredibly humbling and humiliating to face.

I don't like playing.

I work all the time because I like working.

I like working more than I like being at home.

Facing that fact is incredibly difficult to handle,

because what kind of person likes working more than being at home?

Well, me.

I mean, let's be honest, I call myself a titan.

I've got issues.

(Laughter)

And one of those issues isn't that I am too relaxed.

(Laughter)

We run around the yard, up and back and up and back.

We have 30-second dance parties.

We sing show tunes. We play with balls.

I blow bubbles and they pop them.

And I feel stiff and delirious and confused most of the time.

I itch for my cell phone always.

But it is OK.

My tiny humans show me how to live and the hum of the universe fills me up.

I play and I play until I begin to wonder

why we ever stop playing in the first place.

You can do it too,

say yes every time your child asks you to play.

Are you thinking that maybe I'm an idiot in diamond shoes?

You're right, but you can still do this.

You have time.

You know why? Because you're not Rihanna and you're not a Muppet.

Your child does not think you're that interesting.

(Laughter)

You only need 15 minutes.

My two- and four-year-old only ever want to play with me

for about 15 minutes or so

before they think to themselves they want to do something else.

It's an amazing 15 minutes, but it's 15 minutes.

If I'm not a ladybug or a piece of candy, I'm invisible after 15 minutes.

(Laughter)

And my 13-year-old, if I can get a 13-year-old to talk to me for 15 minutes

I'm Parent of the Year.

(Laughter)

15 minutes is all you need.

I can totally pull off 15 minutes of uninterrupted time on my worst day.

Uninterrupted is the key.

No cell phone, no laundry, no anything.

You have a busy life. You have to get dinner on the table.

You have to force them to bathe. But you can do 15 minutes.

My kids are my happy place, they're my world,

but it doesn't have to be your kids,

the fuel that feeds your hum,

the place where life feels more good than not good.

It's not about playing with your kids,

it's about joy.

It's about playing in general.

Give yourself the 15 minutes.

Find what makes you feel good.

Just figure it out and play in that arena.

I'm not perfect at it. In fact, I fail as often as I succeed,

seeing friends, reading books, staring into space.

"Wanna play?" starts to become shorthand for indulging myself

in ways I'd given up on right around the time I got my first TV show,

right around the time I became a titan-in-training,

right around the time I started competing with myself for ways unknown.

15 minutes? What could be wrong with giving myself my full attention

for 15 minutes?

Turns out, nothing.

The very act of not working has made it possible for the hum to return,

as if the hum's engine could only refuel while I was away.

Work doesn't work without play.

It takes a little time, but after a few months,

one day the floodgates open

and there's a rush, and I find myself standing in my office

filled with an unfamiliar melody, full on groove inside me,

and around me, and it sends me spinning with ideas,

and the humming road is open, and I can drive it and drive it,

and I love working again.

But now, I like that hum, but I don't love that hum.

I don't need that hum.

I am not that hum. That hum is not me,

not anymore.

I am bubbles and sticky fingers and dinners with friends.

I am that hum.

Life's hum.

Love's hum.

Work's hum is still a piece of me, it is just no longer all of me,

and I am so grateful.

And I don't give a crap about being a titan,

because I have never once seen a titan play Red Rover, Red Rover.

I said yes to less work and more play, and somehow I still run my world.

My brain is still global. My campfires still burn.

The more I play, the happier I am, and the happier my kids are.

The more I play, the more I feel like a good mother.

The more I play, the freer my mind becomes.

The more I play, the better I work.

The more I play, the more I feel the hum,

the nation I'm building, the marathon I'm running,

the troops, the canvas, the high note, the hum, the hum,

the other hum, the real hum,

life's hum.

The more I feel that hum,

the more this strange, quivering, uncocooned,

awkward, brand new,

alive non-titan feels like me.

The more I feel that hum, the more I know who I am.

I'm a writer, I make stuff up, I imagine.

That part of the job, that's living the dream.

That's the dream of the job.

Because a dream job should be a little bit dreamy.

I said yes to less work and more play.

Titans need not apply.

Wanna play?

Thank you.

(Applause)