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Sat 27 Sep, 2025
Loire Valley, France
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Hey Reader,
I’m in the Loire Valley near the castle of Chinon, where Joan of Arc once met the future king of France to convince him to let her lead an army. My colleague, the one I wrote about in the last letter, went home for a few days for her cousin’s wedding, so I’ve been on my own here just before the trip starts tomorrow.
That left me with my own place, a small fireplace, the woods right outside, and more time than usual to do whatever I want.
What I noticed is that when the options are endless, it actually gets harder to stay in rhythm. I could go for a run, take one of the bikes from the van, or just stay inside by the fire. I could sleep in, watch videos, waste the day if I wanted. And somehow instead of feeling free, I ended up stuck.
Yesterday it hit me even more. Too many possibilities, not enough clarity. And when it’s just me, I slip back into bachelor mode—snacking instead of cooking, not keeping things in order, not really taking care of myself.
That’s when I came across this post on Instagram about the idea of floor and ceiling. It landed right when I needed it.
Your ceiling is the ideal version, the maximum, the full thing you’d love to do if time and energy were unlimited. And your floor is the baseline, the smallest version you can still show up for, even on your worst days.
What struck me is how often we give up if we can’t reach the ceiling. If you don’t have a full hour for your workout, you end up doing nothing. If you don’t have time to cook a proper meal, you just grab whatever’s easiest. I do the same. All or nothing. And that nothing piles up.
But if you know your floor, then you never really fall out of it. You can still do the minimum, and it keeps you connected, moving, present.
So I thought I’d go through three areas of my life and define my floor and ceiling. And you can do it with me.
Exercise
For me, the ceiling would be playing sports with other people. Football, volleyball, even climbing trees together. That’s when I feel alive, when movement is not just exercise but also fun and connection.
But that’s not something I can organize every day. So my realistic ceiling, when I’m on my own, is the Flow 60 routine from Mike Chang. Warm-up, longevity exercises, strength, stretching, breathwork, meditation. And if I could add sauna, cold plunges, maybe some swimming, that would be perfect.
The floor is just the warm-up part. Ten minutes to wake my body up and do longevity exercises. That’s the minimum I can always find time for.
Work and creativity
This one is harder to pin down. It’s not really about hours. For me, the ceiling is a day where I know what I need to do and how to do it. Where the work feels aligned, nourishing, not forced. Where I follow the plan I’ve set when it makes sense, and ignore it when it doesn’t. Four or five hours like that would be perfect.
And the floor… I think on the hard days, the minimum is to not push through blindly. To step away instead of forcing it. To take a walk, go outside, reset. Even that is showing up, because it keeps me from turning work into grind.
Family life
The ceiling isn’t about being perfect. I don’t want that. What I want is to return, to repair, to apologize when I get it wrong. And on the good days, it’s doing something that marks the day: a walk, playing outside, laughing together, even cleaning together. A moment that makes me think, yes, this was the thing from today.
The floor is smaller, but it matters just as much. It could be as simple as starting the morning together—making breakfast, playing for a few minutes, having that connection. And then ending the day the same way. Even if it’s just five minutes, it means we were really in each other’s lives that day.
So these are my three buckets: exercise, work, and family life. Each with a floor and a ceiling.
It feels good to see them written down. Because otherwise I fall into that trap of all or nothing. If I don’t hit the ceiling, I do nothing. And then the days start slipping.
But with a floor, there’s always something I can do. Ten minutes of movement, a reset instead of forcing work, five minutes with my kid and my partner, morning and night.
It’s simple and it gives me rhythm.
I’d invite you to try the same. Pick your three buckets and write down your floor and ceiling for each. Keep it nearby and let it guide you on the days when everything is too open or too crowded.
We might not all be leading armies like Joan, but we can still lead ourselves with small choices.
One dad figuring it out, same as you.
P.S. I’d love to hear yours. Pick your three buckets and send me your floor and ceiling for each. Think of it as a small challenge we’re doing together.
See more of my work at rooteddad.com
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