When work feels transactional

Meet Attilio, my dog. Attilio doesn’t struggle with purpose. His job is simple: bring joy. He stays close. He watches. He makes people smile. I think he understands kodawari better than most of us.

I had a client interaction recently that left a very bitter taste in my mouth. I felt completely used — just someone to extract value from. Zero regard for my time. They booked and cancelled at will, treated my work like a tap to be turned on and off, and tried to squeeze as much as they could for as little as possible. No interest in partnership. No respect for the expertise or care behind the work. What they wanted wasn’t thinking or value — just access, on their terms, for the lowest cost.

Since then, I’ve started noticing the same kind of energy in other places. The customer service rep who cuts you off with “unfortunately” before you’ve even explained your issue—and then reads a script that doesn’t apply. The waiter who drops the menu at your table without looking at you.

They’re not overtly rude. They just don’t care. They try to get away with the least amount of effort — whether that’s time, attention, or energy. It’s not just disconnection. It’s a kind of shortcutting that prioritises output over presence. And when you come across that kind of disengagement enough times, it starts to wear on you. You find yourself lowering your own bar—not out of laziness, but because it doesn’t feel worth the effort anymore.

You give less. You stop offering the second idea or the thoughtful follow-up. You make things more transactional, too—not because you want to, but because it feels like the only response that makes sense.

It’s a stressful time in the world. I get it. People are stretched, distracted, overwhelmed. Most of us are carrying more than usual. But that doesn’t mean we should stop showing up with purpose. One of the core principles of resilience is staying connected to what you care about. When you forget why you’re doing the work—or you start believing it doesn’t matter—you don’t just lose motivation. You lose energy, integrity, and the part of yourself that actually wants to be there.

Purpose doesn’t have to be big or loud. It just needs to be present. It can sound as simple as, “I want to be useful,” or “I want to do this well,” or even, “I want to feel good about the way I handled that.” But when purpose disappears and the work turns into a string of tasks and transactions, something changes. It becomes harder to feel proud of what you’re building. And eventually, you stop caring altogether. You tell yourself you’re conserving energy. You tell yourself it’s just one client, just one meeting, just one task. But slowly, those moments add up. You don’t change your values — you just adapt to an environment that no longer reflects them.

There’s a story I often come back to. Three bricklayers are asked what they’re doing. The first says, “I’m laying bricks.” The second says, “I’m building a wall.” The third says, “I’m building a cathedral where people can come to connect with God.” Same job. Same task. But only one of them is connected to the meaning behind the work.

And that’s the part we can forget when everything feels flat: the meaning isn’t built into the task. You have to bring it with you. If you stop doing that—if you start mirroring the people who are going through the motions—you lose the soul of the work.

There’s a Japanese expression for this: kodawari — the commitment to care deeply about how something is done, even if no one else notices. It’s the pride in preparation, in precision, in bringing your whole attention to the work. Not because someone is watching, but because you are. Because the way you do it matters to you.

Reconnection doesn’t require a massive reset. It’s not about quitting your job or reinventing your career. Often, it’s about returning to something that already exists but has been pushed to the side. It’s about remembering what originally made you care. What you used to protect in the way you worked.

So what does it look like to come back to it? Not dramatically. Not all at once. But in small, deliberate ways.

Sometimes it means pausing before a meeting to ask yourself, “What am I here to bring?” Sometimes it means doing something well even if no one else will notice, because you’ll notice. Sometimes it’s about finding one person who still shows up with care—and letting that remind you that it’s possible.

Other times, it’s about setting boundaries that allow you to stay connected. Declining the projects that drain you unnecessarily. Saying no to the fast, thoughtless version of your work. Protecting the space that lets you think and care.

When everything starts to feel like a transaction, it’s easy to tell yourself you’re being efficient. That you’re saving energy. That it’s just how things are. But if you’re honest, you are feeling the cost of that shift. You feel yourself slipping into someone who gets through the day, but isn’t really in it.

And if that continues for too long, it gets harder to come back.

So this isn’t a productivity reminder. It’s not about going the extra mile or bringing your “best self.” It’s about protecting the part of you that still wants to show up with care. That wants to believe what you’re building still matters — even if you’re the only one who sees it.

You don’t need to be building cathedrals. But you do need to remember what you’re building. Especially when no one else seems to care.

Hold that thread. It’s what keeps your work yours. And it’s what helps you keep showing up—even in the rooms that don’t make it easy.