Recently I’ve noticed I’ve been in this sort of uncomfortable space lately and talking to some friends, I’ve noticed a lot of them have been as well. You know the quiet that settles after you’ve absorbed someone else’s storm again. The partner who unloads every day but rarely asks how you’re doing. The child whose mood shifts feel bigger than typical teenage growing pains, yet you hesitate to name it because what if naming it makes it real? You tell yourself it’s temporary, that pushing now would only make things worse. So you stay halfway in. Listening enough, caring enough, but never fully committing to the discomfort of change. It’s a familiar limbo. Not quite miserable enough to leave, not quite fulfilling enough to feel alive in.

This morning, on my drive to work, I came across a YouTube video featuring Matthew McConaughey: “The Most Valuable 20 Minutes of Your Life.” It’s clips pulled from his podcasts and talks raw, not polished, and the theme that kept repeating was this insistence on full commitment. No half-assing. No partial effort. He circles back again and again to a phone call with his father years ago. Fresh out of college, McConaughey had been on track for law school, the safe, structured path his family expected. But something pulled him toward film instead. No backup plan. No safety net. He called his dad late one night, braced for disappointment or anger. After a long pause, his father asked, “Are you sure that’s what you want to do?” McConaughey said yes. And his dad replied, simply: “Well, don’t half-ass it.”

Those three words weren’t soft approval. They were a challenge, a handoff of responsibility. If you’re going to choose this path, no matter how risky and uncertain, then go all in. Finish what you start. Find out what happens when you don’t leave one foot in comfort. McConaughey says that advice became a lifelong code: commit fully, own the outcome, look in the mirror afterward and know you didn’t half-ass it. Because when you do half-ass something, whether a dream, a relationship or a hard conversation, you stay suspended in uncertainty. You never truly know if it could have worked, or if failure was inevitable. That limbo, he points out, keeps more people awake at night than clear success or clear defeat ever does. He says for example, it’s better to shoot for an “A” and get a “C” then to shoot for a “C” and get a “F”.

In the years I’ve spent listening to people unpack their struggles, I’ve seen how often we live in exactly that limbo. We half-ass our own needs to keep the peace. We half-ass boundaries because confrontation feels too exposing. We half-ass love, showing up enough to stay connected on the surface, but pulling back when it requires vulnerability or accountability. In relationships, it looks like being the perpetual emotional tampon: absorbing, steadying, never asking for reciprocity because “it’s not that bad” or “they’re going through something.” Over time, that partial presence breeds resentment, not loud and explosive, but a slow, grinding erosion of trust in yourself and the other person. It sucks.

The same pattern shows up in parenting. You sense the intensity in your child, the withdrawal, the anger that flares too quickly, the signs that echo the worries in posts like “Is Your Child a Psychopath?” or the preteen/teen concerns that draw so many readers. But naming it fully means risking the unknown: a bigger fight, professional help, the possibility that your intuition was right and things need to shift. So we pause, observe from a distance, offer vague support, avoid the direct question that might crack things open. It’s protective in the moment, but it leaves both parent and child in uncertainty: Am I overreacting? Are they okay? What if I don’t step in fully and something worse happens?

Philosophically, this isn’t about perfection or heroic effort as McConaughey points out. It’s about integrity with our own experience. Life rarely lets us coast on partial commitment without exacting a cost, usually in the form of that nagging inner question: What if I’d gone all the way? McConaughey’s point isn’t motivational fluff; it’s a reminder that clarity often comes only after we’ve risked the discomfort of full presence. Half-measures preserve the illusion of control, but they rob us of real knowing about ourselves, our relationships, our capacity to meet what’s hard.

So how do we move toward fuller commitment without it feeling like another impossible demand?

Start by noticing where the half-assing lives right now. Pick one small, specific place, no need to overhaul everything at once. Maybe it’s that pattern in your partnership where you listen but never share your own limits. Sit with it for a day: What would full commitment look like here? Not a dramatic confrontation, but honest words delivered calmly: “I’ve been carrying this emotional load alone, and it’s wearing me down. I need us to find a way to share it more evenly.” Say it, stay in the room, let the silence do its work if it needs to.

In parenting, if you’ve been circling a worry about your child’s mental health or behavior, commit to one un-rushed, direct check-in this week. Keep it simple and presence-focused: “I’ve noticed things seem heavier for you lately, the way you pull away, or the frustration that comes up fast. I’m here if you want to talk about what’s behind it. No pressure to have answers right now.” The goal isn’t to fix it in one conversation; it’s to show up fully, without half-assing or rushing away from discomfort. Listen as long as they let you. If silence follows, that’s information too.

At the end of each day, take two minutes alone, no phone, no distractions, and ask quietly: Where did I half-ass today? Not to shame yourself, but to build awareness. Over time, that gentle noticing strengthens the inner muscle for showing up more completely. It might lead to bigger steps: setting a boundary that feels scary, seeking couples therapy when obligation has replaced partnership, or pursuing an evaluation for your child when intuition won’t quiet down.

McConaughey’s stories aren’t about never failing, they’re about refusing the half-life that comes from never fully trying. The valuable minutes, he suggests, are the ones spent in the room with our own discomfort long enough to see what emerges on the other side. Less resentment masked as “fine.” More honesty that allows real connection. A clearer sense of who we are when we stop half-assing.

It’s not easy. It often hurts more before it eases. But in that fuller presence, something usually shifts: the limbo lifts, even if the outcome isn’t what we hoped. And in its place comes a quieter self-trust, the kind that lets you look in the mirror and know you went all the way.

That’s my goal for the rest of the new year. To challenge myself to recognize when I am half-assing anything and to find a way to put an end to it.